Comfort Food

We all remember the food prepared from our childhood.

As for me, I grew up in what was called the "Dishwater Generation" -- a few years after the babies had boomed, but not quite into the sexual revolution.  Our moms simply stood there, staring into back-yard windows; sighing, as their hands moved about in quiet, fetid, dishwater while Eisenhower droned on about how good life was.

1956 - 1961: The "Dishwater Generation"

When I was born, Elvis was old news yet John F. Kennedy was not yet new. A few years later, I don't think that anyone grew up with more of an Epitome of Mid-Sixties Bland Cuisine than I did.

Just take a look at the homestead where I was raised (I captured this frame from Google maps.)

It's a large, white-brick home, constructed in the early sixties with no windows. I was six years old and loved it.

The kitchen was in the back and had an ivory, 1960s, push-button stove. My mom was barely 23 years old when I was born and had very little experience in the kitchen.

Mom worked hard. She was the drama teacher and athletic coach at the local high school and, at the age of 26, was the sponsor of just about every high school club that existed.

My dad, two years younger, was the counselor at the high school and a part-time Baptist minister. Lots of hugs, snugly rough-housing, and loving bed-time stories were administered by them to me and my younger brother.

Needless to say, meals in this household were the epitome of "Mid-Sixties-New-Quick-and-Easy-In-And-Out."

Mas was definietly an active young mother in the Dishwater Generation and had been well-armored with a very few recipes.

One was called "Weenie Stew."

It consisted of a pound of wieners, cut into 1" chunks, browned in a skillet -- then tomato sauce was added, maybe a chopped onion, and served over Minute Rice. Always with a side of canned peas and canned pears as a dessert.

That was it.  
Weenie Stew, canned peas and pears.
Supper.
At least once a week for three years running.

Then mom and dad divorced.
Child support ensued.
Dad continued to nurture my brother and me a lot and we listened to "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" during our every-other-weekends together with him (he was 31 years old).
He was always an intelligent, supportive, and a loving parent.
I thought that was really cool.
Mom was a wonderful single parent and was incredibly loving, dedicated and supportive. As she was a single parent, I'll always be in awe of what she accomplished. Whenever I had a recital or concert, she was always there. She eventually learned to cook quite well.

To this day, though, she happily admits that, as a child, I learned to cook "out of self defense."

Even though my young parents divorced, I was a very fortunate kid.

So, in that vein, I happily give you the epitome of "Mid-Sixties Comfort Food" for me.

Weenie Stew with Canned Peas.

Cut a pound of wieners into 1-inch chunks, and brown in a cast-iron skillet. (Preferably on a 1964, General Electric, push-button stove just like the one we had back in 1966 -- mine is the same, still works and I love it.)

Add a chopped onion

Add 2 small cans of tomato sauce. Simmer for a half hour.
Or not.

Serve over Minute Rice with canned peas

There you have it. THE epitome of Mid-Sixties American Cuisine.

Whenever I want "Comfort Food" - - 
Weenie Stew and Peas

That is it!

Chicago-Style Deep Dish Pizza

Living in Chicago, we have twenty-four-seven access to the world's best pizza: Chicago-style deep dish. For those of you unfamiliar with this scrumptious item, here's a description.

A think layer of yeasty, bready dough is topped with cheese, then sauce, then toppings. That's right -- the cheese is under the sauce and the whole thing is baked in a deep pan. One slice can make a meal, believe me.

Yes, we have access to it but it ain't cheap. So, I've developed my own method of supplying it for myself and I have to say, it's just about my favorite in town.

Start with a frozen Gino's deep dish pizza.  (Gino's is one of the best Chicago-style pizza eateries here.) It's five bucks at local supermarkets.

Top it with extra sauce. (My homemade tomato sauce in this case.)
I have to have it extra saucy.

Top that with a package of frozen spinach, thawed, and squeezed dry.

Then, mushrooms browned in butter, according to Julia's recipe of course.

All that gets topped with extra-sharp cheddar cheese.

And baked.

And there you have it. Chicago-style deep dish pizza for a fraction of the cost. And just about the best in town.

Julia's Bouillabaisse

After last week's incredibly sumptuous meal of Sauté de Boeuf à la Parisienne, my steadfast dinner companion decided to hold fast to a diet and asked if we could hold off on our weekly Julia Child forays.

I was devastated.

Well, 'devastated' may a bit dramatic, but I was concerned to say the least.

After all, how does one find another weekly dinner companion who lives only a block away in downtown Chicago? How many social websites are there that cater to single, middle-aged men who delight in sharing weekly meals featuring only recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking in downtown Chicago?

Six, maybe seven?

That word, "diet" was the key. Julia had to change everything when her husband, Paul, was transferred from Paris to Marseilles in the south of France. Rather than fight it, she delighted in it.

Why couldn't I do the same?

Bouillabaisse was the answer; that fisherman's fish stew, the epitome of Marseilles' cookery, if not in all of southern France. Not a speck of Paris's nasty cream, butter or bacon was to be found, but instead, a  Provençal infusion of onion, garlic, fennel, tomato, basil, bay, orange peel and saffron.

Bouillabaisse originated as a means for rough-n-tough fisherman to utilize scraps of the day's catch by incorporating it into a tasty seafood stew. Of course, our French friends refined it, imparted local flavors, and our Julia swept in to make it as appealing as possible for us all. She is quoted, saying "to me the telling flavor of bouillabaisse comes from two things: the Provençal soup base - garlic, onions, tomatoes, olive oil, fennel, saffron, thyme, bay, and usually a bit of dried orange peel - and, of course, the fish - lean (non-oily), firm-fleshed, soft-fleshed, gelatinous, and shellfish."

I began this new journey by sweet-talking the fish guy at Whole Foods Market for some fish scraps with which to make the broth. Fortunately, he had plenty of huge cod frames (a non-oily fish) that he was willing to sell for next to nothing. (The very friendly young woman at the check-out was rather perplexed, if not alarmed, at the sight of these rather large fish skeletons. Upon informing her that they were to go in to Julia Child's bouillabaisse, and that I blogged about it, she asked for my website address. Such a treat.)

Fish frames, tomatoes, onion, garlic, fennel, basil, bay, saffron, and orange peel all piled in to make a flavorful broth:

 Meanwhile, seafood of your choice should wait in readiness. In this case, fresh cod, sea scallops, shrimp and Cherrystone clams. (I accidentally killed two pounds of mussels. The fish guy said they like ice and, apparently, I failed to provide them with an adequate ice bed. Half of them were dead by the time I was about to boil them alive in scorching broth.)

Here's my seafood, ready and waiting:

Perhaps the best part of bouillabaisse is the garlicky "rouille" -- that mayonnaise-like topping consisting of roasted red pepper, lots of raw garlic, boiled potato, basil, hot chile, all blended with olive oil until you have a thick, red, garlic mayonnaise.

Here's the final deal:
Bouillabaisse with a dollop of rouille

And since red pepper, orange peel and fennel went into the preparation, why not feature it in the salad?
(I served it with an orange juice, tarragon-and-olive-oil dressing)

I can see that Julia fell in love with Marseilles. Obviously, she embraced it with all her Julia-esque enthusiasm and imparted everything she loved into her recipe for bouillabaisse with rouille. 

Actually, the whole thing is an experience; from preparing it to serving it to sharing it. At first, the fish stock tastes a bit bland, but please don't over-salt it. If you've used the right fish frames and followed Julia's instructions, all will be well.

Add your fresh seafood -- But a word of warning: If adding clams or mussels in their shells, for god's sake, scrub them well with a green scrubby (dig in to the crevasses) and rinse them more than you think you need to. A few slightly sandy clams can ruin an entire seafood stew. You can put all your effort into making the perfect broth, but the slightest bit of grit is no joke. Trust me on that one.

Don't overcook the seafood. Just poach it and serve it before the clams and mussels open up all the way. Let each guest stir in a spoonful or two of rouille into each bowl, sit back, and watch the ecstasy ensue.

Honestly, you have not experienced seafood until you've "done" Julia's bouillabaisse avec sa rouille. (Pardon my French, please.) The combination of the perfectly prepared fish stock, with the best seafood you can find, topped off with the perfect rouille (and a bottle of fine, white Bordeaux) and you will have then experienced the best that any sea can offer.

Honestly, I just love that Julia could do this for us.

A Little Tong Action

Here’s a kitchen utensils that I find invaluable, yet I’ve never seen Julia Child ever use it.

A simple pair of tongs. They pretty much stay in my right hand while I’m cooking and will be used for a multitude of purposes: To flip sautéing chicken, give a sauce a quick stir, deglaze a sauté pan, whirl some boiling pasta, plating an entrée, and later, scraping plates into the sink. Yet, if you watch decades of Julia’s programs, not once will you see a pair of tongs being used.

Frankly, she seems to spend an inordinate amount of time clumsily grasping things out of pans with two spoons, often with a couple of flimsy plastic ones. I could never figure out why. Perhaps tongs weren’t utilized in France when she learned to cook. Maybe it’s because she didn’t spend much time in professional kitchen where there’s often a dozen tongs lying about. But it’s very obvious she never once used a pair of tongs on TV.

There are all kinds of tongs out there to choose from. Heavy duty ones that lock on the end are good if you don’t want them springing open in your utensil drawer. There are silicone-tipped tongs that can be used on non-stick pans. For me, I use the cheap, garden variety, restaurant-kitchen tongs.

Again, the absence of tongs in Julia’s kitchen is a mystery. She wholeheartedly embraced new gadgets such as the microplane, the Cuisinart and non-stick equipment.

But the woman never employed any tong-action.

Here's a Great Deal for You

Kitchen equipment: A subject near and dear to my heart. I really enjoy having the right equipment but don’t go in for the fancy-schmancy, name-brand items that one finds at high-end shops. Those items look impressive which is all fine and dandy if you’re into “kitchen porn.”

Having worked in professional kitchens, I prefer to obtain basic equipment at restaurant-supply establishments. These items are meant to be durable; to be rambunctiously slammed around in a fast-paced kitchen. They’re cost effective; after all, that line of chefs will need two or three dozen frying pans hanging around.

Occasionally, I’ve come across some exceptional deals online that are really too good to pass up and I feel I must pass on to you. A few months ago, I was in the market for a saucier – a large, rounded-bottomed saucepan that enables efficient whisking.

I found this one at J.C. Penney of all places. It's a large, 3-quart size, has a glass-and-metal lid (that’s a nice feature), an extra, riveted handle, and three-ply, stainless steel with an aluminum core.

Are you ready for this? It was only $39.99.

I read the reviews and they were all good. I looked at the specs and it appeared to be pretty heavy. Both handles are metal, so it can go in the oven as well. Comparable items sold for $100 - $200 bucks. Apprehensively, I ordered it and it turned out to be a fantastic piece of equipment.

You can order it here.

"To Master The Art . . .

I was assisting two friends of mine in hosting a Thanksgiving dinner for about thirty people here in Chicago when I met one of the guests named David. By the time I was introduced to him, he knew that I was a Julia Child cook and blogger, so they asked if I'd been to "the Julia Child play."

"The what?" I queried.

The play about Julia Child. "I think it's called 'Mastering the Art' or something like that",  he said. It was a play about Julia Child and her husband when they lived in postwar France and her discovery of cooking.  "But it's been sold out for a long time," said another one of the Davids. 

"To Master the Art"

He said that the theatre might be adding a couple of performances and that I should call the Timeline Theatre the very next day. Maybe I could get a ticket. . . .

I called the theatre the next day, the very minute the box office opened. All performances were sold out, But! . . alas! .They had added one more performance on December 15th and had only two tickets left. . .
"Did I want them?"

"Yes . . . innocently . . . Implicitly. . . .

My bestie foodie friend, Liane, accompanied me on a blisteringly cold night to a performance of "To Master the Art".  Within the first thirty seconds of this performance, I had tears streaming down my face. The performance was that stunning. Liane was, hopefully, not embarrassed by my reaction; I doubt that she was surprised by it. (After all, that's why I brought my bestie foodie friend to accompany me to the world premier of this performance.)

Needless to say, the performances were brilliant throughout. Whenever there was a scene in a restaurant, a kitchen, or the Cordon Bleu, the audience was permeated with exquisite different aromas: roasted chicken in tarragon, and, (I swear) the smell of beurre blanc blasted the audience.

The theatre was small and intimate, perhaps six rows seated in-the-round, so we could really enjoy every facial expression. (I'm dying to see what some chef-musician wanna-be will do to Julia's vocal line when this is crucified into an off-Broadway musical -- and don't think for a moment that I won't be the one to take a stab at doing it!)

Please know that "To Master the Art" the stage performance was written BEFORE the movie "Julia and Julia" - - that abominable, trite thing. 

I'm truly sad that I saw the last performance of "To Master the Art."  During the next two-and-a-half hours of the performance, I laughed, was surprised, cried some more and continued to be overwhelmed  - - - at how much joy can be obtained from food. . . . Such joy from food! 

But, you know, . . . . the same thing happens whenever I prepare any one of Julia's recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Whenever I follow Julia's precise instructions, pure unalloyed joy -- and some euphoria - - are always the results. How many endeavors such as that can one claim?

"To Master the Art" conveyed precisely what I've felt about Julia's work all along. That's why I wept within the first thirty seconds.

"To Master the Art" will be a huge hit, mark my words.
My only frustration is this - -

- - that everyone I truly love didn't get to see it with me.

Kofta Balls in Tomato Sauce

Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna,

Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare . . .

Did you know that devotees of Krishna have a cuisine all their own? Go to any restaurant owned by Krishna devotees and the food items will be readily identifiable.

For about ten years, I lived in Dallas Texas which has a large, vibrant Krishna community. Every year on World Food Day, they would provide free meals all day long and I volunteered my services in the kitchen of their gorgeous restaurant, Kalachandji's. So, that’s how I became familiar with their cuisine.

First of all, one will notice a vegetarian vein. Being strict believers in the principle of karma and reincarnation, nothing is served that involves the killing of animals. "Every meal gives the gift of life," is one of their beliefs.  Dairy products are used but eggs are not.

Being that the Krishna movement is a form of Hinduism, most food items will have an Indian flavor to them with one notable difference. In addition to meat and ova, Krishna devotees (along with Jains,) strictly refrain from eating onions or garlic. It has something to do with them being offensive to God or that they arouse sexual desires. Maybe both. But whatever the reason, one will find Krishna (Vedantic) and Jainist cuisine without garlic or onions.

I think Julia would have looked upon their food beliefs with suspicion, especially the non-use of garlic or onions. She had a disdain for anyone who "feared food" in any shape or form. (Conversely, did not she "fear" vegetarian or vegan cuisine?) However, the means by which our Vedantic friends did utilize and enjoy their cuisine would have, I believe, eventually brought her around. 

In the place of garlic and onions, you’ll find the ever-present and very unique spice called asafetida. It is the powered, dried gum resin of a herbaceous plant and, in its raw state, has a very strong odor reminiscent of . . . well . . . cat urine.

Believe me, if you spill it or leave it uncovered, your dwelling will smell like a tom-cat has left his mark. However, once cooked, it does impart a musky, evocative flavor reminiscent of onions and "that" flavor is the truly the mark of Krishna cuisine.

One of my favorite dishes is their Kofta Balls in Tomato Sauce. We served many cafeteria trays of it every year on World Food Day in Dallas and it was always a staple in the countless daily meals that the Krishna community provided to the homeless and shut-ins. A more tasty, appealing, nutritious, and inexpensive entree would be really hard to find.

It’s a first cousin to spaghetti and meatballs but with a Vedantic twist. Garbanzo bean flour (besan) is mixed with spices, including the ever-present asafetida, grated cauliflower, grated cabbage, rolled into balls and deep fried. These are served with a flavorful tomato sauce (yes, with asafetida) over pasta.

Oh, and another quality about asafetida is that it prevents flatulence. We've got cauliflower, cabbage and bean flour going on here, but nary a toot follows the meal. Maybe that's the non-offensive part.

The result is meat-less meatballs that are surprisingly juicy. Very juicy in fact. I frequently prepared this dish when I was a Franciscan friar and, even though one funny friar referred to my kofta balls as "coughed-up balls", they all enjoyed them. Especially the funny friar.

Start with 1 ½ cups of besan (garbanzo bean flour), Soy flour could probably be substituted.
1 Tbs garam masala (an Indian spice mixture usually containing cloves, cinnamon, cumin, fenugreek and coriander)
1 ½ tsp salt
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
½  tsp turmeric
½ tsp asafetida
½ tsp cayenne

Mix in:

2 cups grated cauliflower (which is really 1 whole cauliflower)
2 cups grated cabbage

Mix it all together with your hands and really squoosh it together. (I like to don latex gloves for hand-mixing and squooshing) The grated cauliflower and cabbage exude just enough juice to bring it all together. You’ll have a moist paste which can be formed into 1-inch balls.

Tomato Sauce:

1 28 oz can of crushed tomatoes
1 cup water
¼ cup olive oil
1 medium carrot cut into 6 pieces
½ tsp asafetida
2 tsp dried basil
1 tsp salt
¼ tsp black pepper
2 bay leaves

Fry the spices in the oil and butter, add the tomatoes, carrot, and water. Simmer for 30 minutes. The carrot draws out a lot of acidity. Discard the carrot when the sauce is finished. Taste one and you'll be surprised how sour it is. Italian grandmas have done the same with their tomato gravy for generations.

Fry the kofta balls in hot oil for at least 12 minutes, 6 minutes on each side, until dark golden brown. (You really want to avoid undercooked insides, so don't make the balls any more than an inch in diameter.)

Incidentally, Krishna cooks use clarified butter called "ghee" for deep-frying. Although deep-frying in ghee is incredibly rich and appealing, it can be hugely expensive for a one-shot deal. Trust me, Julia would have swooned had she seen a Krishna deep-fryer filled with clarified butter.

Place them in the tomato sauce for 10 minutes and serve over pasta.

Devotees offer a prayer over each food item and set aside one serving of each recipe as an offering to Krishna. However, I never saw what they mysteriously did with it afterward.

If there's a Krishna temple in your city, check it out and see if they have a restaurant --  many of them do. I’ve always appreciated their unique cuisine. The smell of jasmine incense is usually wafting in from the adjoining temple giving the restaurant its own other-worldly ambiance.

Aside from its very identifiable flavor, thanks to the asafetida, there’s just something very appealing and special about consuming “spiritualized” food, regardless of the faith from whence it comes.

Hare Krishna . . .