Fettuccine Alfredo and Sauteed Vegetables

I think the first time I ever had pasta with cream sauce, big rube that I am, was at one of Orville Weale's music festivals right across the WV-PA line in southwestern Pennsylvania. We were working as "security" at the venue, held at a farm now bisected by a toll road, and one of the food vendors was selling some form of Fettuccine Alfredo. I kept seeing satisfied people walking away from their stand, so I bought my dinner from those nice people--I seem to remember a French accent--and it was quite good, as cream sauces and pasta perfectly complemented my mood and that outdoor environment. That's about all I remember about the festival besides a "haunted house" we were to keep people away from. Oh, and a trunkload full of punks that Orville busted as they emerged right in front of him.

Anyway, Harris Teeter was selling boxes of fettuccine and linguine at a price of five boxes for five dollars, so I suppose that is from where the idea to make alfredo emerged. I also had in my cupboard a container of sliced cremini mushrooms (Janet said she's tired of mushrooms), four chicken thighs, some freshly grated ParmReg, two orange peppers bought at a discount, some carrots, half of a large onion, and some Pasta Sprinkle, which goes into a good three-fourths of everything I make.

I diced the onion, the peppers, and the carrots finely and began sauteeing the items in a little olive oil, Salt and Pepper. As they cooked, I added the aforementioned Pasta Sprinkle. I allowed the veg to cook until they softened mostly, and then I added my broccoli, which I fully intended to keep firm. Stir, stir, stir.
Earlier, I boiled water for my fettuccine, and it was cooking along nicely. I also seasoned the thighs and placed them in the oven. When the thighs were nearly finished cooking, I added some of their rendered fat to the vegetables, adding more flavor flav to the dish.

I also added a large pat of butter and a Glug of Chardonnay. That cooked awhile to release the alcohol, and now I am just about ready to assemble the dish and eat my supper. Cooking has to be the best hobby in the world. The rewards are immediate and lasting. It is a hobby that can be shared, and that is a good thing, since everyone I've ever met likes to eat good food.

Anyhoo, into my smaller pan, I added a fair amount of the vegetable mix and poured the heavy cream atop (this dish is high on the calories, but full of vegetables, so a good yin-yang is achieved) along with a handful of fresh ParmReg and cracked black pepper. Smells very good. Usually I try to wait until the wife gets home from work to eat dinner, but not today. I did not care to wait any longer. I tore the meat from one of the thighs and placed it into the cream and veg sauce. Dogs and I are salivating now, so I treated them to a little chicken skin.

So now all that's left is dishes. Cooking and dirty dishes equal a good yin-yang, also.

Chicken Piccata and Lemony Mushroom Pasta

Today I decided to cook something that I haven't cooked in a long time--Chicken Piccata. I like the dish; I just forget about it until it occasionally raises its lemony hand and waves. It just so happens that today I had all of the ingredients in stock, so I waved back and got to work.

To accompany the Piccata, I decided on spaghetti. I don't know what else could go with the dish, and I don't care. Pasta works with everything, I am convinced. I put my water on to boil, and then I moved on to the sauce.

Since Piccata is lemony, I decided to continue the slightly sour theme by imparting a little lemon flavor to my pasta sauce. I started the sauce with olive oil and two containers of sliced cremini mushrooms, seasoned with Pasta Sprinkle from Penzey's, Salt and Pepper. These items sauteed awhile before I added some chicken stock, a little Chardonnay, and a reasonable amount of lemon juice. I turned up the heat so that the alcohol could boil away, and my sauce was built. Tastes pretty good. I like it.

Next I prepared my chicken. If you want to make Piccata, really the only way to go is to use thinly sliced chicken breasts, scallopine style. You can pound the breasts yourself, which is a little messy and a pain in the arse, you can slice them in half yourself, or you can just buy them thinly sliced at the store, which is the route I prefer.

Into a bowl, I dumped some flour. I seasoned the flour with Sandwich Sprinkle, also from Penzey's, and then I dredged the chicken in the flour. In the past, I have used egg wash before coating with flour, but these days, I simply rinse whatever meat I am cooking under the spigot, shake off the excess water, and then coat it with flour. I never can tell any difference in flavor, and this streamlines the process somewhat.

Now I am ready to sautee my chicken. In a pan, I heated some olive oil until it was good and hot. The chicken sizzled when I placed it in the pan, and that is a good sign that your chicken is going to be right. The chicken browned, and I removed it. Enter the Piccata. I wiped my pan with a paper towel to remove the brown crusties. I have also, in my previous preparations of this dish, left them in the pan, but it creates a brown sauce, which I did not want today.

About two tablespoons of butter, Salt, Pepper, another good glug of Chardonnay, a handful of capers, another good amount of lemon juice, and the Piccata is ready. Spoon the sauce over the chicken breasts placed atop the pasta, and it is time to eat. I might have added some fresh basil and some freshly grated ParmReg, but I had neither of those things. The dish still turned out quite good, in my opinion. Now I am full of good foods, and I think I can hear the recliner calling my name.

Romaine Lettuce, Basil Dress, and Tuna Steaks

We bought a few tuna filets from The Shrimpman. Given a choice, I always prefer tuna to salmon. Janet is just the opposite. She likes her salmon cooked with butter, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and a bit of dill. Granted, it tastes good this way, but it's just not something that I ever think, "Man, I would love to have some salmon."

Fresh tuna is a world away from canned. The two could be different products even. Now, canned tuna will suffice from time to time, but if a person has the opportunity to buy fresh tuna filets, they should. Of course, I like mine cooked just a little bit more than some people prefer, but again, I am a textural weirdo. While I don't want my tuna to be rare, I don't want it to be well done, either. It is precarious to perform this type of balancing act in your cooking.

I gave the pan a little bit of olive oil, salted and peppered the tuna steaks, and threw them in. Even with the extra bit of cooking time I prefer, they do not take a long time to cook. I already had a plan for the steaks: a salad with tuna. Oh, yeah. Good eatin.

I had a bunch of Romaine lettuce that I rinsed and chopped a little, and I added a few tomatoes. The best part about the salad, however, was the basil dress. Bright and flavorful, it is perhaps my favorite method of dressing salad. Into a bowl, I heaved a tablespoon or two of Duke's Finely Crafted Mayonnaise, a good bunch of chopped basil, and the fresh juice of one half of a lemon. Here is where "to taste" becomes relevant. I may add a little more juice. You might add less.

This is better than anything in a bottle. Better than ranch. Salt and pepper, a good mix with a fork, and that is that. Put your salad on a big plate, pour the bud-tickler over it, and mix it very well with your fingers so that the whole salad is dressed properly. I still had some baguette, so I toasted it a little and placed a few pieces of the tuna atop. Drizzled a little of that dressing on it, and this was good. Like smack your lips good. I would venture to say that it was better than anything some people would eat in their entire lifetimes. Thank you, tuna fish. I do appreciate it.

Cheese Grits with Shrimp

I like to eat food. You like to eat food. Everybody likes to eat food. Here is my new idea: The Food Party. In the Food Party, no squabbling will exist. There will be no slander, no libeling, no proselytizing. In food we trust. No fear mongers, no hate mongers, no mudslingers, no right, no left. No bullshit.

If you like your meat rare, you will have the freedom to enjoy your meat rare while realizing the next man has the same freedom to enjoy his meat well done. You will not chastise him because he prefers New York Strip to your Filet, but you will realize that the greatest thing about being a member of the Food Party is that the right to choose exists. In the FP, we will not begrudge another member his choices and preferences, and we will not attempt to exert any ivory tower morality over his sardines with mustard and crackers. Since the proletariat will compose the FP, the FP will be composed of the proletariat.

Highfalutin? Perhaps, but we have room for nonstick and stainless. So if you have eaten food today, sit down and be pleased at your good fortune. If you have eaten food today, consider yourself happy. Let no game over which you have no control sully your feast. Chop your veg and sear your meat. Walk softly and wield a sharp knife. These shall be the mottos of the Food Party.

Now, as I sit here I am quite happy because I just ate a big bowl of shrimp and grits. I have been thinking and thinking about shrimp and grits for the last two or three weeks, I suppose. Ken the Mandolin Player informed me that the dish is historically considered a breakfast dish. I never thought of it as such since the way I make it would create a hectic stomach early in the morn, but shrimpers apparently like to breakfast on shrimp and grits during the season.

Living in the south now for the last seven or so years, I have learned to appreciate the culinary culture here. It wasn't difficult. Fried chicken, seafoods, and sweet tea are all splendid treats, as is shrimp and grits. I will admit that I usually drink Yankee Tea, however.

I realize I am fortunate to live on the coast for many reasons, access to super-fresh seafood being one of them. Near the Piedmont Triad Farmer's Market, the Shrimpman sets up his stand every weekend, just like he has ever since we started shopping there a few years ago, and he is fully stocked with freshly caught shrimp, tuna, salmon, scallops, et cetera, et cetera.

Yesterday, we bought a pound of medium shrimp, and today I undertook the job of shelling and de-veining the shrimp. The heads were removed already, and I am glad about that, as the buggers are quite sharp with their heads intact. My Uncle Duck and I bought quite a few pounds of heads-on shrimp at the beach several years ago, and it took us a long time and a lot of cursing to finally get them cleaned.

I sharpened a paring knife so I could access the poop vein easily. Slicing along the outside of the shrimps, I removed the intestines with the tip of my knife. Then I ran some cold water over the naked crustacean to get rid of any remaining junk. I have eaten shrimp that were not cleaned first, and it doesn't really bother me, but today I just felt like scraping away shrimp junk.

So now my shrimp are cleaned. Several of the shells I placed in my pot of vegetable broth with a bit of salt to impart a little more flavor. Flavor is important in cooking.

Now the liquid for my grits is boiling, and I added a cup of that ground corn to the pot. Not everyone likes grits. I understand that. But I can also guarantee that unless you have physically removed your tastebuds, the finished grits component of this dish will appeal to you.

After awhile, the grits had absorbed all of that liquid. I nearly scorched the grits, as I was cooking my lunch for the next two days concurrently, but I remembered the grits at the most opportune moment. I gave them a stir and added just a bit of water. Now comes the creamy part. Eight ounces of organic cream, stir, maybe two cups of shredded cheddar, stir, and let that warm on the lowest heat for a few moments. Taste it? It is good. I would not lie to you.

As my grits warmed through, I prepared my pan with about a tablespoon of locally churned butter and a tablespoon or so of olive oil. I let the fat come to temperature before adding a bit of Penzey's Pasta Sprinkle, a glug of Chardonnay, just a bit of salt and finally those beautiful shrimp. Smells good. The shrimp do not take long to cook, but I like them to curl up on themselves before I take them from the heat. I like my shrimp cooked just so. Too little cooking, and I don't like their texture. Too much cooking and they become rubbery.

I made a bed of cheesy, creamy grits, over which I placed several shrimp along with a little of the delicious broth they cooked in. Yes, man. I chopped a few scallions to add to the plated dish. I also had a baguette I bought earlier today that I used to sop up a little of that broth and any remaining grits from the bowl. Needless to say, I was filled to the gills. Shrimp and grits. Or as some folks down here say, scrimps 'n grits.

Salt

I am on a crusade against too much salt. I don't remember what got me to thinking about salt the other day. It was probably that my fingers were swollen. That, my friends, is a telltale sign of too much salt. So I began to scrutinize how much salt I was actually consuming lately.

Green olives and dill pickles. I only mention them because they're delicious. I like olives in my red beer. Salt, salt, salt. Salt in the tomato juice, albeit an acceptable amount for a serving, but it all adds up quickly. No stretch, I was consuming at least 4000mg per day in the days before.

I am knowledgeable of the fact that processed foods are super salty. However, in my mind, I had already eliminated a lot of what I considered to be "processed food." I have a new definition now, and the results of my different perspective are tangible. How much salt was in the breads and tortillas I like? How much salt in all those other items I buy but never considered? I needed to find out. Too much salt is what I found.

It was in the diet soda pop I drank, the mayonnaise, and the salad dressing. I dumped three salty bottles of that mess down the drain in favor of a nice vinaigrette containing lime juice, olive oil, just the tiniest pinch of salt, ground black pepper, a little dijon mustard, and a bit of Duke's. I whisked those ingredients in a mixing cup and poured it over my Romaine. Mixed that with my fingers in addition to a tomato from Billie-next-door's garden and a couple croutons. Lemon would have made a tastier dressing, but I had limes today, and it was good regardless. The sodium content was acceptable.

Last night, I spent a little time on the couch watching TV with Hazelnut and Ginger. We watched cooking shows, and I happened upon one of Bobby Flay's shows, "Throwdown." The challenge was Chicago-Style Pizza, so I watched because that pizza looked really tasty, and I wanted to make a low-sodium version.

Now, this pizza is a little different than the style I usually make. I prepared the crust as I always do, minus the salt, but I left it a bit thicker, just large enough to fit in the cast-iron skillet that I baked it in. Using the skillet to bake the pizza was a good idea.

For the sauce, I had a few tomatoes that Billie had left on the front step in a plastic bag along with a few store-bought. I rough chopped them and threw them into the pan atop several shallots and minced garlic sauteeing in olive oil. I did use a fair amount of salt in the sauce, one tablespoon, but I will eat the sauce over several days. The cheese was to be the saltiest culprit in this meal.

So now I have pizza dough in an oiled cast-iron skillet. Chicago-Style Pizza places the cheese atop the dough, then spreads the sauce, then adds a little grated cheese on top when it comes out of the oven. I did these things. The differences are that I added no sausage (good-bye, sausage) and I added a handful of chopped fresh basil. This was a good pizza for a first effort, I guarantee. Next time, I might add a little unsalted butter to the crust for a bit more flakiness. I have no pictures because I am without camera currently, but it looked pretty. I will make one again very soon.

I spoke with Corey on the phone awhile yesterday, and we were talking about chili and pizza. How about a chili pizza then, he said? Sounds good. I'm making one tomorrow.

So yesterday and today, I calculated that I consumed approximately 1000 mg of salt each day. Yesterday, I watched myself deflate through the course of the day. Very, very interesting to observe. The body is quite responsive to any action, and it begin changing immediately. I have already consumed my thousand milligrams today, so I have laid out a few snacks for later when I venture into the kitchen in the form of three carrots, an apple, and an orange. I also have bananas and almond butter. All of these items are salt-free.

This morning, I stood on the scale to find that I have lost 30 pounds in the last 13 months. I would estimate that tomorrow morning, when I stand on the scale, that I will have lost 8 pounds of excess water this weekend, and that is good for me and my HBP. Science!

Pancakes

We are carnivores again, though we have cut way back on our meat consumption to maybe one or two days per week. I am fine with that. I am conserving.

Yesterday, I removed from the freezer about 16 ounces of meat that I used previously for meatballs. My intention was to make a nice meatball and bean soup with cannellini beans, tomatoes and spinach, but Janet looked at me funny and said it was summertime and therefore too hot for soup. What? It's only about 90 degrees here lately. Anyway, I may still make a vegetarian version of the soup because that sounds good to me, summer or not.

So with my soup plans out of contention for the moment, I thought I'd cook sausage, egg, and cheese burritos for breakfast. I was frying the meat for burritos when Janet asked if we were having blueberry pancakes. I supposed we were now, so I mixed up a batch of pancake batter from a pretty good recipe I have that is composed of flour, an egg, milk, baking powder, butter, a little sugar, and some cinnamon. I used Bisquick in the past, but I think that product is only flour and baking powder with some other unpleasant ingredients anyway, so I don't buy it anymore.

Over time, I have found a few tricks for making pancakes, and they are: Pancakes like a very hot skillet. The first batch of cakes may not brown the way you want them to until your pan is good and hot.

Do not stir the batter too much. A few lumps are okay. And keep your pancakes small. A couple tablespoons of batter is really all you need, as large cakes are more difficult to manage. I already cooked the meat in my skillet, so it was heated properly. Now I was ready to cook my pancakes.

I heated a few drops of oil in the pan for a moment to discourage sticking, and in went my batter. I like to add my berries at this point, a handful or so on the top of the cake. Blueberries and their moistness will cause the pancakes to cook more slowly in the middle, so you have to keep that in mind when using fruit in pancakes or regular cakes or cobblers, et cetera.

Actually, I completely forgot to add the berries to the first batch of cakes, so I made a sandwich of pancakes, sausage, an over-easy egg, and a little syrup. Yes, it was good, and I enjoyed it. The second batch (I make two pancakes at a time so I have room to flip them) I remembered the berries. Then I started thinking: why not add the meatball mixture to the pancake batter and blueberries to make a sweet and savory pancake? The saltiness of the meat along with the sweetness of the berries and the syrup made a fine juxtaposition. Now I am full of breakfast goodness, and I'm thinking of taking a little siesta before heading to the ballpark this afternoon.

Mountain Pies

Last night, we had a few people over for spaghetti dinner and drinks. After surfeiting ourselves with pasta, we went back outside and continued sitting around a fire we built earlier in the evening until a good thunderstorm found us at about midnight. It rained for at least an hour, but I was not surprised when I awoke this morning at about six to find a few still-smoldering coals in the firepit. I had a lot of nice pieces of firewood left that I chainsawed yesterday afternoon, so I decided to make a pot of coffee, have a little Bailey's, and rebuild the fire.

As I sat there in the backyard on the swing over several hours this morning, relaxing and drinking my coffee, listening to the birds and the residual raindrops falling from the leaves, I had a very good idea: I decided to dig out the Mountain Pie irons from the shed to cook my breakfast outside in the fire (mostly.) We live in a wooded area, our yard heavily, so with my Pie irons in hand and a large amount of woodsmoke in the air, I might as well have been camping on this Sunday morning.

Mountain Pies have been a part of my life ever since I can remember anything. As a child, at my Aunt Georgia's place out in the country, building fires up on the hill was standard practice during family get-togethers. So was making Mountain Pies. Now, a Mountain Pie is a thing of beauty. The only kind I ever remember as a kid were pizza MPs, filled with sauce and cheese, maybe pepperoni, I don't recall, and that suited me just fine, but the fillings are really only limited by the maker's imagination.

I baked the irons in the fire for a time to get rid of whatever might have been on them from sitting in the shed. As the irons cleaned, I threw a few eggs into a pan and scrambled them just until they formed. I could have cooked them in a pan over the fire, but really I just thought of that. Anyway. I then sprayed the irons with non-stick and placed one piece of "buttered" bread on each side of the iron. I added a bit of my scrambled egg, a slice of good old American cheese and a few slices of tomato, closed the irons, and placed them back into the fire. The Walrus, who is a bread fanatic, enjoyed the Pie making, also. He ate the crusts sliced off by the irons.

So there I stood in front of the firepit on this already warm and humid North Carolina morning, flipping the irons occasionally to ensure even cooking because Mountain Pies will burn if you don't give them the attention they require. It was like a sauna out there, really, especially after I stoked the fire again, but I rather enjoyed the morning, a commingling of woodsmoke and fire, good coffee, sweat, and Mountain Pies.