Will success spoil Judy Alter?

 

Carnitas plate
I prefer mine this way rather than rolled into a tortilla

After my resounding failure with eggplant last week, I am happy to report a cooking weekend with a couple of successes on my part and a culinary home run for Christian.

Friday night, in the midst of the found dog episode (read last night’s blog) I made salmon en croute. I’ve never made Beef Wellington, though the idea intrigues me. But if you get right down to it, I like salmon better than beef. And truth is, I’ve been collecting salmon en croute ideas for a while. When I’d go through my recipes looking for things to cook, I’d linger over several versions, including one where an anonymous cook just winged it and described what she did. Finally last week, I chose one recipe, put the ingredients on our weekly grocery list, and fixed it. It was really good, but I won’t describe it here because I’m quite sure it will be my recipe of the week on Thursday’s Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog. I will hint, however, that I used the new canned salmon I ordered from Alaska Gold, and it was every bit as good as a fresh filet. If I haven’t said this before, Alaska Gold is a cooperative of small fishermen, so the fish is wild caught.

I read an article today about the recommendations of several chefs on ordering seafood, either to cook or in a restaurant. Unanimous, know your source. They particularly advised against farm-raised Atlantic salmon and any tilapia, which is always farm raised, often in less than sanitary conditions. From the small-boat supplier from whom I’ve boat tuna for years, I’ve learned that farmed fish is also taking over the Pacific salmon market. But there are reliable cooperatives, like Alaska Gold. And from Central Market I often order Verlasso salmon which is farmed in ocean water off the coast of Chile.

Anyway, to continue with our good weekend. Yesterday, Jordan said Christian would either try the turkey burger recipe I had or order in. He came out, and I showed him the recipe, and he said he’d try. Confession: I hadn’t really meant to bully him into cooking. I was prepared to do it myself, since this recipe clearly called for skillet burgers rather than grilled. But he took the recipe and disappeared into the house. What he created was really good. He added basil and something to a very basic recipe, but it was flavorful. And more important, it held together, which was his concern. The recipe called for a bit of mayonnaise, and I think that was the binding agent. Made delicious burgers with cheese, tomato, and mayo on a bun.

So tonight, It was my turn again, and by request I made carnitas. I’ve decided everyone’s carnitas are different, and I’m about to call mine “Gringo carnitas.” Most that you get in restaurants are shredded pork; mine are cubed. Years ago from a co-worker who had lived in Arizona I learned to cook a pork butt without the oven: you cube it and simmer in salted water until the water evaporates and the meat browns in its own juices. That plain version was served with a garlicky lemon sauce. But then I found a recipe for adding seasonings—bay leaves, cinnamon, clove, onion, oregano, orange peel—to the cooking water. And there was our carnitas meal.

Still cooking it was a problem. Several times I put too much water in, and it took so long to cook down that it was almost midnight before we ate. Tonight I measured scrupulously—2.5 lbs. pork butt and two cups water, but I decided my idea of simmer and what the recipe meant was far apart. When I kept it at a low boil, the liquid evaporated, and the meat browned.

Jordan and I have often served this with black beans straight out of the can, but today I gussied them up a bit. Sauteed chopped shallot in oil, added cumin, garlic, and oregano, omitted the green pepper the recipe called for (I really can’t tolerate them) and called it beans. Really a vast improvement. 

Can you tell I had fun this weekend? Otherwise, it was sort of ordinary, with the exception of the dog incident, of course. A lot of reading, a bit of writing, a lot of thinking, a couple of light rain shower for which we are grateful. Every bit is precious.

And so we head into another week, with the world in turmoil, here at home and abroad. I am inundated with political emails, which is probably my own fault for contributing to various races and speaking my mind. But what wears me out—and comes closes to antagonizing me—is that I get five or six emails a day from the same candidate. One minute the message is, “We’re pulling ahead. We can do this.” But not five minutes later an email will bemoan their loss and proclaim, “We’re packing it up. Going home.” Well, I know they are not going home.

I am a loyal Democrat, have been all my life, but it is frustrating to get repeated messages urging me to renew my membership. When I first tried, the Action Blue website said it could not perform this action; later, it accepted my money, but I still get lots of messages urging me to renew. I wrote once to complain about something and got a standard letter apologetically explaining that they simply can’t answer individual emails.

I hope it’s not an omen. I remain optimistic about a blue Texas.

A day of little things, some not so good

 

A foggy, damp and gray morning kind of set the tone for the day to come. We’re expecting rain, but so far just the dampness—and what it does to the spirits.

TCU lost a valuable employee, many of us lost a good friend, and I lost a blog follower yesterday when Tracy Thompson was found dead in her home. Tracy was for as long as memory serves the liaison between retirees and TCU, and she was unfailingly cheerful, polite, and helpful in a role that surely would strain the best of dispositions. We were friends—not close, but friends. For a while we both belonged to a group that lunched together, and I think Tracy came to one of the memoir-writing classes I taught. I know she followed my blog and commented sometimes, and I was always glad to hear from her. I think the last time I heard she said she was anxious to try my salmon croquette recipe because her late mom had made those, and she missed them. Rest in peace, Tracy. I know your smile is brightening Heaven, even as many of us are left with a hole in our hearts at your sudden and unexpected leavetaking.

Dull, rainy days are good for proofreading, and I managed to get through another seventy-five pages today, so that I have only fifty to go. I have sudden anxiety attacks that I haven’t saved all my work, but every page seems to have a correction, so I guess that’s okay. Good friend Carol said she would help me proof if she weren’t snowed under with her own projects, but I told her, truthfully, it is something I need to do myself. I am making notes for whoever deals with my corrections. And I’m appalled that I didn’t remember how stormy the Custer marriage was—or how stormy I made it in my novel, which was based heavily on primary sources.

Jordan and I had another “girls night in” dinner tonight, as Christian had an office event. We chose scallops for dinner. Christian said last night at dinner he would eat scallops at Saint Emilion,, the fanciest, French-est restaurant in Fort Wowrth, but not anyplace else. I raised my hand, and he hastily said he would eat them if I cooked them. Jordan explained to our dinner guest that Christian has a big appetite and scallops are expensive—we save them for when it is the two of us.

Tonight, we made them in a au gratin sauce, which I kind of think is a poor man’s or lazy man’s version of coquilles St. Jacques—the sauce had butter, crème fraiche, white wine, lemon zest, and pinches of cayenne and salt. All would have been fine, except that the spoon overbalanced in the dish, splashed out, and I had sauce all over me, the butcher block, and the floor—Sophie took care of the latter, with an apologetic look at me.

We ran into cooking problems that I think we’re caused by trying to use a toaster/oven instead of a regular one. I usually don’t have a problem with that, but tonight Jordan, who has a horror of rare/raw meat or seafood, kept saying they weren’t cooked, even though we left them longer than called for. I have to give her credit—when we finally ate them, they were perfect—soft, not rubbery, and yet cooked through. Contrary to the recipe I topped them with some panko and pecorino. A good ladies dinner.

Seems like there were other things on my mind today, but I cannot think of them. I’m off to read a mystery. Have a good weekend, everyone.