Holy Poop Balls! Top Chef is back. (And so is Padma’s rack.) Season 7 will surely provide awesome chefs, over the top douche bags and horrible DC-related puns, as demonstrated by the first episode’s name: House of Chef-presentatives.
Here’s our chat with the first axed chef’testant.
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That’s all I got. #3387.
Ever since I cleaned out my fridge before vacation I’ve been on a kind of cleaning kick. It’s in spurts. And tiny spurts at that. But it’s better than my normal.
Yesterday as I searched for a grain for dinner I came across a ton of half empty bags. I’ve recently started saving glass jars. Jars from salsa, capers, tomato sauce, anything really. If I can get the label off after a dishwasher run then it’s a keeper. In a frenzy I whipped out my funnel and poured bags of arborio rice, lentils and quinoa into their own more shelf-stable (I think?) containers.
And that’s where I came across #3387.
I seriously cannot identify that thing.
I know we’ve asked a lot of you this week: what to do with garlic scapes, the best way to eat strawberries and how to get drunk off popsicles, but I really need one last favor.
There’s a jar and a sticky waiting for #3387. Help the grains find their home.
Continued
The Search is On: Name that Grain
Popsicles! BS totally stole my glory when he asked how everyone consumed their east or west coast strawberries. I didn’t divulge my new favorite summer treat at that point. But here it is. Popsicles.
I have a feeling popsicles will make me a very happy person, solving any of my problems.
1. Right now my problem, which isn’t really a problem at all, is too many berries. I buy a quart. Eat a handful as soon as they’re purchased and then pluck one or two from the fridge at a time. After a few days they start to shrivel and I throw them in the freezer without a real game plan.
2. Another problem is finding new and exciting ways to consume alcohol. After more than a decade and a half of drinking, I’m always game for inventive and delicious ways to become intoxicated. Wow, we’re really on a drinking kick this week.
3. I like dessert. I hate making dessert. Popsicles are an easy, no bake dessert. Sweet.
I kicked off my popsicle adventures buying molds at Target. And from there…a few hours later…deliciousness…
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So I’m back. I’m back in love with my kitchen. Saturday was an unusually not totally drunk night so I started my day early and sans hang over. Unfortunately it also started with errands. (Buying a toilet seat – did you know that there are different size toilet seats?)
But as soon as got back I made myself a proper brunch, something that doesn’t happen very often. Oh, but before I get to that: I’m sorry. I know my post on Friday made no effing sense, (an early happy hour with Tim is disastrous!) but what I was getting at was that I have been flipping through old cooking magazines recently. I also scrolled through recipes I’ve previously clipped. And that is where I found my proper brunch.
I say brunch, instead of breakfast, because to me brunch will usually contain an element of lunch. This brunch sided next to a green salad.
Savory Parmesan Pain Perdu with Poached Eggs and Greens
[Gourmet, May 2009]
Linked above is their version, but here’s my spin. Essentially, it’s a savory french toast, but baked instead of pan fried.
Instead of baguette slices, I used the remains of a week-old pumpernickel loaf. In a buttered oven-proof mini-pyrex, I put the bread down in one layer then dumped over top of it a mixture of one egg, a few splashes of half and half seasoned with salt and pepper. Scantly cover with grated parm. Press the bread into the mixture and let it sit for 10 minutes.
After the liquid is absorbed throw it in a 400 degree oven for about 15 minutes. When the bread is in the oven boil 2 inches of water with a few dashes of vinegar. When the bread has less than 5 minutes left, create a tiny whirlpool in the water, lower the heat so it’s less than a boil and drop an egg into it. (I actually cracked an egg in a bowl first and then slid the egg into the whirlpool. Egg in bowl is Gourmet’s suggestion; whirlpool is mine, via my friend El.) Stir the egg whites a bit around the yolk so it stays together.
Take the bread out of the oven, place it on a plate with a side salad. My side salad was arugula dressed with red wine vinegar, oil, salt and pepper. After 2 and a half minutes spoon the egg out and lay it on the bread. Polk the yolk to stop the cooking. And to make sure it’s runny! Luckily, I conquered my fear of the poached egg. My yolk ran. Although I’m not sure why the eggs whites are shaped like I had fried it, and not round. Hmm.
I stopped the paper trail. When I lazily let my Gourmet subscription expire, I also stopped receiving Bon Appetit. Coincidentally, my dad stopped getting Cooking Light. I went from getting at most four magazines (Cook’s Illustrated expired just previously) down to tired zeros.
I realized that tired wasn’t an issue though. There was no way every month that I could flip through 4 mags. I saved the mags that were never opened. And now I have a pretty clear collection of just-old publications to scroll through. I forgot how much fun it is to flip through pages of carefully worded articles and recipes.
Blogs are pretty perfect. Perfect for their searchability. Perfect for their brevity. Not perfect, however, in the physicality. Which is why in this drunken typing state I present to you: an ad that is geared to women, possibly a sexist ad, but that I don’t care because I love nail polish that much.I’ll also see it a real live and flesh magazine. Crap. Not making sense. Sorry.
I miss magazines.
Advertisement language and commentary [Tigers and Strawberries]
It’s that fucking twirl. In March I identified that part of my pasta obsession revolved around the act of twirling. Twirling long strands around my fork and piling it into my mouth. In that March meal, Ricotta-ed Spinach with Noodle Onions and Parsnips, I omitted the pasta altogether and satisfied my twirl craving with butter-enveloped long, thin onion strands.
Last night, however, I doubled the twirl intake. I bought extra tall spring onions at the Mount Pleasant Farmers’ Market and decided they should not be chopped. I should honor their slender ways and keep them intact.
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It’s become my rule. Invited to a BBQ? Bring something not for the grill.
I’ve learned my lesson. I’m a late girl. I come from a late family. We are late. Always late. So if I want to bring something for the grill, I always get there too late. The grill is taken.
That is why I bring a side. Sure, it’s more cooking then bringing marinated eggplant rounds, but people expect more from me anyway.
This past weekend my coworker threw a party for her daughter’s middle school graduation. It was a cook-out. So while I longed to be lazy and just bring my fresh bundle of asparagus bought that day from the Mount Pleasant Farmers’ Market to throw on the grill—I didn’t. I whipped it into a salad instead.
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