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| Beautiful breads from Rustic Pie Company in our very own Duvall - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
Showing posts with label bread pudding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bread pudding. Show all posts
Monday, April 28, 2014
Mixed Plate: Locavore and Loving It
It's become such an easy catchphrase: "Eat Local." It's a food movement with great momentum and there's beneficial reasons to strive towards sourcing ingredients as locally as possible, like supporting small businesses as well as getting the freshest flavors. But how often do we really make this happen? Is it something that can be done without breaking the bank and not feeling like an outtake from the "Is it local?" skit from Portlandia? It's indeed possible, and sometimes it's as easy as just walking down the Main Street of your city. Let's be locavoracious for ingredients close to home!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
UnRecipe: It's the End of the World as We Know It and I'll Have Pie
So, like everyone else, I was talking with some friends about the fever pitch over the Rapture that was supposed to have happened this past Saturday, and being a believer or not, is it really something newsworthy? I have little doubt that even if the holy heavens swept through to claim the faithful, I'd most certainly be left behind with my heathen ways, but I came to the conclusion that yes, the Rapture-fever is relevant, because then I can do a totally silly post about it. So there.
While there's nothing particularly Biblical about a savory bread pudding, I did en-Rapture my arteries in a lot of cheese and bacon for this dish. During the week prior to the supposed End Times, I tried cleaning out my fridge like the world was gonna end, cooking with every random scrap of food we had sitting around. We always wind up with spare bits of stuff from previous dishes. I'd used some bacon for pork meatballs, bread for sandwiches, and random things that were impulse buys at the farmers market -- my fear of wasting food kicks in and then a whirlwind of cooking panic drives me to make something that uses as much of this stuff as possible. Compulsive cooking syndrome? There's a reality TV show waiting to happen there.
As always, UnRecipe-ness rules supreme. See that random pile of ingredients? Just throw it together and hope for the best! In this case I felt fairly certain it would be a tasty pile of UnRecipe-ness. Chopped up bacon, rendered crisp with the fat reserved to saute leeks and some shallots until lightly caramelized. The leftover bread was just the stale heels from two loaves bought at the farmers market. This was a great way to use up the weird little pieces, as it's too small for a sandwich and while they would have made great croutons, their stale-ness made them extra thirsty to soak up the flavor of the bacon, leeks and creamy egg custard that brought the whole thing together. I had a little wedge of gouda, also from the farmers market (it was on sale, and I can't resist discount cheese), and the flavor is a bit pungent, so it's not something you just bite a hunk off. The cheese-wang was strong with this wedge, but crumbled and mixed into the egg batter, and it melted down in wonderful ways, seeping into the bread and making the whole thing savory and rich. The garden is finally yielding a healthy batch of herbs, so I was happy to sprinkle in handfuls of fresh parsley, sage, chives and thyme into the mix.
You can't face your maker without dessert. Again, an impulse buy of rhubarb, likely from my impatience with our own rhubarb plant taking forever to grow edible-sized stalks, was cooked with strawberries and made into a pie. Nothing fussy with perfectly woven lattice-work, just a simple foldover of the excess dough and a sprinkle of sugary oat crumbles to make a crusty top. This was more like a "yay, the world didn't end" reward, as the day of the supposed Rapture had us getting gussied-up and going out with some friends for dinner and drinks. It wasn't to party-on through the reaping of souls, it was just good timing. But we raised our glasses after 6pm and said, yep, we're still here. And we had a strawberry rhubarb pie, with strawberry ice cream, to celebrate with on the following post-Rapture Sunday. Win-win, right?
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| The almost-last supper - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
While there's nothing particularly Biblical about a savory bread pudding, I did en-Rapture my arteries in a lot of cheese and bacon for this dish. During the week prior to the supposed End Times, I tried cleaning out my fridge like the world was gonna end, cooking with every random scrap of food we had sitting around. We always wind up with spare bits of stuff from previous dishes. I'd used some bacon for pork meatballs, bread for sandwiches, and random things that were impulse buys at the farmers market -- my fear of wasting food kicks in and then a whirlwind of cooking panic drives me to make something that uses as much of this stuff as possible. Compulsive cooking syndrome? There's a reality TV show waiting to happen there.
 |
| End of Days ain't so bad, there's dinner and cocktails involved - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
As always, UnRecipe-ness rules supreme. See that random pile of ingredients? Just throw it together and hope for the best! In this case I felt fairly certain it would be a tasty pile of UnRecipe-ness. Chopped up bacon, rendered crisp with the fat reserved to saute leeks and some shallots until lightly caramelized. The leftover bread was just the stale heels from two loaves bought at the farmers market. This was a great way to use up the weird little pieces, as it's too small for a sandwich and while they would have made great croutons, their stale-ness made them extra thirsty to soak up the flavor of the bacon, leeks and creamy egg custard that brought the whole thing together. I had a little wedge of gouda, also from the farmers market (it was on sale, and I can't resist discount cheese), and the flavor is a bit pungent, so it's not something you just bite a hunk off. The cheese-wang was strong with this wedge, but crumbled and mixed into the egg batter, and it melted down in wonderful ways, seeping into the bread and making the whole thing savory and rich. The garden is finally yielding a healthy batch of herbs, so I was happy to sprinkle in handfuls of fresh parsley, sage, chives and thyme into the mix.
 |
| Savory bread pudding that just came together on its own - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
You can't face your maker without dessert. Again, an impulse buy of rhubarb, likely from my impatience with our own rhubarb plant taking forever to grow edible-sized stalks, was cooked with strawberries and made into a pie. Nothing fussy with perfectly woven lattice-work, just a simple foldover of the excess dough and a sprinkle of sugary oat crumbles to make a crusty top. This was more like a "yay, the world didn't end" reward, as the day of the supposed Rapture had us getting gussied-up and going out with some friends for dinner and drinks. It wasn't to party-on through the reaping of souls, it was just good timing. But we raised our glasses after 6pm and said, yep, we're still here. And we had a strawberry rhubarb pie, with strawberry ice cream, to celebrate with on the following post-Rapture Sunday. Win-win, right?
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| Get fancy, have pie and ice cream, avoid the end of the world -- good weekend, no? - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
UnRecipe: The Lord of the Leftovers - Thanksgiving Trilogy
Humorist Calvin Trillin had this to say about leftovers: The most remarkable thing about my mother is that for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. The original meal has never been found. While I can say with certainty the origin of our triple-header leftover saga was the gut-busting feast of Thanksgiving, it's not an unknown occurrence in the Wasabi household to have leftovers stretched to near-infinite meals. For better or worse, my parents never liked to throw out food, and that mentality of "waste not" was forever drilled into my Wasabi brain. Our current surplus of ham, turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce led to this Episode I, II and III of meals: Thanksgiving Skillet Hash, Thanks-for-Giving Savory Bread Pudding, and a Truly Leftover Turkey Ramen.
Skillet hash is probably one of the most leftover-friendly meals to make. It's UnRecipe to the tenth power, as no measuring or ingredient-fretting is needed. Depending on how many hungry people are needing to be fed, you just take a bit of protein like a handful of finely chopped ham and turkey, add something starchy, which in our case was the leftover roasted sweet potatoes, and throw it all in a heated skillet. The fat from the ham and the turkey skin melts down a bit in the pan, creating a nice sizzle for the sweet potatoes. I also scattered a bit of cranberry sauce over the hash to give it a little tartness. Once everything is fully incorporated and heated through, make a shallow little well in the hash and crack an egg right in. Depending on how many people it's being made for, one egg per person will do. Turn the heat down to medium and cover the top of the skillet with a bit of tin foil to trap the heat and cook the top of the egg to whatever doneness you prefer. I like the consistency of a poached egg, so I let the top of the egg get a bit opaque but the yolk is still liquid inside. Depending on how large a skillet and how many eggs are being used, this final step should only take a few minutes.
Everything was already well-seasoned from their past life as a dinner, so no salt or pepper required. I do like Tabasco with my eggs, so I added a splash or two right before the omming and nomming. The Thanksgiving Skillet Hash was made across several breakfasts, and more than a couple of times, I made this for a party of one because we have a couple of small pans. Yes, I did eat it right out of the skillet, furthering solidifying my membership with the Seattle Skillet Sensation Club, a secret society of plateless skillet-eaters created by foodie blogger and future chef, Eric Rivera. As Rachel of Laptops and Stovetops fame noted, if eating out of a skillet is wrong, I don't want to be right. Amen to that.
Thanksgiving Leftovers, the Sequel turned into a savory bread pudding. We wound up with a refugee band of dinner rolls and despite our tendency to leave out breads and pastas in our meals, the voice of my parents' Waste Not wisdom was in back of my mind like Obi-Wan. Or perhaps it was Lord Vader of the Carbohydrate Dark Side. Either way, I wanted to use up as much of the Thanksgiving leftovers as possible. Cubing the rolls and letting them toast in the oven to dry out, I took all the rest of the ham and turkey and chopped it into bite-sized pieces. There wasn't really any measuring involved in this UnRecipe because it was one of those "stone soup" meals that just uses everything available. Savory bread puddings, much like a skillet hash, have that lovely flexibility when it comes to ingredients. If they paired well as a meal of main courses and sides, there's no reason they can't be mashed together as a leftover delight.
I used the remaining half-and-half from the coffee and dessert portion of Thanksgiving to make a loose custard for the oven-dried cubed rolls. It was maybe a half a cup's worth. Mixed with a couple of eggs, the creamy, viscous liquid soaked into the now-crispy breadcubes. I probably could have skipped the oven-drying of the bread, but I like taking all the moisture out of bread first, so that it soaks up whatever new liquid and flavor that's being reintroduced to it. The ham, turkey, stuffing, and remainder of the cranberry sauce was already cooked, so once the bread was fully soaked with the custard, the savory bits were tossed with the bread, and a few slices of remaining cheese from the appetizer course of Thanksgiving was laid over the top to create a melty topping in the oven. Again, because everything had been pre-seasoned, I added maybe a few cracks of pepper and that's it. The oven set up the pudding, leaving the bottom part creamy and fused together, while the top crisped in the dry heat. Sliced into wedges, this made for easy lunches for the week.
The final meal that furthered Thanksgiving leftovers into the realm of, "Holy Hell, aren't you sick of this yet??" used the most basic, but flavorful part -- the turkey broth. I still had several cups' worth of a concentrated turkey stock made from the whole bird. Some of it was originally used for gravy, but the rest was reserved knowing it could be used for a number of things. I had seen a number of soups and stew recipes flying around on blogs and Tweets, but at this point, I had been sick with a cold and a craving for ramen won out in the end. Feeling too sick to hit the store and the fact that most of the Thanksgiving remnants were spoken for, it became a resourceful ramen that came together with pantry items and basic ingredients.
When the sniffles hit, some people crave chicken soup or grilled cheese sandwiches -- mine is either miso soup or ramen. More to the point, I crave a Hawaii-style saimin, which uses a thinner shoyu broth and yes, Spam is involved. Be it ever so humble, there's nothing that eases my sickly aches and pains like a savory, salty broth with chewy noodles, shredded fried egg, and slices of fried Spam on top. The ramen dashi came together with all the remaining turkey stock, water to thin it out, a splash of vinegar, several splashes of soy sauce, and a stalk of lemongrass (I keep them in the freezer; you'll be thankful if you do the same). The resulting flavor was a salty, sour broth that isn't necessarily traditional, it was just what my flu-riddled palate needed. I had the fortune of finding a few packets of fresh noodles stashed in the freezer. They weren't the firm, wrinkly Hilo-style saimin noodles I love best, but given my state of health, I wasn't about to complain.
Maybe waving the banner of Team Leftovers makes the Prime seem extra provincial, but I don't think it's too shabby a thing to think fast in the kitchen and cook by the seat of one's pantry. Given my newly-minted status as a Lady of Leisure, I anticipate many more at-home meals of UnRecipe inspiration.
 |
| Seattle Skillet Sensation Club - chances are, you've been a member since college. - Photo by Wasabi Prime |
Skillet hash is probably one of the most leftover-friendly meals to make. It's UnRecipe to the tenth power, as no measuring or ingredient-fretting is needed. Depending on how many hungry people are needing to be fed, you just take a bit of protein like a handful of finely chopped ham and turkey, add something starchy, which in our case was the leftover roasted sweet potatoes, and throw it all in a heated skillet. The fat from the ham and the turkey skin melts down a bit in the pan, creating a nice sizzle for the sweet potatoes. I also scattered a bit of cranberry sauce over the hash to give it a little tartness. Once everything is fully incorporated and heated through, make a shallow little well in the hash and crack an egg right in. Depending on how many people it's being made for, one egg per person will do. Turn the heat down to medium and cover the top of the skillet with a bit of tin foil to trap the heat and cook the top of the egg to whatever doneness you prefer. I like the consistency of a poached egg, so I let the top of the egg get a bit opaque but the yolk is still liquid inside. Depending on how large a skillet and how many eggs are being used, this final step should only take a few minutes.
Everything was already well-seasoned from their past life as a dinner, so no salt or pepper required. I do like Tabasco with my eggs, so I added a splash or two right before the omming and nomming. The Thanksgiving Skillet Hash was made across several breakfasts, and more than a couple of times, I made this for a party of one because we have a couple of small pans. Yes, I did eat it right out of the skillet, furthering solidifying my membership with the Seattle Skillet Sensation Club, a secret society of plateless skillet-eaters created by foodie blogger and future chef, Eric Rivera. As Rachel of Laptops and Stovetops fame noted, if eating out of a skillet is wrong, I don't want to be right. Amen to that.
 |
| Savory bread pudding -- just throw everything in and bake it! - Photos by Wasabi Prime |
Thanksgiving Leftovers, the Sequel turned into a savory bread pudding. We wound up with a refugee band of dinner rolls and despite our tendency to leave out breads and pastas in our meals, the voice of my parents' Waste Not wisdom was in back of my mind like Obi-Wan. Or perhaps it was Lord Vader of the Carbohydrate Dark Side. Either way, I wanted to use up as much of the Thanksgiving leftovers as possible. Cubing the rolls and letting them toast in the oven to dry out, I took all the rest of the ham and turkey and chopped it into bite-sized pieces. There wasn't really any measuring involved in this UnRecipe because it was one of those "stone soup" meals that just uses everything available. Savory bread puddings, much like a skillet hash, have that lovely flexibility when it comes to ingredients. If they paired well as a meal of main courses and sides, there's no reason they can't be mashed together as a leftover delight.
I used the remaining half-and-half from the coffee and dessert portion of Thanksgiving to make a loose custard for the oven-dried cubed rolls. It was maybe a half a cup's worth. Mixed with a couple of eggs, the creamy, viscous liquid soaked into the now-crispy breadcubes. I probably could have skipped the oven-drying of the bread, but I like taking all the moisture out of bread first, so that it soaks up whatever new liquid and flavor that's being reintroduced to it. The ham, turkey, stuffing, and remainder of the cranberry sauce was already cooked, so once the bread was fully soaked with the custard, the savory bits were tossed with the bread, and a few slices of remaining cheese from the appetizer course of Thanksgiving was laid over the top to create a melty topping in the oven. Again, because everything had been pre-seasoned, I added maybe a few cracks of pepper and that's it. The oven set up the pudding, leaving the bottom part creamy and fused together, while the top crisped in the dry heat. Sliced into wedges, this made for easy lunches for the week.
 |
| Thanksgiving dinner -- good to the last drop. Photo by Wasabi Prime |
The final meal that furthered Thanksgiving leftovers into the realm of, "Holy Hell, aren't you sick of this yet??" used the most basic, but flavorful part -- the turkey broth. I still had several cups' worth of a concentrated turkey stock made from the whole bird. Some of it was originally used for gravy, but the rest was reserved knowing it could be used for a number of things. I had seen a number of soups and stew recipes flying around on blogs and Tweets, but at this point, I had been sick with a cold and a craving for ramen won out in the end. Feeling too sick to hit the store and the fact that most of the Thanksgiving remnants were spoken for, it became a resourceful ramen that came together with pantry items and basic ingredients.
When the sniffles hit, some people crave chicken soup or grilled cheese sandwiches -- mine is either miso soup or ramen. More to the point, I crave a Hawaii-style saimin, which uses a thinner shoyu broth and yes, Spam is involved. Be it ever so humble, there's nothing that eases my sickly aches and pains like a savory, salty broth with chewy noodles, shredded fried egg, and slices of fried Spam on top. The ramen dashi came together with all the remaining turkey stock, water to thin it out, a splash of vinegar, several splashes of soy sauce, and a stalk of lemongrass (I keep them in the freezer; you'll be thankful if you do the same). The resulting flavor was a salty, sour broth that isn't necessarily traditional, it was just what my flu-riddled palate needed. I had the fortune of finding a few packets of fresh noodles stashed in the freezer. They weren't the firm, wrinkly Hilo-style saimin noodles I love best, but given my state of health, I wasn't about to complain.
Maybe waving the banner of Team Leftovers makes the Prime seem extra provincial, but I don't think it's too shabby a thing to think fast in the kitchen and cook by the seat of one's pantry. Given my newly-minted status as a Lady of Leisure, I anticipate many more at-home meals of UnRecipe inspiration.
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