Poo Update

I admit that I couldn't resist.  I'm not sure what motivated a whole haircare movement to dub itself the "Low 'Poo Method", because I for one have never referred to my regular hairwashing routine as 'Poo.  No, it's really true.  You won't find me walking down the store aisle wondering aloud, "I wonder where they keep all their 'Poo?"  or thinking, "Geez, that bar was really smokey.  I'd better 'poo my hair before work tomorrow."

All 'Poo aside, I had deeply hesitated attempting any haircare efforts that literally did not involve soap.  If using soap in all its many many wonderful forms means I'm an affiliate of the man, then bring. it. on.  I love soap.  Dish soap.  Dishwasher soap.  Dishwasher soap packets.  Laundry soap.  Organic gardening became more appealing when I learned it could involve Insecticidal Soap.  Take that, non-beneficial insects!  I've got a good cleaning coming your way!

However, I have become increasing dissatisfied with my beloved soap when it comes to hair care.  I tried cheap (older, more tried-true ingredients at times), I've tried fancy (more fancy?), I've tried "all natural" (ingredient list I can, mostly, read).  I've even tried bar soap.  The winner of the soap category?  The bar soap.  My hair had a lot more...shall we say "texture", but it also was clean and my scalp was not launching a full-on resistance.

Aaah, resistance.  It's lead me to be more "eco-friendly" than any other motivation.  So now we come to the crux of the matter.

To 'Poo or not to 'Poo?  I finally decided, maybe, kind of, to try not 'pooing.

My first thought was, "Why haven't any of these other bloggers delved into the blog goldmine of a volcano of foaming low-'poo scalp?"  Apparently, because there is no volcano.  I was very disappointed.  In my book, if I combine baking soda and vinegar on my head, and cast aside all other 'poos be they scented, organic, or made of placenta, then there should be at least a little fizzing.  Foaming.  Mentos/Diet Coke-style explosion in the shower.  It would all be good with me.  But alas, none of that occurred. 

What did occur was: my hair was clean!  Like, "regular shampoo clean".  As in "I've been washing my hair with a combination of conditioner and bar soap for a week and have the afro to prove it so anything I put on my head has a whole mess of funk to deal with" clean.  Clean!  Clean!  Hallelujah!

Also, my blood pressure did not go up.  (I took it the day after unpooing.  Or whatever it's called.)  I read that some individuals may have problems.  And it makes sense.  Your scalp is pretty vascular.  And baking soda is pretty salty.

Medium-Batch Tsoureki / I think I see bubbles

Tsoureki.  My first foray into Greek Cooking.  Which is a lot like Italian Cooking, except it doesn't have basil, because basil was found by St. Somebody around the foot of the cross.  I know that's not very specific.  But, speaking candidly, I don't care what was growing around the foot of the cross.  Especially if it was basil, because basil is delicious, medicinal, and easy to grow.  I can't imagine that Jesus would feel that if basil were growing around his cross that it should be verboten to his beloved people forever. I mean, he made it.  He knows how good it is.  If He had died atop a hill of johnson grass, maybe I would feel differently.

I had heard about these legendary Easter Breads in passing, read about them once or twice (Italians make them too) and finally came across a recipe that sounded so tasty that I could not resist making it for Easter.  I modified it for size because the original made 5-6 loaves.  I mean, when a recipe is so large the author is not clear on how many whole loaves it makes it is too large for my kitchen.  And in addition, the actual yield of the original recipe, based on my experience, is 1000.  Yes.  Possibly 2000.  It's a lot.  My cut-down recipe, which I cannot even honestly call a "small batch", makes one hubcab-sized loaf or, likely, 2-3 normal-sized loaves.  But it was worth it because it is not only great fresh, it is lucious day after day for breakfast slathered in butter and dunked in your hot beverage of choice.  It is rich, and just lightly sweet, with a velvety, almost cakey texture.  I think I need to go make some more, because my hubcab of Easter love didn't last very long.

Medium-Batch Tsoureki

1 package fast-rising yeast
1/2 C. warm water
3-4 C.sifted all-purpose flour
1/2 C. sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 eggs, separated
1/2-1/3 C. milk
1/2 C. butter (one stick, in America)
half a can of sesame seeds
1 TB. vanilla or almond extract (I made mine with vanilla)
Hardboiled and festively dyed eggs for decoration (extremely optional, but attractive)

Mix together the warm water, salt, and sugar in a large bowl.  Add in the yeast and let proof for 5-10 minutes or until seriously foamy.  As in, "froth on beer" foamy, not "I stirred it a little and I think I see bubbles" foamy.  That is not enough foamy.  That amount of foamy could be "yeast is actually dead but faking you out" foamy, otherwise known as "ahahahaha try and burn ME in the oven, your bread will never rise, yeast-hater" foamy.  Stir in 2 egg yolks and 1 egg white.  (The other egg white is for brushing on top later.)  Add in your milk.  Sift your flour and stir it into the yeast micture one cup at a time, mixing it well to make a smooth batter, then, as you continue adding flour, a glossy dough that pulls away from the sides of the bowl.  Turn it out onto a well-floured surface and knead it about 10 minutes, adding in additional flour as necessary to prevent it becoming too sticky.  When you're done, you should have a satiny elastic dough that does not tear easily.  Put it in a well-greased bowl and cover it with plastic wrap (or wet cheesecloth, it works just fine).  Set your dough in a warm place.  (I've had good success with putting the oven on the lowest setting, letting it preheat, then putting in the dough to rise and turning the oven off after I shut the door).  Let it rise until doubled, about 1-1/2 hours.  This will be your longest rising time.  When it's risen, punch it down and let it rise until doubled again (about 45 minutes).  When it's done so, turn it out onto your work surface and cut it into 6 pieces.  Shape each piece into a long snake.  Braid three snakes together, then turn them into a wreath.  Put your wreaths onto your baking sheets.  Tuck the dyed eggs in amongst the sections of braid if you want the eggs in for decoration.  Then, brush each wreath with the egg white and sprinkle sesame seeds all over them until they are basically more sesame seed than bread.  Yum.  Put them in the oven and bake at 350 until golden brown on top and they sound hollow when tapped on the bottom.  I had to tent mine with aluminum foil for the last 15 minutes or so to prevent the crust from scorching, but a rich caramel brown crust is actually pretty tasty, and this bread's texture doesn't result in a tough crust.  Au contraire.  Weap, packaged white bread, weap.  Toothsome crusts come from the home oven now.


 

Slap Your Momma Biscuits

Hello all!  I hope to post some tastylicious recipes for you to enjoy in the next few weeks, reversing the trend of several months, ie "not posting at all ever, like, ever".  To break the fast I bring you:

Slap Your Momma Biscuits

Why are they called this?  I don't know, and I named them.  Let me clarify.  Here in the American South, we have this phrase, "It/They was/were so good, they made/will make I/me/you/everyone on the planet slap your/his/her/their Momma."  Okay.  But, why?  Why is something so tasty or delightful that it makes a person want to hit their mother?  I don't know.  It defies my reason.  By the same logic, a person could say, "Oh my, this train is so on-time it makes me want to fart inappropriately in an elevator!" or "I love my girlfriend so much that I want to ask her to marry me and then put minor body damage on a stranger's car!"  Not that I'm negating the actual offense of mother-slapping.  It's just that the implied offense in the "slap yo momma" phrase is similar to stinky farts or not leaving a note when your shopping cart leaves a scrape.  But, at the end of the day, when someone says "such and such is sooo good, it'll make you want to slap yo momma!" they mean it is THAT good.  SO GOOD.  OH MY HEAVENLY HOSTS THERE ARE ANGELS DANCING ON THE TIP OF MY TONGUE.  So let's get down to it.  Just don't slap yo momma.  Or told her you wanted to slap her.  Or she may slap you in a pre-emptive mother slapping strike.

By the way, this is definitely one of those recipes where the technique is actually more important than the list of the ingredients.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

 Slap Your Momma Biscuits

1-1/2 C. SIFTED flour.  IE, sift it into the measuring cup, or sift it and then measure it, but by all means DO NOT measure it and then sift it!

2 TB. shortening or lard
2 TB. soft butter + extra for brushing on the top
1/2 tsp. salt
1-1/2 tsp. single-acting (aluminum-free) or 3/4 tsp. double-acting ("regular") baking powder
1/2 to 3/4 C. buttermilk*

Preheat the oven to 450F.  Combine the sifted flour with the salt and baking powder.  Cut in the shortening and butter until the mixture has a grainy, sandy texture.  If you need more of the fat, add more shortening for crustiness or more butter for tenderness.  Gently mix in the buttermilk until the dough is moist and can be patted into a shape.  Proceed to turn the dough out onto a floured surface and pat it into a shape.  These biscuits are crustiest when you pat the dough 1/2 inch thick and then cut them into rounds with a SHARP biscuit cutter.  They are fluffier if you pinch off the dough into golfball-sized chunks and then softly pat them into a round shape.  Either way, do not overwork the dough!  By "not overworking", I mean that the process should literally process (proh-CESS) like this if you're getting ready to cut out rounds, for example: "Dumdedum, mixing in the buttermilk, dumping it out, pat pat, nudge nudge, a little more patting DONE."  Basically, as soon as you have the dough in a defined shape you've worked it enough.  Otherwise your product will be tough little items useful for sporting practice, or deterring the local racoon from your garden by show of force, but not for eating.  Take it from me, the person who learned how to make pastry before she learned how to make biscuits and paid dearly for it.  Returning to the subject, put your biscuits nestled up to each other with their sides touching on your baking pan or ideally your cast iron skillet, and brush or spread a little pat of butter on each top.  (I just spread it on, but it would be easier I guess if it were melted?)  Then, bake them in your nice hot oven, without peaking (except to look through the glass door with the oven light on, if you are so blessed) for about 10 minutes, or until the tops are golden brown.  If you are not blessed with a glass door and an oven light, wait at least 5 minutes before checking on them.  When they are done, take them out and let them cool off a minute or so before devouring them like hungry animals with lots of butter, honey, jam, gravy, or whatever you like to put on biscuits.  Seriously, they're that good.  They're pretty good leftover too.  So maybe I should rechristen them "Hungry Animal Biscuits."  Naaah.

*You can make your own buttermilk by combining the total volume minus 1-2 TB of milk with 1-2 TB vinegar or lemon juice.  Either option tastes fine.



 

Huh.

So, I haven't posted a lot.  And...people still visit this blog.  For the recipes.  Success.  It baffles me that my stuff both comes up in a google search and is, apparently favored over more "legit" sources.  I don't know, maybe it's because the stuff is good?  Or not ridiculously complicated?  Who knows.  Still, it's fun to check on a project that was on the back burner's back burner and see that it apparently has as many visits as it did in its heydey of me posting things three times a week.  So...congratulations to me...for being a culinary success...in the eyes of the anonymous internet?

The Joy of Leftovers

So, I was somewhat tempted to make a post of helpful hints.  However, I feel that the "hints" in question will make you think what I thought when I read the recipes for some of the classic French sauces in one of my cookbooks: "You've got to be kidding me; I mean, really, who has the time for that?"  On a side note, I feel that the British speak pattern of endless run-on sentences is superlative for complaints or criticisms.  Take the above example-- while adequately punctuated, it contains no less than three separate items of complaint.  Masterful.  Why all this fuss about French sauces?  Because a lot of those sauces are made from another sauce, which is made from yet a third sauce, or at the very least requires fresh homemade meat stock, which may as well be a sauce since it takes another three hours to prepare it.  I mean, honestly, really, what is the point?  So I won't pretend that my "hints" are expedient, but I will mention them since they were both pleasant surprises to me.

Hint # 1
"I am trying to eat more healthily but have a secret craving for that "Cream of Mushroom Soup" flavor for my casseroles."  Solution: make creamy mushroom risotto.  Put it in your casserole instead of boil-in-bag rice and Cream of Mushroom.  Tastes the same.  100% less badness.

Hint # 2
"I am trying to eat more healthily, or more low-meatily, but I miss the flavor of beefy delicious casseroles."  Solution: make my recipe for Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli and let it sit until the pasta soaks up the rest of the broth.  Put it on the bottom layer of your traditionally beefy casserole instead of ground beef.  This would obviously be best suited to a meat-and-tomato type dish.  Seriously.  It's yummy.

I discovered both of these through the joy of leftover eating.  Which just goes to show that doing so is not only cheap, but also educational.  I actually read a recent newspaper article that said that Italians in Italy are suddenly going back to eating leftovers instead of, I guess, just throwing them away.  I would judge, but I know Americans are no better.  I feel like I need to start an outreach program for people who were not brought up to actually make good use of their money.  Maybe that's what this blog is.

Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli / All Kinds of Rants

This is an easy, quicker version of the Italian staple, Pasta e Fagiole soup which, for some inexplicable reason, is pronounced "Pasta Fazhool".  Linguists of the world, please do not unite and try to explain to me exactly why this is.  I can actually work some, less-abstruse parts of it out for myself.  I just prefer to hyperbolize.  I would say this is an "x-ingredient recipe" except that the actual number of ingredients is not impressively-sounding low enough although, for the record, neither is the typical "x-ingredient recipe" if you count the actual number of ingredients required.  Let me rant a little here: if the recipe boldly highlights, possibly with full-color pictures, a can of some kind of soup, a jar of ketchup, and a package of ground beef, that does not mean those are the only ingredients if the rest of the (text) part of the recipe goes on to explain that you also need an onion, 4 different kinds of spices, a tub of sour cream, specialty cheesecloth, and a yak.  If an illiterate person combined the "three ingredients" he or she would not get a result like unto the picture.  Also, literate persons are then required to make a trip to a) the regular grocery store for two of the four spices that they don't have and the sour cream (who keeps sour cream besides people with serious nacho fixations?) and b) the specialty grocery for the cheesecloth and yak. 

Anyway, while the number of ingredients in this recipe is not of an Olympic-quality lowness, it is a pretty short list.  And, more importantly, the actual time to make this is about 12-15 minutes.  The end result is a pretty decent pot of Pasta e Fagioli soup that is hearty enough for a big bowlful for dinner or as an accompaniment to other things.  The tomato flavor is considerably rich, so if you want a lighter (or just brothier) soup, put in half the tomato sauce and substitute the missing volume with water.  (Or prepared broth of your choice.)

Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli

2 14-oz. cans red kidney beans, drained
1 15-oz. can prepared tomato sauce (your favorite jarred spaghetti sauce might be good here too)
8 oz. pasta
1 clove garlic
2-3 C. boiling water on hand
1 tsp. salt (or less-- I'm happy with the flavor I got but it could be less salty and still be flavorful)
1-2 TB. cooking oil
mint flakes, ground red pepper, and Italian seasoning to taste (I used about 1/2 tsp. each)
plenty of grated Parmesan cheese to serve it with*

Get your hot water ready in a separate pan (or microwave it, or use an electric tea kettle...whatever works for you).  Mince the garlic.  In a medium-small soup pot, heat the oil, then saute the garlic over medium heat just until it starts to release its flavors.  Then, add in the spices and salt (or you can wait to add the salt until the end) and stir them around in the bottom of the pot for a few seconds to allow them all to frizzle and release their flavors.  Then, dump in the cans of beans and tomato sauce.  Bring all that to a rapid simmer, stirring to mix the spices and garlic in thoroughly.  Then, dump in the uncooked macaroni.  Yes, you read me correctly.  No extra water (at this time).  Continue to stir, making sure to frequently scrape the bottom of the pot.  As the pasta starts to cook, it will begin to absorb the excess water from the beans and tomato sauce.  Once the mixture starts getting thick, add in a little water, about 1/2 C.  Continue to stir until all this is absorbed, then repeat the process until the macaroni is fully cooked and the soup is the consistency you like it, about 10-12 minutes.  It's a given that the pasta will absorb the remaining liquid overnight, so be prepared to add a little water in the next time you eat it...or just enjoy it the way it is.)  Serve piping hot with plenty of Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top. 

I know I have been remiss in posting the amount a recipe will make, so here, for the first time (I think) is the quantity:

Makes 6-8 side dish portions or 3-4 dinner-sized portions.
_________

*It is officially the Italian way to put a heap of Parmesan on top of whatever you may be eating, whether it be soup, meat, or dessert.  (Okay, I'm kidding about the dessert.)  But you can leave it off if you have lactose issues, or are having difficulty finding cruelty-free dairy options.  I will confess that this is a frustration of mine as well.  All the Fancy Dancy Grocers I've ever been to have all kinds of specialty liquid dairy and, to some extent, yogurt options.  In the realm of liquid dairy, I am pretty sure if I wanted to find milk from a genetically-modified emu raised in a host family from Honduras where it was given a primary education and attended church with the family once a week, I could.  But when it comes to actual cheese, mysteriously there are no longer any choices.  "But what if I want to know if the cows who were integral in the making of this cheese lived lives similar to a cow's natural inclinations and also not fed gummy worms because grain or hay was too expensive (not making this up)?" I mentally ask the Fancy Dancy Grocers.  "Too bad for you," imply the Fancy Dancy Grocers with their lack of options.
 

Polenta Gangnam Style

Yes, I just went there.  Ever since I saw the music video which [spoiler alert] features Psy on the toilet [end spoiler], "Gangnam Style" has been my version of "Like a boss".  Which, I guess, was the point.  It's true.  I go around the house at times sounding like a bad impersonation of Kim Jong Il.  Returning to the subject, polenta is my new favorite meat substitute.  In order of likelihood, I will address your violent protests.  "But it doesn't hardly have any protein!"  Please.  When was the last time you chowed down on some plain tofu with salt and pepper for the sheer protein quality?  Thank you.  I would posit that the majority of the protein in a typical low-meat diet comes from: eggs, cheese, and beans.  And, according to some, kale.  But not me.  You will not find me "on the kale trail", as I once heard someone put it.  Ok, that's really the only protest I could think up.  But hear me out: it takes on the flavor of whatever you put it in, much like tofu, while itself having a pleasing texture and taste (especially if you make it with a savory broth), unlike tofu.  It also holds its shape remarkably well, also like tofu.  And, completely unlike tofu, it is both cheap and easy to make in your own kitchen in a short amount of time.  With all that being said, I present to you my tutorial of how to make polenta.  I offer it as a recipe AND tutorial because the recipe I used was somewhat vague and, at the time, I was totally unsure if I was over- or undercooking my polenta.  (I wasn't.  It turned out delicate and firm at the same time, unlike polenta I have had in the past that was dense and grainy.)  So here we go:

Polenta Gangnam Style

1-1/2 C. yellow corn meal (extra style points if it's non-GMO)
5 C. water or broth
1 tsp. salt
1-2 TB. cooking oil
more water

First: put your broth or water on the stove (aka the five cups-worth) and turn the unit on high so it will come to a rapid boil.  Then, whisk together your salt and cornmeal, then two cups of water (aka the "more water").  When the water or broth on the stove comes to a boil, dump all your water/cornmeal mixture into it in one go and whisk it rapidly while it's boiling to eliminate and also prevent any lumps.  Next, turn the heat on the stove down to medium, or even medium low.  You don't want to evaporate the water too fast.  Because that, my friends, is purpose A of the cooking of polenta: evaporating off the excess water.  Purpose B is to denature the corn proteins so that your finished product "sets".  Kind of like jello, which is made from animal proteins.  Geddit?  So, your role, once you've turned the stove Bwn, is to stand in front of your pot wearing your thickest skin or long sleeves and prepare to try not to get splattered by boiling hot proto-polenta while you stir it continuously (stir always in the same direction because that will help you not get splattered as much, especially as the polenta gets closer to being finished) for thirty minutes OR UNTIL DONE. 

Yes, I threw down the "until done" card.  I already broke one rule and mentioned organic chemistry in this post with the protein denaturing, so I might as well go all out.  Organic chemistry and "until done" do kind of go together, maybe because food is made mainly of organic compounds.  Unlike non-organic chemistry, which tend to happen on a predictable and invariable schedule, organic reactions happen as a law unto themselves.  So it is with cooking.  Sometimes "done" might be shorter than thirty minutes, sometimes it might be longer.  You just kind of have to eyeball it. 

So, what does "until done" look like, since eyeballing it is your best bet?  Well, first of all, you will have reduced the volume in your pot to about half what you started with.  But that's not all, because that will happen considerably before your polenta is really done.  But when that happens, it's time to really watch while you're stirring.  So basically, as you stir and stir you will notice that the surface of the polenta will start to become glossy.  Also, you will notice that, as you stir, instead of the bubbles that form popping and splattering, they will rupture and deflate without splashing and with the majority of the bubble remaining intact.  At this point, I leave it up to you.  When you feel that your polenta is nice and thick and creamy, pour it into a greased pan and let it set, which will take around 15-20 minutes.  At this point you'll be able to slice it.  Enjoy!