Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Don't serve it with a sandwich

For years, I hated any and all cold savory foods. Ice cream and certain pies could be cold if they wanted to be, but if it in any way involved salt, cheese, or especially meat, it must be hot or I wanted no part of it. And I do still feel that hot food should be hot, as in very hot,tongue-scorching hot, not lukewarm. A cousin of mine and I once had a joke that I would be a tiny eighty year old woman shouting "PIPING HOT OR NOT AT ALL!!" at the alarmed waiter taking my order of a bowl of soup in a restaurant.

Things have changed, in that way that they do, and my palate has expanded, in that way that it (thankfully) does. Now, I not only no longer scorn cold food with the fire of a thousand suns, I embrace it and crave it all the time. Chicken salad, tuna salad, deviled eggs, potato salad, and what general consensus presents as the most hated cold food of all: pasta salad.

Pasta salad, like regular hot pasta, is an excellent pantry-clearer and leftover user-upper, and if done right is darn tasty, too. I have two basic kinds of pasta salad I make: a vinegary version loaded with large, chunky vegetables and kidney beans, and a creamier version with tiny chopped vegetables and cheese. Both are delicious. Both are pretty to look at. And both absolutely, positively rely on the homemade dressing for their scrumptiousness.

The one I'd like to share today is the creamy tiny-veggie and cheese variety. It's so simple that it almost makes me a little ill, and so delicious that you will eat it until you are a little ill, too.

I'm sure you know how to boil pasta to al dente, so I won't waste your time or mine explaining it, but I must stress that you do not want to overcook your noodles or it will result in a silly mushy mess that will not be appetizing. Tri-color rotini are my preference- the creamy dressing clings to the ridges and they look so pretty! But feel free to use penne, rigatoni, or even plain old elbow mac. Once you've got your noodles going, go ahead and prep your cheese and veggies.
I had some picky eaters on my hands the night I was making this pasta salad, so as you can see here I only used green bell pepper and carrot. Very nearly mince the pepper; I personally love big chunks of pepper, but for some reason, the tiny pieces are just better in this. Shred the carrot the same size as the cheese. This picture hopefully shows the proportions that are so helpful in this sort of slapdashery: about twice as much cheese as veggies. The cheese pictured here is extra sharp cheddar. Colby Jack is perfectly acceptable too. But save your artisanal cheeses for a place they can really shine, not get masked by a dressing.

Assembly is mind-numbingly easy: mix drained cooled pasta with veggies, cheese, and enough creamy dreamy dressing to completely coat and moisten. The serving of pasta salad, however, is a bit trickier and often botched. First of all, don't serve it with a sandwich. This is an American fallacy that confuses me to no end- why serve a starch side-dish with something involving bread? Serve it with a simple salad, or with fried chicken, or- as I cannot seem to stop doing lately- topped with a scoop of chunk albacore tuna. And there you have it. Lunch, or a light dinner. Provided, of course, that you have no objection to cold savory foods.

Creamy Italian Vinaigrette

This dressing is my standard dressing for this version of pasta salad, but it is equally delicious as a green salad dressing, and marvelous tossed with boiled red potatoes and chives for a tangy potato salad. Excellent for crudites platters or as a tasty spread for a ripe tomato sandwich.

These measurements will make enough dressing for about a half a box of pasta. Double or divide to fit your needs. And as always, the seasonings are all about you, baby.


1 cup mayonnaise (Duke's is the best, I wouldn't steer you wrong)
3 tbsp red wine or apple cider vinegar (I used apple cider because I had it and I like it)
1 tsp Italian seasoning
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
2 tsp salad or good olive oil
1 tsp sugar

Blend all ingredients in a blender, food processor, or simply with a whisk in a metal bowl. You will want to blend it for several minutes in order to create the necessary emulsion between the lipids and acids (ie, mayo, oil, and vinegar). Taste for seasonings; salt is the most common thing that needs to be added, and can vary a great deal based on what kind of mayonnaise you use.

Option: Lemon juice can be substituted for the vinegar if you like, and makes an excellent sauce for a chilled asparagus salad.

Redemption

Chicken, chicken, chicken. Constantly we are bombarded with it: fried chicken, Chic-fil-A, chicken chow mein. Tyson frozen chicken patties. At times, I feel as though I never want to eat anything with feathers, ever again. La poulet est tres barbant. Give me your steaks, your pork loins, your escargots, but heaven deliver me from chicken.

And then I am reminded, or gently nudged, in the direction of something wonderful, so simply and elegantly delicious, that renews my love for chicken and the French in one go.

As it turns out, I love both chicken and the French very, very much.

I am a loyal reader of the New York based blog Smitten Kitchen, and find every recipe and anecdote to be more delightful than the last. So when she recently posted a recipe for roast chicken with dijon sauce, the idea stuck in my head and I began craving a flavor profile intensely. My end result is absolutely nothing like the dish that inspired it- it's braised, first of all, and the sauce is made during the cooking, not after- but boy, was it delicious. This is my braised version of Chicken Dijon, classic French country food, which never fails to excite me. And it was an excellent excuse to use copious amounts of The Only mustard: Maille Dijon, in HOT.

I started with split chicken breasts, which, being abnormally large, I chopped in half once more with a meat cleaver. Next time, however, I will DEFINITELY use thighs, just because I like 'em, but you can certainly use whatever pieces you prefer, or butcher a whole chicken and use all of it. I would stick to a bone-in cut, however, because if there's one thing my grandmother taught me, bones just braise better. The flavor will be richer, and the sauce will have more body.

The chicken itself I seasoned simply with salt and pepper, then seared in batches in a large roasting pan with olive oil. Go for brown here: You're not looking to cook the chicken, but to create a beautiful brown skin. Remove the chicken to a plate, then add some butter and sautee your aromatics; in this case, onion and garlic. Sprinkle with a tablespoon of flour and let that cook for about a minute so your sauce will be nice and thick. Deglaze with some chicken broth, then stir in a couple of LARGE spoonfuls of dijon. I would wager I used about a third a cup, or a half of one of the little fancy dijon jars. Don't fret about using so much of an expensive product; fine mustards lose their potency after a couple of months anyway, and if you don't use it, it will just result in an inferior product later!

Now that you've got the star of the show on stage, add some herbs- I love thyme and rosemary- and some more salt and pepper. Return the chicken to the pan, along with chopped carrots, and potatoes or other root vegetables if you'd like. (I only had carrots, so I only used carrots.) Then cover and place in a 300F oven for a very long time- about two hours, uncovering for the last thirty minutes to crisp the skin a bit.

Now, here is where the magic happens: When you remove your pan from the oven, checking the chicken with two forks for doneness and fall off the bone tenderness, stir in about one cup of cream or half and half. Cream, obviously, is more desirable, because cream is always more desirable, but if you're like me and you drink coffee every day with half and half and that's what you have on hand- then go for it. Gently nudge the cream around the chicken and vegetables to incorporate it into the sauce, then please, please serve. Rice or another starchy side dish will come in quite handy for soaking up all the delightful juices.

Your house will smell heavenly. Your mouth will water. And maybe, just maybe, you'll decide chicken deserves another chance.

Even if you're not so sure about the French.

Winging it

Being of half-Czech descent (my father immigrated at the age of 11), I have been treated to an interesting set of cultural divides, dissimilarities, and full-on clashes. Some of these- many of these, really- have been food related, ranging from the mildly amusing (my father has been known to call a Whopper a WHOOPER) to the downright disgusting (such as a bizarre, boiled potato and raw flour dish finished with poppyseeds).

However, at least two good things have come out of this Anglo merging. The first is fruit dumplings, a delicious conglomeration of dough, fresh fruit, cottage cheese, powdered sugar, and melted butter. I have yet to attempt to make these, though I think about it. Often.

And the second is schnitzel.

Already, I can hear those of your with Eastern European backgrounds licking your lips. Schnitzel is as simple as you can get, and definitely a peasant dish- the Czech or German version of southern fried chicken. But served piping hot with lemon wedges and a salad, you'll find yourself wondering why you ever wanted anything but simple.

 This is not an occasion that calls for a recipe. I have been experimenting with transcribing recipes down for you type-A people, but honestly it really isn't in my blood. For more particular recipes I will write down a full account, but this is not one of those. I never measure or follow recipes myself, with the exception of one kitchen staple that consistently, embarrassingly eludes me if I don't: rice.

So here are your basics: Pound some chicken breasts pretty thin, about a quarter to a half inch thick. You need to set up a breading station. The above picture illustrates the ideal way, to move chronologically into the pan: Egg, flour, skillet. Before you begin breading, heat a half inch of oil over medium to medium high heat in a large skillet, cast iron if you've got it. I used canola oil, but you can certainly use peanut or another blend, though olive oil would be a bit overpowering of the simple flavor of the schnitzel.

Salt and pepper the chicken breasts, and salt and pepper the flour as well. Stir in a little paprika, too, for good measure. Start with two beaten eggs, mixed with a splash of milk, maybe a tablespoon? Again, no measuring necessary! Trust me, you won't mess this up.

So here we go: Dip the chicken in the egg, thoroughly coating, then each side into the flour, then into the hot oil! The oil should DEFINITELY immediately sizzle when you drop the chicken in. Cook each piece until golden brown and done through, about three minutes on each side.


Then you're done! Just drain them on paper towels, and place on a baking sheet to keep warm in a low oven (200F) if you're not serving immediately. Though why anyone wouldn't want to eat them immediately baffles me. This is vital: Serve with a wedge of fresh lemon for squeezin'. Who doesn't like a little squeezin' now and then?
 So there you have it. Schnitzel just like my dad grew up eating, and that your dad will probably like, too. And trust me, you're fine winging it. I have faith in you.