The Kitchen Where We Meet The World (Potluck 2011)

Dear Mouse,

"I don't mean to be a Posshole Asta", said Leon, looking over my shoulder, "But you have too much water in that pot."

Ah, out of the mouths of Lions...

Jamie Oliver's 'Chicken In Milk'.
Photo lovingly recycled from a Mouse Post Past



He meant, of course, "Pasta A**hole" (as in, someone who claims at least partly Italian background and has things to say about the way you're making dinner), but a slip of the tongue created this fabulous new job title. I told him he should start an Italian Cooking Advice Column, "Ask the Posshole Asta", and then I said to get out of my kitchen.
(He stayed though... because he was also cooking the meal.)

Yes, Mouse, it's a new year, bringing with it new vocabulary words, new humans (welcome to the world, Little Poet!! born 12/30/10), new relationships, and most importantly, new ways to approach eating things. My 2011 began with a Potluck Dinner Party.

What with Little Poet and the new year, I was inspired to do a little digging into the significance of the number 11. Like any good, new Agey friend, I printed out her astrological chart (the 'snapshot' of the planets' positions at the moment of birth). Little P had a few big planets in the 11th House, which meant approximately nothing to me. But what I learned straight off I really liked:

"The 11th is the house of friends... our first experience of tribal society, the playground where we meet the world." (astro.com)

New Year's Eve 2011 found me close to friends indeed - very close, as three of us tried to prepare four dishes simultaneously in my very tiny kitchen. How did this happen, I wondered. Firstly, my plan had been for a solo New Year's (silent meditation retreat, two days of yoga, or similar). But there I was, two days to go and no closer to a plan than "Kripalu costs what?" Then I realized that several friends, none of whom know each other, were without plans. I offered to host a potluck dinner, and it was On like the silver top hats grudgingly worn by the staff at Cafeteria this year.

Secondly, 'potluck' is not a word that often escapes my (food snob?) lips.It always sounds like "good luck with that". Oh, sure, it's fine for an office lunch or maybe a church dinner? But it's an entirely different thing in your home. You're letting someone else deck your table with their god knows what creations, and even - gasp - commandeer your stove to prepare. A dinner party is something you either host or attend. Right? Something well-planned and harmonious. A potluck is, like, every man for himself. You won't be hungry but you also probably won't be satisfied. Right?

rigatoni alla vodka, photo courtesy recipebridge.com. But ours looked like it.
(I really need to unpack/locate my camera)

THE MENU

Leon, aka Posshole Asta: homemade vodka sauce, homemade marinara type sauce w/veggies.

J-Mas (Posshole Asta #2): rigatoni and fresh raviolis from place in Jersey, homemade (vegan) chocolate chip cookies, surprisingly tasty.

A-Mac: spinach salad with dried cranberries, walnuts, and goat cheese.

The Boo: Jamie Oliver's Chicken in Milk, as seen above. (Really, so easy and people freak out. Make it.) Roasted Brussels Sprouts w/bacon and rosemary.

The Mayor: red wine and mulled cider, witticisms.

To drink: kir royales for some, seltzer and pomegranate juice for the teetotalers, a word that I think must have been invented as an intoxication test (ie, if you can say or spell it, you're not drunk)

Highlights: the TWO pasta courses (oh, 2010 decadence past). The digestive walk around the block before midnight. The viewing of Times Square Fireworks from my fire escape! The after-dinner 'Double Dream Hands' rehearsal. The brief loud chorus of Auld Lang Syne. Going to sleep to the sound of hooting noisemakers on 7th avenue.

There's something about learning to feed and be fed at the same time. In 2011, let us play in the 11th house of communal creativity. Let us open our kitchens and our hearts to new tastes and new lessons. Sometimes, we can let someone else boil the water and make the sauce.

May I suggest your local Posshole Asta?

Love,

The Boo

Chicken in a Pot: The Return

Dear Boo,

I realize this may feel like deja vu, me extolling the virtues of another Jamie Oliver creation, which happens to also feature a whole chicken cooked in a pot. I realize I'm rather boring. But hear me out. Consider this the spring equivalent of the other Jamie Oliver chicken in a pot. And we know how delicious that was.

When I mentioned to Mom the other day that I was making poached chicken for dinner, she very politely wrinkled her nose and said: "How old fashioned. And boring." And who can blame her, really. Poached chicken conjures up thoughts of rubbery mayonnaised salad and bland dietetic food. Luckily, I tasted this dish before I had the chance to judge it based on its title, when the student I tutor offered me some of her leftovers while we worked. I'm not usually in the habit of taking food from my students, but I was hungry, she was having some, we needed a break, and it just looked so pretty, studded with bright green peas, orange slices of carrot, silky leaves of spinach wound around pale pink baby radishes and half moons of potatoes. With the richness and kick of the horseradish cream, there was no trace of the wan pale chicken mom was anticipating.

The broth isn't bold in its chicken flavor, and when I made it at home I was disappointed at first. When it came together in the bowl, though, the beauty of the dish emerged. It's not chicken soup--oh no--the focus is the fresh vegetables and chicken, with the broth as a warming accent to bring it together. Jamie's description of how to serve it reflects this: "divide a nice mixture of veg between 4 bowls, put some shredded chicken on top, then ladle over some of the wonderful, comforting broth. Sprinkle over some of the chopped reserved fennel tops or some celery leaves, with a healthy dollop of horseradish crème fraîche on top and a drizzle of nice peppery olive oil" Doesn't that sound lovely? It is.

Right now, when the markets are full of baby vegetables, just making their spring debut, this is the perfect recipe for the transition from spring to summer. Just warm enough to comfort on a rainy May day, fresh enough to satisfy that intense urge some of us get the first time we see a bit of color among the Farmer's Market's wintry bins of root vegetables, with a surprizing note of heat that hits the back of your tongue and hints at June's rising mercury.

Love,

The Mouse

Jamie Oliver's Spring Poached Chicken (slightly adapted by the Mouse)

• 4lb free-range, organic chicken
• a handful of fresh flat-leaf parsley
• 4 bay leaves
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 2 handfuls of new potatoes, scrubbed
• 2 handfuls of baby carrots, or carrots sliced into 2 in lengths
• 2 handfuls of baby radishes
• 1 bulb of fennel, quartered, herby tops removed and reserved
• 1.5 T drained bottled horseradish (or to taste)
• 1 Cup of crème fraîche
• 2 handfuls of fresh or frozen peas (I used frozen)
• 1 colanderful of spinach or Swiss chard
• olive oil

Clean your chicken and stuff it with the parsley and bay leaves. Salt and Pepper it. Put it in a large pot (very large--my 7 qt dutch oven was almost too small, but you could always use a smaller chicken) and fill with water to cover chicken by a couple of centimeters. Add potatoes (halve if they're large). Bring to a boil, then cover with a lid and lower heat to simmer for about 20 minutes. Add carrots, radishes, and fennel, and simmer for another 30 to 40 minutes.
While this is cooking, prepare the horseradish creme by mixing the creme fraiche and horseradish, taste to make sure the proportions are right.
By now, the chicken should be done--test to see if the leg comes away from chicken easily. Remove the chicken from the pot and set aside to cool.
Add the peas and spinach to the broth and cook for one minute. Season to taste.
To serve, spoon vegetables into bowl, top with shredded or sliced chicken, ladle over some broth and add a generous dollop of horseradish cream. Sprinkle some chopped fennel fronds, parsley, or celery leaves over the top if you like.

Yet another reason to love Jamie Oliver...

Dear Boo,

As if I needed another reason.

My love for the Naked Chef was born many years ago, back when the Food Network actually showed cooking shows, hosted by real chefs, using real ingredients (no tablescapes or canned frosting). I loved Jaime because he was young, cute, with a delightful accent and slightly manic energy. And his food was delicious. In fact, as I'm sure you'll remember, his pea, spinach and feta salad was one of the first recipes I discovered on my own that was so enchanting it entered our regular family rotation and convinced me that some day I might actually have a kitchen "repetoire".

Then he went ahead and did this show where he took a group of at risk, underprivileged youth, and trained them in the culinary arts and put them to work running their own (highly successful) restaurant, all in as tasteful and non-exploitative a manner as possible, given the medium of reality television. Oh, and then he also got the british government to completely revamp the school lunch program to make it healthier and more environmental. And did a documentary on the disappearance of British pig farmers. And managed to publish 10 books, have a couple of kids with ridiculously delightful hippy dippy names like "Poppy Honey", "Daisy Boo", and "Petal Blossom Rainbow", stayed married to his sweetheart, and lives a generally charmed, if somewhat ADD-addled life.

But none of this compares to this chicken.

Sure, the food politics, charity work, endless idealism, hilarious baby names and plucky spirit is nice. But nothing beats a moist braised whole chicken with burnished gold skin, sweet caramelized garlic, lemony zing and hints of earthy sage and warm cinnamon. Did I mention the creamy sauce? Oh. There's creamy sauce too.

Also it's easy. And cheap.
As another celebrity chef crush would say, "How great is that?"

I first came across this recipe here, and could not stop thinking about making it for a good few weeks after, based on the photos and the claim that this would beat out all other roast chicken recipes in my arsenal. While that's still debatable, it was kind of phenomenal. And definitely unique. When I finally got around to making it, that is.
My lovely mis en place. The ingredients were just so pleasing to the eye, I couldn't resist. And I might have been a little ridiculously excited to cook this. Especially in my beauteous blue dutch oven.
Basically, all you do is brown the chicken in some butter in a big pot, then add the garlic cloves, sage leaves and a whole mound of lemon zest (I'd say the zesting is the most labor-intensive part, just to give you an idea of how simple this is). Pour a whole mess of milk on top, slap the lid on (not exactly part of the recipe, but all the online chatter advocated leaving it covered in the oven for the first hour or so) and stick it in the oven.

What comes out is fall off the bone delicious, perfumed perfectly, with a sauce to match. With mashed potatoes and spinach it was perfect.

Here's the recipe*: a good one to tuck away for when you need some home-cooking on the road. Minimal shopping, minimal cost, and all the house perfuming comfort you could ask for.

Love,

The Mouse

*I would definitely recommend cooking the chicken with the lid on for the first hour, then removing it for the last 30 minutes or so. This sort of braises the chicken instead of just roasting it, and keeps the meat super moist. mmm.

All I Want for Christmas

Dear Boo,

In case you're still wondering what to get me for Christmukkah, I thought I'd make it easy on you and enclose my wish list. Not surprisingly, you might sense a theme here.

1) Le Creuset dutch oven.
Yes, they're expensive. But yes, TJ Maxx tends to have sales on this sort of thing. And yes, I've already thought about all this. I don't seem to own any kind of stove-top-to-oven dishes which leaves me crestfallen when I start reading a recipe for beef stew or braised lamb shanks or coq au vin that calls for just such a versatile pot. Also it makes me feel oh so Julia Childlike to bring one of these canary-yellow dishes to the table. I might even develop a faint trace of an accent. If you're lucky.

2) All About Braising, by Molly Stevens.

I've decided you can make up for the fact that you cackle wildly at my nerd-dom every time I mention this title, by buying said book for me. It seems to be all the rage on the blog circuit and I think you'll agree with me that during the winter pretty much all one should eat is something slow-cooked in some kind of sauce with sauteed vegetables. Also there's a recipe for braised celery with breadcrumbs which I am so perplexed by that I must try it. Also, will put to good use my new dutch oven.

3) My boyfriend's new book.So pukka in your plaid shirt, Jamie.

4) Oh Ina.You have never steered me wrong. From your awesome broccoli, to your outrageous brownies, you make me want to kick off my shoes, jump on the jitney, and come blow off some steam with you and Jeffrey. Let's get back to basics.

5) An Immersion blender.

Please don't mention this to the Boyfriend as I will get a good chiding about how we have no space for more kitchen stuff, and if you don't plan on using that AT LEAST once a week, out to the curb it goes, blah blah, yadda yadda, stoppedlisteningtwentyminutesago. Here's the thing. I want one. I don't have a blender. I don't want a blender for the aforementioned spatial issues, and who needs to clean all those parts. Also, what a genius invention--instead of juggling a hot pot and pouring all that soup into a whole other receptacle, one batch at a time, you just stick the little jiggimahoozit into the soup and BAM. Blending has commenced.

6) You may remember from "Things we Like Today" past, that we own two frosty beer mugs. Well, we did. One fell on the floor and cracked in half, spilling out whatever liquid that is between the walls of the glass (the Boyfriend thinks its water. I think it's something far more sinister).
Also one of the two cool Bodum glasses I like to drink wine out of, met a similar fate. It seems we are not meant to have double-paned glass. Maybe you could prove me wrong.

7) A Hess truck.
Every year you promise to make up for the fact that no one took me seriously when I kept asking Santa for one lo these many years ago. I hear there's a new model. With flashing lights.

Thank you. Your milk and cookies will be waiting.

Love,

The Mouse