Burp! Where Food Happens

Cold Comfort: Root Veggie Stew with Beef

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 22:58:00 +0000

This weekend, we both were able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Sure, there were leaves to rake... and a house to clean... but after all was said and done, we finally found ourselves back in the kitchen. And craving a bit of good old fashioned comfort food.

I have fond memories of coming home from elementary school and being greeted by a warm bowl of succulent stew -- tender beef and chunks of potato and carrots surrounded by a delicious brown sauce flavored with onion and bay leaves. Mom always ate her stew like soup -- in a bowl, with a spoon. Dad always piled his stew on top of the bread like a big, open-faced sandwich -- slicing through each bite and eating it with a fork. And me? Well, I remember eating all the vegetables first so that I could savor the few pieces of stew meat in the bottom of the bowl, and use my bread to sop up the delicious sauce.

Some things never change.
The weather has been sunny, but chilly, here in Wisconsin. When we ventured out to the farmer's market on Saturday morning we were surprised by the bone-chilling wind that greeted us when we got out of the car. Wow! Those farmers are sure dedicated folks! And we were glad. Our stash included loads of great stuff -- fresh mustard greens, red kale, end-of-season broccoli, winter squash, Ida Red apples, and rutabaga. The big question became "What would we make with our loot?" Well -- stew, of course!

The stew I make these days still resembles the one I grew up with... but I've taken a few liberties with the ingredients. Taking my cue from all the great chefs who remind us that a fantastic dish is contingent upon fantastic ingredients, we start off with a pound of our favorite grass-fed beef. This beef not only tastes better than your average supermarket meat, but it's seriously nourishing. Among its benefits, grass-fed beef is a great source of vitamin E, omega-3 fatty acids (7 times more than grain fed beef), vitamin C, and beta-carotene. Grass-based farming is also great for the environment (excellent article here at Mother Earth News, if you're interested). Healthy as it is, we're still judicious with our use of red meat. We use the beef primarily as a flavoring for the stew (rather than as the main event), so we can get away with using only about one pound of meat for 6-8 solid servings.

Another update to our beef stew involves... and you've probably guessed it... BEER! Yes, indeed. One of our favorite "stew brews" just happens to be one that's made right here in the Dairy State. Tyranena "The Devil Made Me Do It" Coffee Imperial Oatmeal Porter. Dark and sweet with plenty of coffee flavor, this beer really bumps up the flavor quotient in our stew. And it's mighty nice for drinking on the side too...

And then there are the veggies -- a couple of nice rutabaga, a few delicious carrots, and a handful of Yukon gold potatoes.

We chop the veggies into nice, rustic chunks. This stew cooks for quite a while in the oven, so we don't want everything turning to mush (anyone have BAD memories of overcooked carrots in their mom's beef stew??... yeah, that's exactly what we want to avoid).

Toss the cubed beef with a quarter cup of flour seasoned with salt & pepper.

And now, the cooking begins.

Brown the stew meat in large, oven-safe pan (a Dutch oven, if you have one).

When everything is nicely browned, remove the meat and saute a couple of sliced onions in the same pan. When the onions are just about tender, add 8 cloves of chopped garlic and saute briefly.

You'll notice all sorts of delicious browned bits developing as the onions cook. Feel free to giggle with delight -- all those crusty bits are going to impart some seriously amazing flavor to our stew.

Add a tablespoon of dried thyme to the onions, and stir well. Deglaze the pan with 4 tablespoons of red wine vinegar and a cup or so of the beer. Scrape up those crispy bits as the mixture comes to a boil. They should come off the bottom of the pan surprisingly easily as the vinegar and beer do their thang.

Add the remaining cup of beer, along with 3 cups of good quality beef broth, 2 tablespoons of Dijon style mustard, 2 bay leaves, and 2 tablespoons of brown sugar. Bring the liquid to a boil. Then add your reserved beef, chopped vegetables and three sprigs of fresh rosemary (if you've got 'em). When everything is boiling again, you can cover your pot and transfer the stew to a preheated 350º oven.

Check your stew after about an hour and a half. If the vegetables are tender, you're good to go. If things need a bit more time, you can let it go for another half hour or so.

If the stew seems too thin for your liking, you can remove some of the vegetables and use your choice of methods to thicken the sauce (I like pureeing a few of the vegetables, or adding a roux and simmering it for a bit). Otherwise, just spoon into bowls and serve.

Now, seriously... where's my chunk of crusty bread? It's time for dinner!

Recipe: Root Veggie Stew with Beef

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Poetic Disappointment: Raspberry Chocolate Ice Cream

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 21:54:00 +0000

Really? How could ice cream be bad?
I'm still asking myself this very question. After all, it seemed to have everything going for it -- chocolate, cream, awesome raspberries. But, somehow, it just fell... well, flat. I'm still perplexed.

The sad story began on a Saturday in August. The raspberries were as close to perfection as they come -- big, ripe, juicy and local. We'd just procured them from the market, and had nibbled a few out of hand just to be sure. Sheer perfection so far as we could tell.
And we had a nice, fresh container of whipping cream, just begging to be made into something wonderful.
A bit of sugar, some cocoa powder -- the anticipation began to mount.

We cooked up all the good stuff on the stove until the sugar was fully dissolved, and then we took everything off of the heat and added those luscious raspberries to the mix. The pan sat on the stove, covered, for a while -- giving the raspberries just a smidge of time to soften.

And then everything went into the blender...

... where it was whipped into an oblivion.

It was gorgeous stuff -- light, fluffy, silky. It looked like a dream. We scraped it into a bowl, chilled it, and then gave it over to the ice cream machine.

It looked pretty perfect when it came out.
But the flavor?
Flat. Strange. Not-quite-right.

We tasted. And retasted. And scooped. And licked.
It didn't really get better.

But, we really HATE wasting food. So we made the best of things. It took us a number of weeks -- but we ate every last bit of the ice cream. The second round was "enhanced" with a bit of chocolate syrup (which made it passable). The third (and final) round accompanied a batch of seriously fudgy brownies (so good, we almost didn't notice the ice cream).

As you might have noticed, we were so disappointed, we didn't even take photos of the final product... but we did write a little bit of bad poetry.

Ode to Chocolate Raspberry Disappointment
Oh you -- brown creamy treat,
For which we had high hopes.
We sacrificed ripened fruit in your image.
We whipped you in our blender,
Praying for whirled peace.
In exchange, you gave us Brain Freeze.
And an appetite for disaster.

Cold and sweet, but not satisfying.
Like a winter day in August.
We masked you in chocolate syrup.
And still you would not satisfy.

Oh you -- brown creamy creamy treat,
You are not worthy of our pleasure.
Your looks deceive and taunt us.
Chocolate Expectation flaunts
What it can never hope to deliver.
Your whipped creamy goodness
Is but a facade.

And so, we sing of your deceit.
And warn our neighbors.
We spare even the landfill your presence --
And eat what we cannot savor.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Winter Farmer's Market -- in Milwaukee!

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 16:23:00 +0000

Eating locally in Wisconsin can be a challenge -- particularly during the winter months. But, a new development will make it easier for a great many of us. Milwaukee has decided to sponsor a winter farmers' market!

I caught wind of the market a few weeks ago; but, at that point the listing of vendors had not yet been released. This morning, I was excited to find an announcement in my inbox indicating that the market will feature locally grown produce, meats, and other food products from a whole host of vendors that we absolutely LOVE.

Some of the familiar favorites include:

Bolzano Artisan Meats Wisconsin’s first (and only) purveyor of dry-cured meats (located right here in Milwaukee)
JenEhr Family Farm Our favorite organic farm, located in Sun Prairie, WI.
Jeff-Leen Farm Awesome fresh eggs and pastured beef from Random Lake, WI.
Oly’s Oats Wisconsin-milled oats and grains.
Pinehold Gardens Another lovely organic farm, located in Oak Creek, WI. These guys not only grow great veg, but they sponsor the annual pig roast we attend every year.

A couple of other vendors we're excited about include:

Golden Bear Monarchs Elk Farm How great will it be to be able to get locally raised elk... and pheasants??!! (Beloit, WI)
Rolling Meadows Sorghum Mill Local producers of sorghum, maple syrup and honey (Elkhart Lake, WI)

The market will be held on Saturday mornings from 8am-12pm from November 7, 2009 thru April 24, 2010 at the Tommy G. Thompson Youth Building at the Wisconsin State Fair Park.

More information available at MCWFM.org.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Frantic Food: Oven Roasted Rattatoille with Herbs de Provence

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 22:09:00 +0000

I positively ADORE autumn.
Normally, October is the time of year when I take stock of my life, get organized, and settle into the idea that winter is approaching. I make soup, take time to watch the leaves fall, and reminisce about autumns past. I don't even mind the fact that I have to put on a sweater -- the crisp air is somehow part of the experience. We take leisurely strolls through the woods, pick apples at the orchard, and spend our weekends clipping spent blooms and cleaning up the gardens.

NOT this year. October has been a BLUR.
So far, we've been out of town almost every weekend so far this month; when we're home, our weeknights have been flooded with late meetings and work events. On top of everything, my dear baby brother is getting married on Saturday -- so we have been enrapt in all the necessary pre-nuptual activities.

Needless to say, our cooking has suffered. And our blogging?... well, you've seen the blogging.
We were lucky that the Daring Cooks challenge was announced a month ahead of time so that we could make time to get that done at the end of September. Most other nights, we're throwing things together in a whirlwind. Eating leftovers from the freezer. Sticking to the standards. And trying to prevent our already curvaceous figures from becoming downright corpulent.

Thank goodness for the farmer's market!
It's been a few weeks already -- but one of the best dishes we've managed to scrounge up was a gorgeous roasted rattatouille. Delicious. Nutritious. And perfect not-so-frantic food for a fairly frantic weeknight. Fairy tale eggplant, ripe zucchini, cherry tomatoes... Delectable.
We chopped everything and coated it in a liberal wash of olive oil. In the spirit of ease, I also tossed in a small handful of my very favorite all-purpose seasoning, Herbs de Provence.

When it was all mixed, I tossed it into a fairly toasty oven (425º if my memory doesn't fail me) and let everything roast up until it was perfectly tender. In the meantime, I sauteed an onion until it was nice and caramelized (truth was, I forgot to throw it in with the other ingredients).
When everything was cooked, I stirred it all together and scooped it into bowls. A chunk of crusty bread, and we were all set.

Have I shared with you that roasted veggies are just about my favorite thing in the world? Seems there's nothing better than a load of colorful produce that's been cooked until it's all caramelized and sweet. An ordinary zucchini takes on serious personality when it's kept the company of an ultra-sweet cherry tomato in the blaze of a hot oven. And you'd never accuse roasted eggplant of being slimey -- oh, no! It wouldn't win any beauty contests, but its flesh is positively silky and so very sweet... eggplant haters wouldn't recognize it if they didn't know better.

But, I digress. I've got to think of something quick to make for dinner.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Daring Cooks October: Vietnamese Pho Ga

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 09:57:00 +0000

It was our first assignment from the Daring Cooks, and we were pretty stoked. I'd always wanted to make Pho, but had never managed to get around to it. Not only that, there was a great little Vietnamese grocery story down the block from us that we'd been meaning to check out. So, it was the perfect "assignment" for us. Heck -- we even screwed it up (go ahead, laugh... ). How's that for starting things off with a bang??!!

Originally, our intent was to make beef pho -- but, when we found the perfect pasture-raised chicken at the market, we changed our tune. Neither of us had ever experienced the chicken rendition of this dish -- so it would be something completely new to us.

We sped off to Viet Ho (on 49th and North) and took our time perusing the aisles. We found a (huge) bag of mung bean sprouts, a bottle of high quality nam pla (fish sauce), and a package of rice noodles... among other things. We're planning a return trip one of these weeks to delve a bit more deeply into all the great Asian ingredients.

When we got home, the first thing we did was to char the onions and ginger root. The onions blackened up gorgeously -- and we were excited about the rich flavor they would impart to the broth. In retrospect, the ginger could have used a few more minutes of heat to really intensify its flavor, and the next time I try this I'll chop the root roughly to give it a bit more surface area for browning, but it wasn't a mistake I'd lose much sleep over.
While the onions were under the broiler, we chopped up our chicken (exposing plenty of delicious, nutritious, bone marrow) and put our chicken on to par-boil. This step is meant to allow many of the impurities to be flushed out of the chicken and ensure a broth with infinitely more clarity. It made sense, but we were eager to see how effective it would really be. The chicken boiled, and the foam rose. When it had boiled for 5 minutes on high, we drained the pot, rinsed the chicken, and started all over again with a clean pot and a fresh batch of water.
This time around, we added the power-packed flavor components -- the charred onion & ginger, 2 T coriander seeds, a couple of star anise, 4 cloves, and a healthy little bunch of cilantro stems. Based on what I read on the Daring Cooks' forum, I expected to have to toast the spices (a great idea, really)... but no such directions seemed to exist in the recipe. So, I threw everything in "as is". Big Mistake. As you'll find out, our soup turned out just fine -- but the depth of flavor was definitely missing.

Of course, this mistake simply served to confirm something I've always known, deep down. ALWAYS trust your instincts. Never follow directions exactly. Even when you're completing your first Daring Cooks Challenge :)
We brought everything back to a boil and began skimming the foam that rose to the top of the pot. The recipe suggests skimming every 20 minutes for the best clarity. Despite the recipe's instructions, I really only had to skim the broth once (albeit very thoroughly) in the beginning, but we kept watch for the full 1 1/2 hours just in case.
We had to admit it. The clarity of the broth was impressive -- so, I'm definitely tucking the par-boiled chicken trick into my pocket for future use. It came out perfectly -- gorgeous and golden, with only the slightest traces of debris in the final product (something that could have been easily remedied had I used cheesecloth to strain the broth a final time).

The process wasn't at all harrowing - although I did become a bit annoyed with the coriander and star anise. Originally, it floated freely in the broth -- but what that meant is that I was constantly fighting not to skim it out along with the foam. Fortunately, we happened upon a fairly easy solution -- a spice tea bag, tied with a bit of kitchen twine. Perfect.
Enhanced by bits of shaved red onion, sliced jalapeno pepper, cilantro, and bean sprouts, the soup really was quite lovely. We used a relatively light hand with the Siracha and hoisin sauce -- just to let the flavors of the broth shine through. The final product was definitely prettier than the simple golden chicken noodle soup of my youth. Everything tasted so... fresh. And the textural elements of the add-ins brought something truly special to this soup.That said, the flavor of the broth (the real measure of Pho, according to all I've read) simply wasn't quite up to the level I expected. Despite the fact that the spiciness of the star anise and coriander were fairly evident, the flavor was almost *too* delicate. I missed the flavor of the clove and cilantro almost entirely, and (even after adding additional fish sauce and a touch of sugar) I still wanted a little bit of something more. Adding a touch of salt helped -- but the next time I make this, I'll definitely be toasting those spices (heh -- I can't believe the recipe didn't mention anything about that step!). Heck, I might even add MORE of them. And yeah, I'll be adding an extra charred onion to the mix. I'm even thinking that the chicken could use a bit of roasting -- just to give it a little bit more oomph.
That said, we enjoyed ourselves a great deal. The soup was a nice departure from all the heavier foods we've been eating now that the weather has started to cool down. Enhanced with a more liberal dose of Siracha, I'm betting this soup would be an awesome antidote for a winter cold. Or a pleasant addition to a light spring spread. Would also be fun to make for guests. I'm already contemplating the myriad options for fresh veggie add-ins... thin, crisp French green beans, julienned radishes, shredded carrots... the possibilities are endless.

Pho Ga: Vietnamese Chicken Noodle Soup

The October 2009 Daring Cooks’ challenge was brought to us by Jaden of the blog Steamy Kitchen. The recipes are from her new cookbook, The Steamy Kitchen Cookbook.

Also submitted as part of Real Food Wednesdays -- where great people post about real nourishing grub.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Favorite Things: Beet Borscht

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 14:15:00 +0000

I keep telling you how awesome beets are. And you don't believe me yet, do you?

You have all sorts of excuses:

You hate peeling them.
Ew.
They make your hands all dirty/red/purple.
Gross.
They taste like dirt.

Beet haters even have their own community online... which, if you ask me, just promotes myopia among the haters... But, GO! Go check it out if you must. And report back with your findings.

In the meantime, maybe some of you will stick around and enjoy a bit of borscht -- which (if you believe it) I'd actually categorize as one of my favorite things.
I promise you, it's not just because the beets are so positively gorgeous (these came from the Jen Ehr Family Farm in Sun Prairie, WI). Borscht can actually taste good.

I have fond memories of borscht. My aunt made it every spring, and once I was living on my own she taught me to use the stock left over from simmering beef brisket to make my borscht -- and I'm quite convinced this makes some of the best borscht around. We use the "stock" left from making Burp! corned beef -- which is enriched with a bit of stout beer, tomato paste, and a variety of herbs & spices. If you don't have anything of that sort on hand, you can use a good quality (preferably homemade) beef, pork, or chicken stock. Add a dab of tomato paste and a bit of beer and you're in business.

And don't be intimidated. Borscht is just the sort of rustic fare that BEGS to be ad-libbed. Taste and smell often -- and the dish comes together more-or-less on its own.

We chop our beets and set them aside. I saute up an onion and a few cloves of garlic in a stock pot -- and then add the stock, which I heat until it's close to a boil before adding the beets.
A bay leaf, some dried thyme, and a bit of dill... and we let everything come to a boil and simmer for 30-40 minutes, or until the beets are tender. Sometimes I add potatoes and chunks of carrot to the mix. A bit of cabbage isn't bad. And turnips or celery root (any root veggies, really) actually work well here too -- though keep in mind that whatever you add will turn a VIOLENT shade of purpley-red and be virtually indistinguishable from the beets.
Once the vegetables are tender, you'll see that the broth has taken on a new character; it colors beautifully and thickens up a bit. If you like a bit of "body" to your borscht, you can puree some of the vegetables and add them back to the soup. Or you can simply eat the dish "as is". Borscht is definitely one of those dishes that is better the following day -- so I often make mine ahead and reheat it for dinner the next day.
We like to garnish our borscht with more fresh dill -- and usually a dollop of sour cream. You could do the same. Then grab a hunk of crusty bread, maybe a salad, and you're all set.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Just Peachy: Fresh Peach Ice Cream

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 21:37:00 +0000

I'll eat just about anything. But, when it comes to fresh fruit, I definitely have my favorites. Usually it's berries -- raspberries, blueberries, blackberries... I could pretty much go for those anywhere at any given time. I'm a pretty big sucker for watermelon. And I adore a nice ripe pineapple.

Another one at the top of my list is the peach. I just love a good peach -- the gorgeous color, reminiscent of autumn sunsets, the miraculously fuzzy skin, the tender flesh. And that deliciously floral aroma -- oh, gosh, I could just faint with pleasure.

OK, so maybe I'm going a little bit overboard. But, the truth is, a good peach is a valuable commodity. And a good fresh peach icecream... well, that's just downright swoon-worthy. And it's so seriously simple that it doesn't even require a recipe.

Peach season comes a little late to us here in Wisconsin (and yes, we do grow peaches here, strange as that might seem). Door County peaches first started showing hints of ripeness in late August, and we picked up these dandies at the farmer's market in mid-September.
It was a fantastic, sunny Saturday morning and we decided to put together the ice cream base before heading off to do our weekend errands. We blanched and peeled the peaches -- four large ones that seemed to have particular potential.
And then we pitted them -- which took little effort at all, since they were so wonderfully ripe.
I really couldn't get over how gorgeous they were. Their perfume infiltrated the entire kitchen, and I was taken back -- back to the days when my mother would buy cases of peaches from one of the local markets, and bring them home for canning. She sat near the stove -- blanching and peeling and chopping for hours. She sterilized her glass jars, and cooked the peaches in their sugar syrup. Some she canned simply, in halves; we'd eat those for breakfast on Saturday mornings with our pancakes, or in the pies she baked especially for my father.

And others -- the extra-particularly-stellar ones, I'm quite sure -- she'd make into peach jam. Sugary sweet, their perfume redolent with cinnamon and nutmeg... that jam was my favorite. I ate it with relish on toast and English muffins, and prayed it would make an appearance in my lunch box on a peanut butter & jelly sandwich. Mmm.
Eventually I got back to the matter at hand -- which was the making of ice cream. I chopped the peaches, and cooked them with a splash of water and about 3/4 cup of sugar just until they were tender.
And then we whirred them up in the blender with a cup of cream, a dash of vanilla, and about 1/2 cup sour cream -- until the mixture was perfectly homogenized and, well, just peachy.
The mixture went back into the fridge for a few hours to chill, and we went about our errands. When we got back home, we fired up the ice cream maker and poured the peach cream inside. It whorled and whorled -- and the amount of air the machine was able to pump into the cream was simply incredible. The resulting ice cream was just fantastic -- light and airy and wonderful.

I got inspired to add a bit of maple cashew granola to the mix, so we layered it in between scoops of the peach ice cream.
It made gorgeous cones. The whipped peach ice cream was fresh and creamy. And the granola gave a toothy bite to things that made it feel, well... nourishing.
I could have eaten this ice cream for breakfast ... or lunch or dinner, really. But, who's keeping track??

This post is part of the Peaches & Cream Five Star Makeover Round-up.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Roasted Chicken with Provencale Pistou

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 23:23:00 +0000

I don't know about you, but the smell of fresh lavender always makes me a little bit pensive.
*sigh* What I wouldn't give (at almost any given moment) to be wandering about in the lavender cloaked hills of Provence... exploring enchanting villages, lush vineyards, and vibrant Provencale markets. Tasting wine and eating tantalizing food...

Considering my actual physical proximity to the hills of France, I usually have to settle for something a bit less fabulous -- a meandering jaunt, perhaps, out the back door and into our little urban green space where I have a few delightful mounds of hardy lavender growing. On rare occasions (when I'm really lucky), I have a bit of time to lounge in the grass with the crown of my head right up against the garden where the smell of the lavender flowers is really intoxicating.

Better yet, I can snip a few sprigs of lavender and bring them in the house for later.
On this particular occasion, I was having a hankering for roasted chicken. I'd been toying with the idea of "psycho-ing" the bird (see recipe for Psycho Chicken) and seasoning it with some pesto and lemon. But, I saw the lavendar, and I got to thinking. How about a Provencale Pesto?
I grabbed little whisps of herbs -- rosemary, thyme, summer savory, tarragon, marjoram, oregano, and parsley. And I added it to my sprigs of lavendar. Then, I came into the house, pulled all the tender leaves from the woody stems, and threw everything into the food processor with a few cloves of garlic.
A few whirs and a whorl of olive oil later... and I had some seriously fabulous stuff. The herbal aroma was completely intoxicating.
I saw the pretty little pastured chicken sitting there in the roasting pan, and I thought to myself "Gosh, that poor thing doesn't want to be poked and prodded with a knife."So, we opted for another great flavor-imparting technique. We stuffed the pistou underneath the chicken's skin -- and well into the cavity.
We left just enough of the pistou so that we could rub a final round of it into the skin. Finally, we placed a quartered lemon into the cavity.
And then, we tossed it into the oven. Well -- I use the term "tossed" fairly loosely here. I may have placed it in the oven somewhat quickly, but I didn't do so in a completely willy-nilly fashion. But, you can treat your chicken as you will. Rest assured, it will come out of the oven looking beautiful and brown and succulent.You'll cut it open and you'll gasp -- as we did -- to smell all the herbalicious deliciousness. The tender breast will be redolent with the fragrance of the pistou. Just garlicky enough to be wonderful, but not so much that you wake up the next day wishing you hadn't eaten it. And so wonderfully balanced by the flavors of the other herbs that you just wish you could eat and eat and eat some more...

You don't, of course. But, you definitely think about making this again.

Roasted Chicken with Provencale Pistou

©BURP! Where Food Happens

A Sinful Dish: Baked Cucumbers with Creamed Mushrooms

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 13:44:00 +0000

It's confession time.
I'm late to the game on something I promised you. And I hope you'll forgive me.

We got quite a number of requests for the baked cucumber recipe after we completed our Julie/Julia Challenge in August. Unfortunately, I hadn't taken many photos of the dish the first time we made it, so I didn't really have anything worthy of a blog post. Since the dish was so delicious, and we had fresh cucumbers in the garden, I figured we'd simply give it another try.
Well, guess what? I forgot all about my promise.
Fortunately, as of last week, we still had cucumbers in the garden. I also happened to have a pint of fresh cream on hand. I was roasting a chicken for dinner, and I figured the baked cucumbers would be the perfect side dish. Since there were only the two of us, I cut the recipe back by a bit and used only two cucumbers (I'm recording my halved recipe here; the recipe can be doubled). On the up side, that means the full dish is worth quite a few less calories. On the downside, it still ends up to be pretty sinful. And, if you're anything like me, you'll compound the problem with sins of omission and revision.

Sin #1: Technically, the recipe calls for English cucumbers, but I believe firmly in using what's on hand, so we settled for your typical garden variety cucs. I also took some other liberties with the recipe (which I'll divulge). Sacrilige? Maybe -- but it's the nature of my cooking beast. I can't seem to follow a recipe to save my life.

First -- you'll need two cucumbers. The original recipe called for six. That'a alotta cucumbers.

Julia Child's recipe requires peeled cucumbers.
Sin #2: If disobeying the recipe early on makes my sin even greater, I'll take the stripes for it. The truth is, I very seldom peel anything. But, I wasn't a complete heretic: I met her halfway on this one. I do think that peeled cucumbers tend to drain more efficiently -- and they also make for a more tender bite overall. But, I think the bit of peel left on the cucumbers adds a pleasant bit of color. And I really don't think it impacts the finished product in a negative way.
I did manage to follow some of the instructions. I de-seeded the cucumbers with a spoon, and then proceeded to cut them up into 3/8 inch thick matchsticks.
Of course, shortly thereafter sin #3 ensued. The recipe calls for green onions. I didn't have any on hand, so I substituted 1/4 cup thinly sliced red onions (and added them a step earlier). I realize the flavor isn't quite the same (and 1/4 cup is quite a bit more onion flavor than the original recipe calls for); but, I promise you it wasn't a disaster. And again -- a splash of color never hurts.
I salted the cucumbers and onions with just over 1/2 tsp of salt, sprinkled them with 1 tablespoon of white wine vinegar and 1/16 tsp sugar, and left them to drain for about an hour or so in a colander. When the time was up, I painstakingly dried them on paper towels.

Sin #4: Yeah, I was bad to the environment. Paper towels do a great job, but I should have used one of my white flour sack towels. Ah, well, you live and learn.
Sin #5: Sheer laziness.
Rather than melting my butter the old fashioned way, I decided to cheat a bit. I put two pats of butter (about 1 1/2 T) into my glass baking dish and placed it into the oven as it preheated to 375ºF.
By the time the oven was preheated... voila! I had my melted butter. I'd like to think that Julia would be proud of my resourcefulness. But, one never really knows.
I tossed the dried cucumbers in the butter and then added about a tablespoon of freshly chopped basil to the mix. Julia calls for 1/2 tsp of basil (or dill) for her entire recipe. Since I wouldn't consider overseasoning anything with basil to be a sin, I'm not counting this among my transgressions.

I placed the baking dish in the preheated oven, and let it go for about an hour, tossing the cucumbers a couple of times during the baking process -- just like the recipe said. See! I'm really a very good girl at heart!
Meanwhile, I gently sauteed about 6 oz of mushrooms in a dry skillet. I did it for a skoche longer than Julia said I should, but I'm not sure that really mattered a whole lot. After all, caramelization is flavor, right?

When the mushrooms were sufficiently cooked (by my standards) I added a mixture of 1/2 cup whipping cream and 1/2 tsp cornstarch (which I mixed first with 1/2 tsp of water). I let it come to a bubble, and then simmered it for about 5 minutes, until it was perfectly thickened.
When the cucumbers came out of the oven, I folded the creamed mushrooms into the cucumbers. And that was that!
I can't say this is the most attractive dish I've ever made. But, it's definitely got things going for it in the flavor department. Both the cucumbers and mushrooms are quite concentrated in their flavor -- and they really complement one another. The cucumbers have, somehow, remained crisp while the onions have wilted and begun to break down. Everything is accented nicely by the suggestion of white wine vinegar, which also serves to cut the richness of the cream. And, of course, there's the basil... which really makes almost anything better.

We were surprised by the dish the first time. And equally pleased with it on the second (and significanly revised) go-round. It made a great side dish for chicken -- and I could also see it performing nicely alongside a roast or some wine braised tempeh.

Enjoy!

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Full-On Beet Risotto with Toasted Pecans

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 11:06:00 +0000

It's that time again -- the point in the year when you can saunter through the farmer's market and find absolutely perfect beets.
You know the ones -- the deeply colored purples, reds, pinks, and golds. Candy cane, bull's blood, Chioggas, and goldens. Not only are the roots flawless and plump -- but the greens are crisp and well formed.

I don't know about you, but I insist upon buying beets with the greens still attached. Not only are they lovely (and tasty -- similar to the flavor of Swiss Chard) -- but they really pack a nutritional punch. They're rich in chlorophyll and can actually possess a higher overall nutritional value than the beet root itself.

On this particular day, the red beets were calling my name. The wind was feeling a bit cool, and I was craving some serious comfort food. Beet risotto anyone?
Whenever I make beet risotto, I always go back to the same recipe -- brilliant beet risotto, which was inspired by an article from Food & Wine magazine a number of years ago). Like many great recipes, it's really more about technique than ingredients, and you can make all sorts of modifications to the ingredients of the recipe to suit your own tastes.

The first step is to chop the beets finely in your food processor. You'll do the same to the beet greens as well.
You saute onion and garlic, toast your arborio rice, and then add the raw beets and greens to the risotto pot. Add your stock, stir, and repeat. By the time your rice is al dente it's also deliciously pink. The beets are cooked and the kitchen smells great.
At this point, you can add your favorite cheese and any number of delicious add-ins.

In our case, we opted for a bit of Wisconsin parmesan and a dab of local buttermilk bleu cheese. I also stirred in some toasted pecans -- which added great flavor, a bit of protein, and a little bit of toothiness.
We've also tried other awesome combinations: cheddar cheese with a spoonful of horseradish, sour cream with chopped fresh dill weed, goat cheese and toasted walnuts... the possibilities are endless.

Brilliant Beet Risotto

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Foodbuzz Food Blog Awards: Nominate Your Favorites!

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 21:34:00 +0000

I'm stoked... I just read today that Foodbuzz is sponsoring The 1st Annual Foodbuzz Blog Awards!

What's Foodbuzz, you ask?
Well -- it's just one of the best food communities available online. It's a great place to find recipes, peruse blogs, and commune with other like-minded folks. But, don't take my word for it, check it out yourself!

Now, you and I both know that there is scads of creativity and talent out there in the food blogging world. Lots of unsung heroes who spend their days toiling and their nights cooking up great food in the kitchen. Plenty of great folks who share themselves with us online -- and invite us into their homes to see what's cooking.

Give your favorite blogs a shout-out. Nominate them for a Foodbuzz Award!
And, I should add, we wouldn't try to stop you if you wanted to nominate Burp!

The nomination process began on Monday (and it closes on 9/30/09).
ANYONE can nominate a blog. If you read blogs regularly, consider nominating a few of your favorites. If you read less often, consider which ones you do read, and why. Nominate them! Got a friend who blogs?? Show your support through a nomination.

Five bloggers will be chosen in each category.

Categories for nominations include:

Best Overall Blog
Best New Blog
Best Wine Blog
Best Cocktail/Spirits Blog
Best Baking Blog
Best Food Photography Blog
Best Visual Blog (graphic design)
Best Writing Voice
Best Healthy Living Blog
Best Green/Sustainable blog
Best Family Blog
Best Recipe Blog
Best Blogger Humanitarian Effort
Best Community Blog Effort (recognizing blogging groups/challenges/etc)
Most Humorous Food Blog

Blogger you’d most want to:

Take to dinner
Cook a meal for you
Be your personal Sommelier
Create you a cocktail
Watch on Food Network
Watch on Iron Chef
See open up their own restaurant
See their blog made into a movie

Click here to nominate your favorites!
I'm heading over right now to nominate a few of my own.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Newsy Bits: Save the Date! October Eat Local Challenge

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 19:42:00 +0000

I was Very Pleased to go online today and find that the Eat Local Challenge site is back up and running. And they'll be sponsoring the 5th annual nationwide eat local challenge this October!

I can't tell you how amazed we were the first time we participated in an eat local challenge. We expected to experience LOTS of hardship and very little success. But, we were pleasantly surprised by all the great products we found locally -- with just a little bit of digging. The Eat Local Challenge also opened us up to the idea of getting to know some of our best local farmers, artisans, and business owners.

Five easy ways to start eating local:

Shop your local farmer's market.
Buy that bushel of corn and freeze it for winter eating.
Travel to a local farm on the weekend and take advantage of their U-pick offerings.
Grow a few pots of your own (very local) herbs.
Support independent restaurants -- give up Starbucks for Chuck's and McDonald's for that locally owned diner you've driven past for the last couple of years

Find your Farmers Market

You can participate at any level. Every single purchase makes a difference!
For any of you interested in joining in for the October Challenge, more info here.
We've signed on!

©BURP! Where Food Happens

I Scream for More: Fresh Mint Ice Cream

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 19:05:00 +0000

At this point, some of you might be wondering if we've given up on our Perfect Scoop ice cream making project.
Despite our unseasonably cool August, a really full schedule, and the fact that our thighs are already bulging from blog-food-induced weight gain, you'll be happy to know we've still persisted in the ice cream arena. We've been tackling recipes based on what's available locally -- so we've skipped around a bit.

A couple of weeks ago I noticed that the chocolate mint out in the garden was looking like it needed a bit of a hair cut (I love growing mint in the garden -- but it can get a little bit crazy -- so it helps to have a stash of ideas on hand so that you can use your harvest every now and again).

If you've never tried it, chocolate mint is a real pleasure. Not only is it a lovely plant with deep green, prettily serrated leaves, but it has lovely dark stems and relatively pretty flowers (for a mint plant). The mint flavor is strong -- and reminiscent of chocolate. Makes great tea, and is lovely added to iced tea or sprinkled OVER ice cream.

So, why not make it INTO ice cream?
I flipped through David Lebovitz's book and found his recipe, which conveniently calls for 2 cups of tightly packed fresh mint leaves. Perfect.
We clipped a seriously huge pile of the mint and shaved the lovely leaves from the woody stems.
Once we had an overflowing two cups of leaves, we went about gathering up the other four ingredients -- egg yolks (5), whole milk (1 cup), cream (2 cups), and sugar (3/4 cup) to start. (Häagen-Dazs prides itself on five ingredients -- but we'll do them one better... how about five lovely, fresh, local ingredients?)
First, you heat 1 cup of cream with the milk and sugar. When the sugar has dissolved, you'll steep the mint leaves in the hot mixture for about an hour.
During the steeping process, the "tea" turns a lovely minty green color (and begins to smell like a peppermint patty!). You'll rewarm it, incorporate the egg yolks, and cook it into the custard base for your ice cream. You'll know it's ready when it coats the back of a spoon.
At that point, you can take the the mint custard base and strain it into the remaining 1 cup heavy cream.
Mix everything altogether... appreciating the way the earthy green color melds with not-quite-whiteness of the cream.
Give the mixture a good chill over the top of an ice bath to give it a head start on the cooling process, and then toss it into the fridge for a couple of hours.
Once the mixture is really cold, you can pour it into your ice cream maker and let it work its magic.

The result?
The creamiest, mintiest ice cream you've ever tasted.

Using fresh mint gives this treat a fantastic herbal quality that you just don't get from recipes that use extracts. When Peef insisted we serve the ice cream with a little bit of chocolate syrup... well, I just couldn't complain.
This ice cream would be perfect in a mint-chocolate ice cream sammich. Or served alongside a decadent slice of flourless chocolate torte.

Or how about something a little bit different, and undeniably adult? ... a delightfully decadent mint julep shake??

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Inspiration Sandwich: Tomato with Provolone & Hot Peppers

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 00:24:00 +0000

It was 9pm on a Friday evening (almost every Friday evening, in fact), circa 1992.

We were sitting in a grimey booth at Fuel Café -- a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that made it to Milwaukee just in time to take advantage of a dying coffee culture. The floors bore red, white, and black checkered tile. The walls sagged heavy with local art, hung in the hopes of a fortuitous sale... plopped between dirty posters advertising the latest concerts by the strangest local bands. The bathroom walls told tall tales -- painted and markered up with pop-philosophy, written daily by free spirited patrons inspired by 25 cent refills of piping hot joe.

Peef and I sat there, smoking cigarettes, and sipping the strongest coffee in the universe. It was at one of those tables that we discovered mancala. Ourselves. Poetry. And sometimes a really great sammich. We weren't married. Gosh, we weren't even dating at that point. We were just hangin' out, being friends.

And we were seriously cool.

Gosh, how things have changed.
We didn't start dating until 1996, but we've been happily hitched since 1998. Most nights, these days, we're more likely to be found in our 10x10 foot kitchen than a coffee shop. Cigarette smoking has gone by the wayside, replaced by (hopefully) better habits. Same thing goes for the late-night coffee swilling, which has been replaced (more recently) by things like... sleep.

Fuel went non-smoking in October of 2007.
They cleaned up their grimey booths and put in a new counter. And the owners started building an awesome restaurant empire -- with the likes of Comet Café, Balzac, Palomino, Hi-Hat, and (the newest addition) HoneyPie Café .

Fortunately, some of the good stuff remains. Fuel still has great coffee. And the menus at both Fuel and Comet still feature two of my favorite sammiches:

Toasted Cheesy Tomato
Fuel’s famous gooey sub. The best mozz & provolone, fresh tomato & onion melted with Italian herbs & olive oil on a toasted sub roll.

The Buttafucco
Add hot Italian giardiniera peppers from Glorioso’s to the Cheesy Tom.

Both Fuel and Comet pride themselves in obtaining as many locally sourced ingredients as possible, which is awesome. But, the more we thought about it, the more we realized that we could try our hand at making these sammiches ourselves. And you can't get much more local than that!

Inspired by a handful of Jen Ehr tomatoes from the West Allis farmer's market, we set out to do some damage.
In addition to the tomatoes, we gathered up a few slices of local provolone, some farm fresh red onions, a demi-baguette from the bakery, a handful of herbs from the garden, a spread of mayo, a few shreds of crisp lettuce, and a jar of hot pepper giardiniera... and we were set.
The sammiches were assembled in a matter of moments.
They just needed to be placed under the broiler for a few minutes to make sure the cheese got all nice and melty.
Ah, the memories. So much tied up in a few simple ingredients -- put together in just the right way.
As we opened the oven door, our eyes feasted on the sight. The cheese was melted, the bread perfectly crusty. The smell of fresh tomatoes and herbs hovered right up top, just beneath the briny heat of the hot peppers. We were thrilled. Stomachs growling, we grabbed our sammiches, a couple of glasses of nice red wine, and sat down to dinner.

Taking that first bite was somewhat of a revelation. Somehow, I was transported back to a more innocent time and place -- when all we needed was $5, a good cup of coffee, and some great conversation.

It was a bit like going home.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Joy in Repitition: The Amazing Three Layer Blueberry Buckle

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 14:15:00 +0000

Maybe you were wondering what we did with all that vanilla ice cream we made the other day. The truth is, we made pretty short work of it. But not before pairing it with one of my favorite summer desserts, blueberry buckle.
"How BORING," I hear you thinking, "no wonder you're in a cooking slump."

But, I promise you, it's not true. Although I've made this recipe (at least once each summer since 2004... ever since I spied it in Gourmet Magazine), it's definitely not ordinary. And certainly not boring. I've made it so many times that it feels like my own; my experimental modifications have become the norm. And people have begun to make requests that I bring this buckle (er... Burple??) to mid-summer functions.

This year's buckle was one of the best yet. And it had everything to do with the quality of the blueberries. Although they're the last of the season (and more regional than local -- hailing from MI), these berries tasted like I'd picked them myself. Unlike most commercial varieties, they were tiny. And sweet. And they held the Very Essence of blueberry-ness. Just like the wild blueberries I remember picking with my parents when we stayed at my great grandparents' cabin way up north when I was a kid.
What I will confess to you is that this is NOT a quick recipe. The buckle has three layers -- a pastry crust, a cakey layer (surrounded by two layers of blueberries), and a streusel topping. There is a deadly amount of butter, a copious amount of pastry blending, and a whole lot of "make this and refrigerate it for a while" instructions. But, it's seriously good.

You start off with the pastry crust. Roll it thin between two pieces of waxed paper.
You place the finished crust into your baking dish and put it in the fridge for a while (I warned you). Fortunately, you can occupy yourself with other parts of the recipe while it's chilling.
You can wash your blueberries. And zest a lemon.
And make the streusel topping.
And whip together the eggs, buttermilk, flour, and butter the compose the cakey layer.
Then you can begin to layer the ingredients in the baking pan -- first the blueberries, which have been mixed with the lemon zest.

Then the cake batter.
After that, another layer of blueberries.
Finally, you can add your streusel topping. The original recipe makes more than I need, but I happily make the entire batch and stow some of it away (in the fridge or freezer) for use on some other impromptu fruit cobbler.
The baked cobbler browns up nicely. The edges bubble, and the topping gets a sugar-topped --almost creme-brulee-like--crunch.
A bit of the buckle would be just fine scooped out, warm, onto a plate.
But, it's definitely better with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Triple Layer Blueberry Buckle

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Milwaukee Eat Local Challenge: Getting out of the slump

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 04:23:00 +0000

Local eating is at the heart of what we do here at Burp! Which is why it came as a real surprise when I didn't find myself feeling all aflutter when I read the announcement for the 2009 Milwaukee Eat Local Challenge taking place September 1-15 and the Wisconsin Eat Local Challenge which runs September 27 - October 4th.

Last year, when we started the challenge, we were seriously stoked. And our progress was impressive (we surprised ourselves by buying/eating 74% locally during the challenge). And, thanks to the number of local products/companies we discovered, we found that many of our local eating practices could be sustained over much of the year.

So, why am I not feeling more excited?
After all, THIS YEAR our local eating challenge should totally ROCK.

The fact is, the concept bores me a bit. As you know, I've been feeling a bit slumpy lately when it comes to cooking, and that feeling has begun to extend itself to the concept of local eating.

Being a locavore isn't new and exciting anymore. Just two years ago, "locavore" was the word of the year in the New Oxford American Dictionary. But this year?? The shine has worn off. The excitement has waned. The Eat Local Challenge blog (a great source of inspiration) is dead. And I've hit the danger zone.

I believe they call this sort of thing a "double edged sword". On the one hand, the fact that eating locally has become mundane to me is probably a good thing. That means its become part of my routine, a natural part of my life. On the other hand, there's some danger that allowing something as important as supporting the local food economy to become hum-drum means that it isn't at the forefront of my behavior. If I can't get excited about it, how can I expect others to do so?

So, we decided that something had to change.
This year, our eat local pledge includes the usual:

We'll be looking for as many food sources within 100 miles of our home as we can find, shopping at the farmer's market, and looking for mechanisms to extend our local eating into the winter months.
However, we'll also concentrate on the (more sustainable) ability to eat regionally -- meaning that we'll focus our eating on products we can procure from the near Midwest (WI, IL, MN, IA, and MI).
We'll also be taking a critical view of what we can do to continue eating locally even after the farmer's markets have closed for the season.

But, I'm including one more bullet point:

We'll focus on ditching the slump and FINDING THE JOY in local eating.

So, here goes! September 1st is here, and we're starting it off right.

What about you? Do you subscribe to local eating as a habit?
Any sources for inspiration you'd like to share?

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Plain Jane Vanilla Ice Cream Days

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 22:17:00 +0000

I'm in a serious slump.
Despite all the bounty at the farmer's market (and the great food we seem to bring home each week), we've both been working pretty hard and haven't had a whole lot of time for cooking. When we do cook, it's been "nothing to blog about"... or at least that's what I've been telling myself. We throw together salads. And sammiches. And odd assortments of veggies. And we call them dinner.

I haven't even been all that inspired to take pictures of what's out in the garden... although I did get a great shot of this lovely mutant cherry tomato. He's a twin... but (as you can see) he's also not very modest.
Fortunately, David Lebovitz knows just what I'm talking about.
And I know this because he included a recipe just for me in The Perfect Scoop.
Now, I'm from Milwaukee, so I'm a custard girl.
Lebovitz would probably say that I'm really a French custard girl, but I'm going to be true to my local side and stand on principle here. I'm a Milwaukee Custard Girl. And that's final.

If you've never been to Kopp's Frozen Custard (home of the most heavenly frozen treats imaginable), then you might not know what I mean. But, I'll be the first to tell you that you've really been depriving yourself... and it's such a shame... and that you really ought to come out here for a visit... and soon.

Considering all that, I could be a complete snob about things and claim that there's simply NOTHING LIKE a good custard. At that point, I could stand on principle (again) and refuse to make things like Philidelphia style ice cream. But, that would be downright silly. Because, my friends, there is a place and a time for Plain Jane Vanilla Ice Cream that doesn't take hours of effort or complicated recipes. And that time is now.

You will need a bit of stove time for this recipe - but I promise you the effort will be minimal. Just a bit of cream, some sugar, and a split and scraped vanilla bean and you're good to go. Warm the mixture just until the sugar is melted.
Then add some additional cream, a splash of vanilla, and a bit of whole milk.
Technically, that cools things down almost to the point where you could toss the mixture right into your ice cream maker. But, leaving it in the fridge for a while is a good thing. First -- it gives that vanilla bean a bit more time to swim around in the cream and impart his delicious goodness. Secondly, it gives you time for an afternoon nap -- which, as far as I'm concerned, is never a bad thing.
So, pour it into a bowl (with a cover), give it a good stir, and leave it sit in the fridge for a while. We forgot about ours for two whole days (that's how inspired we were) before it ever saw the inside of our ice cream maker.
It could be that the extra-long brew time was the secret to this creamy, dreamy, ultra-vanilla ice cream. But, I doubt it. I'm pretty sure that a couple of hours would do. So, you needn't make up excuses for not trying this.

After all, it makes an excellent root beer float (especially with a locally brewed rootbeer, like the one from Sprecher Brewing Company).
Vanilla Ice Cream, Philidelphia Style
David Lebovitz, The Perfect Scoop

2 cups heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup sugar
pinch of salt
1 vanilla bean, split in half lengthwise
3/4 tsp vanilla extract

Pour 1 cup of the cream into a medium saucepan and add the sugar and salt. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean into the saucepan and add the pod to the pot. Warm over medium heat, stirring, until the sugar is dissolved.

Remove from the heat and add the remaining cream, milk, and vanilla extract.

Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator. When ready to churn, remove the vanilla bean, rinsing and reserving it for another use, and then freeze the mixture in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Hansel & Gretel Pasta: Orecchette with Roasted Eggplant & Ricotta

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 01:35:00 +0000

Cinnamon and cocoa powder.
Reminiscent of a decadent dessert, no?
Well, what if I told you that these two flavors could form the incredible basis for one of the best savory summer dishes you'd tasted yet? Would you believe me?

I promise you I'm not blowing smoke.
The truth is, when I came back from a week's vacation in Wisconsin's North Woods on Saturday, the last thing I expected was to be making a dish with cocoa powder, cinnamon, and eggplant. But, life is an unexpected thing. And sometimes it surprises you.

The fairytale begins... once upon a time, with a few pounds of "Hansel & Gretel" eggplants from the West Allis farmer's market (stereotypically, the "Gretel" eggplants are smaller and white; "Hansels" are slightly larger and black).
I'd always been inspired by Greek dishes (like moussaka) that combine cinnamon and eggplant. And I'd recently read something about Sicilian caponanta made with a pinch of cocoa powder -- meant to tame the bitterness in eggplant. So, the concept really wasn't at outlandish as it seemed.

I chopped up the eggplant, along with a couple of sweet Wisconsin-grown Walla Walla onions. And I tossed them with a bit of cinnamon and cocoa powder. I arranged them on a baking sheet and Peef drizzed them with a bit of olive oil. Then we tossed them into a 425ºF oven to roast.
While the eggplant was roasting, I chopped up some raw walnuts -- which we'd add to the roasting eggplant about 10-15 minutes before it was finished roasting.
Peef stepped outside to pick a handful of fresh Italian parsley from the herb garden.I chopped the parsley and added it, along with about a cup of grated pecorino romano, to a tub of whole milk ricotta cheese.
We whipped the cheese and parsley together and set it aside for a bit while we cooked up some orecchiette pasta.When the pasta was finished cooking, we added it to the ricotta cheese mixture, along with some of the pasta water.
About the same time, we noticed an incredible aroma emanating from the oven and wafting throughout the kitchen. It was sweet -- and yet, somehow, not sugary. The odor of the cinnamon was unmistakeable, but the cocoa powder was... less obvious. It melded strangely (yet solidly) with the scent of the rapidly caramelizing onions. And, somehow, the whole entourage married itself to the roasting eggplant, forming a complex union. When we took the steaming pans from the oven, we couldn't resist sneaking a taste.
OhMY! It was positively fabulous.
We mixed the eggplant and onions with the creamy ricotta cheese and we held our heads over the top of the serving bowl to take in the full aroma.
Creamy, but not heavy. Sweet and caramelized, but definitely savory. The walnuts not only brought forward a distinct nuttiness, but they added a nice bit of texture to an otherwise smooth dish. A bit of crusty garlic bread, and we were all set.
I love it when dinner turns out with a fairytale ending.

Hansel & Gretel Pasta: Orecchiette with Roasted Eggplant & Ricotta

The End.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Four Chefs & A Pig: Pinehold Gardens Pig Roast

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 17:55:00 +0000

Summer in Wisconsin is often gone before it begins.
Or at least that's the way it feels sometimes.

By this time of the year, we often find ourselves hurrying to take advantage of all the warm weather activities -- the gardening, the State Fair, the farmer's markets and art fairs. After all, autumn is approaching. And soon, we'll be trading in our shorts for sweaters. And our garden trowels for snow shovels.

Milwaukee may not have the sunniest beaches... or the longest growing season... but, her brief summer bears some beautiful fruit. One of the most delicious of these is the annual pig roast out at Pinehold Gardens.

We thought that last year's pig roast couldn't be beat. That is, of course, until we experienced this year's feast.
The day couldn't have been more perfect -- warm and breezy, with just a few clouds in the sky. When we arrived on the farm, we were greeted by Aran Madden from Furthermore, who gave us an introductory pour of Proper Ale... which is, in our humble opinions, one of the best all-purpose brews out there. Light, toasty, and a bit sweet, it was just the thing to whet our palates for the feast ahead.
Of course the Proper Ale was just the first of four brews that we'd be sampling throughout the evening. The others included Knot Stock (a hoppy, peppery pale ale), Fatty Boombalatty (one of the best -- and most different -- Belgian wheats we've ever tried), and Oscura (a Mexican lager augmented with the flavor -- and killer aroma-- of freshly ground coffee).The tables were set in full view of Sandra and Dave's gorgeous Pinehold Gardens farm. We took our seats and waited patiently for the first course to arrive.
The first delicacy to make its way around the table was a delicious appetizer -- delicate pastry topped with goat cheese, chives, pork confit, and caramelized onions. If the satisfied groans escaping our mouths after nibbling these delicious bits were any indication, we were in for some serious treats.
The first course was the brainchild of Adam Lucks, the powerhouse behind our favorite local hang-out, Comet Cafe -- home of Lo's favorite artichoke melt sammich and Peef's dream come true, a bloody mary served with a slice of perfectly fried bacon.The art of charcuterie really shone in this dish -- a pork paté en croute. The bright pickled beets and kohlrabi kept this rich dish from becoming too overwhelming. And the addition of a few cooked fresh cherries lent the perfect fruity touch.
A surprise palate-cleanser followed the charcuterie -- a delightful carrot slaw with just a hint of cilantro. Crisp and refreshing -- this is definitely a dish we'll be thinking about recreating here at Burp!, as it would make the perfect side dish for all sorts of delicious summer fare.
Next up, we sampled some of the best satay we'd ever eaten -- thanks to our new friend, Peter Sandroni from La Merenda (a great little spot in Walker's Point where you can get some of the best global tapas fare around).
If it weren't tempting enough watching them prepare the tapas...
We couldn't wait to sample the first round as it got to our table -- delicious, Thai marinated pork accompanied by a spicy peanut sauce.
The pork was perfectly done... and it was a fantastic accompaniment for the peppery Knot Stock that was served alongside.
Chile-heads that we are, we reveled in the amazingly zippy cucumber relish that followed... although the Thai chiles made it a little bit too spicy for some at our table.
Our tongues had barely cooled when they passed around the next batch of satay -- Jamaican inspired pork with fresh mango salsa.
By this point in the evening, we could have hopped back into the car -- happy and perfectly satisfied. But, the third course took us for yet another delicious whorl.
The unforgettably tender fresh ham, plated with (delicious) nasturtium and accompanied by a rich, velvety barbeque sauce (made with a hint of coffee), took every single one of us over the edge with delight.
The corn pudding couldn't have been better. It was light and sweet -- made with fresh Wisconsin eggs and sugary August corn (which tasted as if it had been plucked straight from the field).
And, just as we thought it couldn't GET any better, we bit into the juicy delight of this fresh watermelon and cherry tomato salad. With melon so luscious it could have been a dessert in and of itself, this side was brought down to earth with the brilliant addition of savory goat cheese and fresh herbs. Sheer bliss!
By this point, we were seriously wondering if we'd ever be able to get up out of our chairs. But who can resist the promise of chocolate? (and, Peef would add, BACON)??!!
Chef Dave Swanson from Braise quite nearly outdid himself with this dish. Dark chocolate, freshly cured bacon, whole wheat shortbread, and a pinch of sea salt... it could only be made better with a swirl of dark caramel sauce and a dollop of fresh cream.

By the glow of candlelight, we relished every single bite. And yes -- we swooned a bit. I might have spotted a tear of delight rolling down Peef's right cheek. And Rebecca declared that she might just "have to hug Dave" (matter of fact, I think she actually did!)
A night so perfect. Really doesn't happen every day.
It was difficult, but we bid the evening adieu... walking through the grass, until only the faint glow of candles could be seen in the distance.

We thought last year's pig roast was a masterpiece. But, this year was absolute inspiration.

How can we help but give some serious kudos to everyone who made this event possible? Here's the list. Now, give 'em some love! Better yet, sign up for next year's pig roast and join in on the fun!!

Event Sponsorship:
Braise on the Go
Slow Food Wisconsin Southeast
Pinehold Gardens

Food Provided By:
Large Black Pig by Dominion Valley Farm
Beets: JenEhr Farm
Butter, Cream: Sassy Cow Creamery
Cherry Tomatoes, Watermelon: Tipi Produce
Cilantro: Afterglow Farm (sandy@afterglowfarm.com)
Cipollini Onions, Scallions: Springdale Farm
Chocolate: Omanhene Chocolate
Cucumbers: Piper Farm
Eggs: Jeff-Leen Farm
Greens: LotFotL
Kohlrabi: Wellspring Farm
Whole Wheat Flour: Jesse Lambright (Pristine View Farm)

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Wisconsin State Fair: FOOD

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 21:19:00 +0000

Some people go to the state fair for the animals...
Some people go to the fair to ride the ferris wheel...
But, we like to go to the Wisconsin State Fair for the food...

When you're from Wisconsin, you've got to start things off right.
Once that first beer is gone, you're ready to tackle the rest of the fair.
Then it's time for breakfast. How about some nice, tender buttermilk pancakes with Wisconsin butter and fresh maple syrup??And how about some dark chocolate covered bacon on the side??
Peef was seriously enamoured with that bacon.
On the other hand, it was pretty difficult to resist the deep fried cheese curds.
Yeah -- I'm a fried cheese kindofa gal myself. And some of these curds were HUGE!

The sweet potato fries were pretty good.And so were the deep fried peanut butter and jelly sammiches (on a stick!)They were sweet and gooey...
And they tasted an awful lot like a peanut butter & jelly donut.
When we thought we couldn't eat another bite, we made friends with some pastry guys who were wearing funny hats.
Wisconsin State Fair is known for its cream puffs, made with Wisconsin cream.
YUM.After all that food, who could resist a nice cold glass of flavored milk?
Thanks Ms. Happy Cow!!*burp!*

Get a glimpse of last year's Wisconsin State Fair Finds.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Psycho Chicken

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Something funny happened in the past week or so... I got back into touch with an old friend. It's not really so strange that we got back in touch; it's more the manner in which it happened that threw me off. I'd just finished conceptualizing the text for this posting (which just happens to talk about Gail's influence on my cooking). And, when I logged onto Facebook, there she was! Like I'd conjured her somehow with my words.

Gail and I met each other in the late nineties, and we were dedicated email pals for years. We wrote, exchanged cooking tips, and talked about life. For the past few years we'd fallen out of touch. And it made me pretty sad. I missed her wit. Her way with words. Above all, I missed her recipes.

We may have differed in our opinions about food (she preferred rice where I favored potatoes), but I think we shared an appreciation for "the good stuff." I'd brief her on my day's events and tip her off to the recipe for duck that I'd made for Thanksgiving dinner -- the one with the seriously crisp skin and the meltingly tender breast meat. She'd amuse me with stories of her Aunt Gerda, who entertained with gusto, and share recipes for mango bread, empanadas, and ginger cookies (a staple around the holidays... one of those fantastic cookies that seriously gets better with age).

Gail taught me a great deal about cooking. She taught me how to make a killer clam sauce with canned clams. She reminded me that planning large events is a snap -- as long as you keep a list of what to do when. Most of all, she gave me an appreciation for the little things that go into a dish that make the final product truly outstanding. One of my favorite "Gail recipes" is a simple, roasted chicken. It's not fussy. But, it's seriously fabulous. And it never fails to make me smile when I make it.

It starts out innocently enough. With an ordinary chicken. A big knife. A bit of garlic. You'd never really suspect that violence would ensue.
But it does. At first, you're a little bit uncomfortable stabbing that poor chicken. But, eventually, you kinda get into it. And the soundtrack to the movie "Psycho" starts playing in your head. You might start feeling the tension of the day wearing off. And you might end up going a little bit overboard with your hacking. But, somehow, that's alright. Becuase you know it's going to pay off in the end.
You mix together a bit of apple cider vinegar with a healthy dose of garlic and some thyme leaves.
And you rub it all over the chicken -- being sure to get it on the inside of the carcas and into all those little nooks and crannies that you made with your knife. I like to stuff a half of a spent lemon into the cavity if I have one; but, everything turns out just fine without it.
When you're ready to put the chicken in the oven, you'll want to open a nice bottle of dry white wine. Yeah -- some of it is for drinking; but, you also want to baste the chicken with a bit of the wine every 20 or 30 minutes while it's in the oven.
When the chicken comes out, it will be lovely and browned, and it will smell so incredible that you'll be just dying to taste it. But, be patient.
I like to rest my chicken for a bit after he comes out of the oven. Cover him up with a nice piece of foil, if you like. He'll stay plenty warm.
Gail would always say that the most important part of the recipe is in the carving. If the chicken is cooked properly, it should flow with fantastic, flavorful juices as you carve. Dredge each slice of meat in the juices before you serve the chicken -- that's where all the lovely garlicky flavor is. And if you miss this step, you've missed the point.
Best chicken ever. We served this particular bird with some sauteed kale and a bit of red wehani rice pilaf.
Psycho Chicken is less about ingredients than it is a technique-- it is about a slashing and slathering method of infusing flavor into the chicken, then dredging the meat in the juices after cooking. Thanks to Gail, I learned that early on.

Psycho Chicken

We all have people like Gail in our lives -- who inspire us and leave us with a little something that expands our repertoire and improves our cooking. Who's your "Gail"?

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Pâté de Canard en Croûte Part 3: That's Just Fowl! And Other French Delicacies

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 10:56:00 +0000

...continued from Part 2: You're Gonna Bone What??!! and Part 1: In Creativity We Truss

Our Saturday morning started out like many others. We got up, we had breakfast, I puttered on the computer for a while, Peef dallied with a few minor household chores, and eventually we got up the energy to get moving. We knew we wanted to get to the farmer's market for our weekly produce. And, while we were there, we decided to pick up a few things to serve as side dishes with our duck.

Peas, we determined, would be perfect. And how about some baked cucumbers?? We'd never even HEARD of baked cucumbers before paging through MtAoFC; but, they sounded intriguing. And so, baked cucumbers it would be! We pranced off to the market and gathered our wares. When we got back home, it was time to get down to business.

Saturday: 3:25 p.m.
"I'm really dreading this pastry," I said to Peef as we unloaded our vegetables.

"I know," he replied, "but how bad could it be?"

Somehow, Peef always manages to keep a stiff upper lip when it comes to things like dubious pastry dough... which could have something to do with the fact that he wasn't the one planning on rolling it out.

We took the stuffed duck out of the fridge, dried it off with paper towels, and carefully browned it on all sides in a bit of oil.
While the duck was cooling, I cautiously unwrapped the cold, hard blob of pastry dough. I placed it on our marble pastry board, and we both stared at it for a while before I worked up the courage to make the first move.

I started off by pounding it liberally with the rolling pin. As the dough softened and flattened, I shaped it into two relatively flat discs -- one larger, and one smaller. These would form the top and bottom of the crust.
I applied slow, even pressure to each mass of dough until it formed a roughly oblong shape. Despite, my fears, the pastry turned out to be far easier to deal with than we imagined.

"Peef, it's working," I gurgled in half-giddy disbelief. Things were definitely looking up.
Saturday: 4:30 p.m.
We took the larger pastry round and placed it on a baking sheet lined with a silpat. When the dough was adequately centered, Peef placed the duck on top.
I brought the edges of the dough up over the top of the duck, and Peef smoothed out the dough and patted it into place.
I cut an oval out of the second, smaller piece of dough, just large enough to cover the top of the duck. Peef painted the edge of the bottom crust with egg wash, and I placed the oval on top, crimping the edges as needed to get it to adhere to the lower piece of dough.
Peef cut some ovals out of the remaining crust for decoration, and I pressed fan-shaped lines into them with the back of a knife, just as Julia instructed. Then we placed them around the perimeter of the pastry, brushed it with more egg-wash, and prepped it for the oven.
"Wow," I commented to Peef as he was finishing up the egg wash, "it's actually kind of pretty."

He agreed. I sighed -- almost as if relieved -- but held back a bit of anticipatory breath. It wasn't time to celebrate yet. Victory, after all, was still a few hours away.

Julia suggested inserting a brown paper or foil funnel through a 1/8 inch hole in the top of the pate to allow the cooking steam to escape. We did this, and then inserted our oven's temperature probe into the top of the pate. We crossed our fingers and placed it into the oven.
While the pate was baking, we shelled our fresh peas...
... and prepped the cucumbers for baking.
While we were waiting, we called a few of our friends and invited them to come over for an impromptu feast.

Nearly two hours later, the oven beeped. The probe had reached 180º and our pate was finished. We held our breath as we opened the oven door. Inside, we saw a glorious sight. Perfectly browned and bubbling, the Pate De Canard En Croute was almost too good to be true.
Sitting around the table that evening, surrounded by friends, we took our first bites of the dish we'd spent the past two days working on, and we smiled. The dish wasn't quite a revelation. Truthfully, it was more like a glorified meatloaf pie than anything. But, the dish -- redolent with the richness of the duck and buttery pastry -- was so very much more than we could have hoped.
I remembered reading something Julia Child was quoted as saying in her memoir, My Life in France -- "...nothing is too much trouble if it turns out the way it should." And I nodded my head.

It was true. It was really true.

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Pâté de Canard en Croûte Part 2: You're Gonna Bone What??!!

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 10:55:00 +0000

...continued from Part 1: In Creativity We Truss

And all at once, it was Friday...

Friday: 2:05 p.m.
Boning the duck was the first thing to be done. Peef and I had decided long before that we'd approach this part of the recipe as a team. I would cut; he would coach.

I started with the easy part -- the wings. Peef held the duck's wings extended and I nipped them off at the second joint. Then, I flipped the duck over on its back. Carefully, carefully... I slit the skin along the backbone. Then, I began sliding my knife down against the carcass; Peef helped by pulling the flesh away from the bone gently as I cut.

Above photo by Benny Sieu, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel Photographer

I severed the joints connecting the wings and legs, and I made my way down to the breastbone. Peef held the carcass up while I slipped my knife underneath and freed the ribs and back from the body.

As I pulled the carcass from the bird, I found myself feeling plucky. This duck wasn't getting the best of me, after all! I slit and scraped and pulled out the wing bones. And that's when I decided to go one step beyond Julia's recommendations. I decided to remove the bones from the drumsticks as well. She left me with no instructions for this final step, so I simply moved forward by instinct. If my lack of fear was due to simple confidence or utter stupidity I had no idea; but, I plodded forward. Ultimately, I saw before me the most perfect little "duck suit" I had ever seen.
We prepped the duck according to Julia's instructions -- first slicing off some of the breast and thigh meat, and then cutting it into cubes...
...and seasoning everything with salt, pepper, allspice, and generous tablespoons of port and cognac.
Then, we rolled the duck up and placed it in the fridge.

Friday: 3:52 p.m.
I should have felt more trepidation where the pastry dough was concerned, but I was feeling pretty confident at this point. Probably a little bit TOO confident. Butter, flour, water... piece of cake, right??

As I kneaded the liquid into the butter flour mixture, I began wondering why the dough felt so incredibly dry. Nothing was sticking together. Peef added more water. And still more water... and that's when I saw the gently beaten eggs sitting in the mixing cup on the counter.

"Peef!" I exclaimed, horror evident in my voice, "we forgot to add the eggs."

A small breakdown ensued. We tried to add the eggs late in the process, but ended up with dough that seemed tough and still strangely dry. I womped it together into a pile and threw it into the fridge. And then I took a few deep breaths. And we tried again.

The second time, we ended up with something a great deal more like pastry dough. Still a bit dry feeling; but, this time the dough stuck together, so we called it a victory. We wrapped the dough in a piece of plastic wrap and placed it in the fridge to chill.

Friday: 5:25 p.m.
After the pastry fiasco, the stuffing seemed like a breeze. We took sauteed onions, reduced cognac, veal, pork, pork fat, eggs, and seasonings and "beat" them "vigorously" until, as Julia predicted, they were somehow lighter and fluffier.
We sauteed a bit of the meat mixture in a hot saute pan, tasted it, and swooned. This stuffing was going to amount to FAR MORE than the sum of its parts. That was evident.
Friday: 7:00 p.m.
If you've never done it (and can handle the thought of it), I'd highly recommend stuffing and trussing a duck at least once in your life. It's phenomenally satisfying work, and despite the relative ease of the process, you exit the whole experience feeling quite accomplished.

First, we unrolled the (now marinated) duck. We incorporated the chopped pieces of duck meat into our veal and pork filling -- which was still fantastically fluffy, even after its time in the fridge. Then we shaped the filling into an oblong pile and placed it atop the duck. Folding the duck carefully over the filling, I got ready with my trusty upholstery needle and kitchen twine, and started lacing the duck up.
Just like the picture!
The process went quickly. Before we knew it, I'd trussed up Mr. Duck and wrapped an additional 3-4 ties of string around him to give him the necessary "cylindrical shape."

"It looks like a grub," Peef announced when we were finished.
"Ew. You're right," I admitted, but I was quite pleased with my work. Grub-like or not. Our duck was all sewn up and ready to be browned.

Unfortunately, by the time we'd finished stuffing and trussing, it was past 7:30 p.m. We were starving, and daylight was fading fast. Certainly we'd intended to finish the entire Julie/Julia project that day; but, as luck would have it, we were both feeling unusually drained. I was not about to tackle rolling out finicky pastry dough when I was tired and hungry. And Peef echoed my thoughts that holding off until Saturday would give us better daytime lighting for our finishing photographs. And so, we tucked the stuffed duck neatly into the fridge and ordered out for pizza.

[to be continued...]
Don't forget to check out the Journal Sentinel article online!

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Pâté de Canard en Croûte Part 1: In Creativity We Truss

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 22:51:00 +0000

The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude. -- Julia Child

Julia Child and I have three things in common: A love for food, a willingness to tackle anything, and an incredible "simpatico" with a husband named Paul. Julia was not only the first television chef in my memory, she was my hero. She could conquer anything, it seemed, and she always did it with a sense of humor.

So, when the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel called and asked me to tackle a recipe from Julia's classic Mastering the Art of French Cooking (especially a recipe as challenging as Pâté de Canard en Croûte), how could I turn them down?

Well, I couldn't.
At the newspaper's request, we've spent the past couple of weeks keeping hush-hush about our project. But today we break our silence.

First -- I'm very pleased to say that the recipe turned out really, really well. But, things didn't exactly go off without a hitch. And we met with a few more challenges than we expected. We survived the hunt for a trussing needle in Milwaukee, WI, we boned our very first duck, we wrangled with a particularly difficult French pastry, and we tasted baked cucumbers for the very first time.

If you're interested in hearing more about our adventures, stay with us. We'll be featuring a three-part series right here on the Burp! blog telling you EVERYTHING you want to know. There will be plenty of telling photographs ... along with all the witty dialog you'd expect from two crazy bloggers who are trying tackling a slightly laborious French duck recipe for the first time.

Part One: In Creativity We Truss (see below)
Part Two: You're Gonna Bone What?
Part Three: That's Just Fowl! And Other French Delicacies

Of course, you might also be interested to see what got published in the local paper. Starting tonight (Tuesday), August 4th, you'll also be able to access the Journal-Sentinel article online at: http://www.jsonline.com/features/food/ The article will feature our story, some never before seen photographs, and the first-hand accounts of other area food bloggers who participated in the challenge.

And so I present to you, the first of three parts:
Pâté de Canard en Croûte Part 1:
In Creativity We Truss

It was Thursday, July 16th, and I'd just gotten the phone call telling me that we'd been accepted into the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel Julie/Julia Recipe Challenge. Our task: to make one challenging recipe from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking ... and blog about it.

Our chosen recipe would be a tough one -- Pate de Canard en Croute (Stuffed Duck in a Pastry Shell). We were excited, of course. But, we had exactly one week to prepare for the task at hand. So we were eager to get started. First, we studied the recipe and made our lists.

The edible ingredients (duck, veal, pork, flour, butter) didn't pose any serious threats; after all, we know our way around the city. But, the adventure started when we began hunting for things like, er, a trussing needle. I knew what it looked like; after all, Julia includes a variety of rather detailed illustrations in Master the Art of French Cooking. I also knew that they were available online. But I didn't have TIME for online. And so I got out the phone book.

"What did you want again?" said the voice on the other end of the phone line. This was the seventh culinary supply store I'd tried, and no one seemed to have what I was asking for.

"A trussing needle," I replied, "You know, to sew up poultry after it's been stuffed."

"Oh, yeah," he mumbled, "we don't carry those."

After exhausting all of the apparent sources, we headed off to the craft store. Certainly they would have something that would suffice. After 15-20 minutes of contemplation, I finally settled for an upholstery needle. The eye was large enough to accommodate my linen kitchen twine and, at 3 inches, it was the longest needle I could find.

I prayed it would work.

[to be continued...]

©BURP! Where Food Happens

Bacon Lettuce and Peach Sammiches (BLPs)

peefandlo@sbcglobal.net (Lo) — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 16:41:00 +0000

Tomatoes are finally in season up here in Wisconsin. But, I wouldn't exactly say that they're in their "prime." I'm still waiting for the succulent juiciness of that first heirloom variety. You know the one -- the big, ugly one that is almost too ripe to be touched. It's the one that tastes of sugar and sunshine and just begs to be made into a BLT sammich.

Yeah.
Well, I'm going to wait for that tomato. And in the meantime, I'm going to turn to another summer staple. And this one is in prime form. Peaches.

You might think I'm a little crazy to sub peaches for tomatoes in this classic sandwich. But, I assure you, there's nothing crazy about it. Both fruits carry a similar sweetness. Peaches, in particular, have a special affinity for bacon; the sweet/smoky combo is just unbeatable. And the texture of a ripe peach and a ripe tomato are remarkably similar.
I like to make things a bit more interesting by replacing plain old mayo with a slightly embellished version. You can use your old reliable jarred mayo here; it's really OK. Add a bit of chopped basil and a couple of tablespoons of blue cheese (feta is also nice, if you're hesitant about blue).
Crisp up a bit of bacon. Rather than pan frying bacon, which makes a royal mess, I like baking mine on a large baking sheet at about 425ºF for about 20 minutes. It cooks quite evenly, it doesn't spatter onto my shirt, and the process frees me up to do other (very important) things. Like pour myself a glass of wine. Or start a blog post.
When everything is ready, you can assemble your sammiches. Spread with mayo, add your lettuce, bacon, and some slices of ripe peach.
And then you should admire your handiwork -- at least for a moment. It's downright pretty.
Fortunately, it's not too pretty to eat.
So, dig on in. It's seriously good stuff. So good you'll hardly miss the tomatoes.

Oh yeah -- and stay tuned.
We'll be breaking our silence and telling you ALL ABOUT our adventures with Pate De Canard En Croute on Wednesday!

©BURP! Where Food Happens