About Polenta

I can remember mentioning it at least twice in passing, and it's probably pretty likely that you saw the word and thought to yourself, "Self . . . whaaaa?" MY BAD. So before I flippantly mention it once again, let's talk a little bit about polenta.

What is polenta? Well, polenta is--to put it crudely (if you happen to be Italian)--Italian grits. And what is grits? Well, as we mentioned before, grits is corms. Delicious ground corms.

If polenta is just grits, why polenta? Because polenta is Italian grits. And what are Italians other than smooth, silky, and (rico) suave. Let's face it, sometimes you need a little Gerardo in your life, amirite?

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's do this thing. There's actually two ways you can make polenta. (Well, there's probably a million ways to make polenta; I will present you with two.) You can make it according to your package directions (boil water, stir in corn meal, cook for 20 minutes, add cheese) or, if you have a little time, you can make it this way. You'll need:

• 4 cups water
• 1 cup medium-ground corn meal (I've used white corn meal here because that's what I have; you'll find yellow is more traditional)
• 4 tablespoons butter
• Up to 1 cup cheese (I like parmesan, but if you want a super fluffy and creamy and outrageous polenta you can use cream cheese)
• Salt to taste

So, slightly salt the water and bring it to a boil over high heat. Once it's going, quickly whisk in the polenta until the mixture is smooth.



Reduce the heat to a low simmer, add the butter, and give everything a whisk occasionally for the next 45 minutes to an hour.

You'll begin to notice that, unlike grits, your polenta won't maintain individual granules of corn meal. Instead, it'll almost take on the consistency of pudding. Savory, savory pudding. At this point it's time to whisk in your cheese.



Give it a taste and add salt as needed. Then, plop that goop down on a plate.



And top with your favorite slop.





And enjoy!

About Chicken Cacciatore

By now you've probably gotten the hang of the old put-chicken-in-take-chicken-out-put-chicken-back-in cooking thing that's been going on in these parts (cf. this and this), so this recipe should be so easy I won't even have to explain it to you. But I will, because Santa knows I do like to babble (no I don't).

Like our chicken bog before it, chicken cacciatore is almost endlessly flexible, and it's almost endlessly flexible because when Italians go out into the countryside or wherever to do their hunting, they don't have grocery stores I guess? I don't know, I think something got lost in translation. But the ingredient list that follows is just the basics, so feel free to add whatever other vegetables you want depending on what's in season or what you pick up at the grocery store because I assume you're not out in the Italian countryside where they have no grocery stores. Apparently.

What you'll need is this:

• 2 chicken thighs
• 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
• ½ yellow onion, thinly sliced
• 1-2 garlic cloves, minced
• Salt and freshly ground pepper
• ⅓ cup dry white wine
• 1 can diced tomatoes

I also added a package of crimini mushrooms, cut into quarters. Also good: zucchini, summer squash, bell peppers, eggplant, uh... other vegetables.

Now, heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat until it gets all shimmery. Generously salt and pepper both sides of your chicken and brown them off really well for about 4 or 5 minutes per side. Then, remove your thighs and put them on a plate for later.



Add your onions and assorted veg to the pan like this:



and saute all that down until everything is softened and the onions have become translucent like this:



Add the garlic



and cook all that for up to a minute, then deglaze the pan with your white wine.



When the wine has mostly evaporated, add the can of tomatoes, with their juices. Give the pan a big stir to mix everything all up, then nestle the chicken thighs back in, skin side up.



Turn the heat down to a low simmer and braise the chicken for about 40 minutes, until your thighs are nice and tender and almost falling off the bone (TWSS or something).



Serve the cacciatore over a crusty loaf of bread or pasta or couscous or rice or polenta or WHATEVER ALREADY GOSH. And feel free to top that mess off with some fresh basil and parmesan cheese.



And as the Italian hunters say, Mangia!

About Chicken Bog

Well it hasn't exactly been quote-unquote cold in these here parts this season, but that doesn't mean you still don't need some down-home, rib-sticking, delicious Southern comfort food every now and again. And every time I'm feeling blue, you can bet this is what I'm making.

The beauty of this recipe is that it's infinitely adaptable. I mean, it's chicken and rice; every culture on the planet has a version (except those pesky vegetarians--what is UP with those people? (says the former vegetarian)). Mine started years ago with this Paula Deen recipe, and as you'll see it's morphed into something that may seem a little more sophisticated, but is really just a way to cram more vegetables in there (for the vegetarians, don't you know). Here goes.

For two hearty servings (plus lunch for somebody the next day), you'll--at a minimum--need:

• 2-3 skinless chicken thighs
• ½ cup chopped yellow onion
• 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
• 2 teaspoons creole seasoning
• ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 1 bay leaf
• Salt and pepper to taste

and

• 1 cup wild rice
• 1 ¼ cup water, vegetable broth, or chicken stock

or

• ¾ cup long grain rice
• 2 cups water, vegetable broth, or chicken stock

I generally start with a mirepoix of a carrot, a stalk of celery, and about half of a small to medium yellow onion. Oh, and some fresh thyme never hurt anyone:



And when I happen to have them on hand, I also like to add diced red bell pepper and fresh jalapeno. But as you can see, they're not essential. Tasty, but not essential.

Heat up the extra virgin olive oil in something with a lid, and saute your vegetables, herbs, and spices over medium-high heat until they've softened up. Then add your herbs and garlic and cook for about a minute more until your garlic becomes fragrant and you find yourself suddenly compelled to smear garlic all over your body but don't do that because that would be gross. And potentially deadly if you happen to be a vampire.



Next, deglaze your pan with a splash of white wine or sherry or even a little beer if you have it. If not, just go ahead and dump in your water or broth, making sure to scrape up all of those little brown crusty bits stuck to the bottom of your pan.

Bring your pot to a boil, then nestle your chicken thighs in that delicious brothy hot tub.



If you like it then you should a-put a lid on it (groan, sorry), then lower the heat and gently simmer for 30-40 minutes.

At this point your chicken should be mostly if not totally cooked (don't worry if it's not; so long as it's not still completely raw, which I'm not sure how that would happen but stranger things etc.) so you'll want to remove the pieces to a plate. Then, add the rice to the pan.



Let that bubble away for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, using a couple of forks or those folk-like things attached to your wrists, shred the chicken thighs.



When the 10 minutes are up, add the shredded chicken meat back into the rice. This is the point where I like to clean the leftovers out of my fridge, so if I have any collard greens or mustard greens or turnip greens or kale or sauteed zucchini or squash or whatnot, I add that too. And then you just let that simmer for another 10 minutes while the rice finishes soaking up all that delicious broth.

Give the pot a little fluff job and serve with a little Tabasco on the side.



And dig in!

About Mirin-Glazed Salmon

There's not a whole lot to say about this recipe other than it's Winston-approved, which is weird because he has almost no interest in people food (we trained him good when he was a wee little baby).



(Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

Seriously though, unless it's, like, the water from a can of tuna (but not the actual tuna), the orange powder on a Cheetos Puffs Cheese Flavored Snack, butter, or olive oil, he wants no part of whatever you've got. Until, that is, I made this this other night, at which point he jumped up on the dining room table, started eating the salmon right off my plate, and when he was done with that, walked over to Seth's plate and started eating his salmon, too. (Diagram that, Sister Bernadette!)

Oh, and we also liked it.

Here's what you need for the marinade:

• ½ cup mirin
• ¼ rice vinegar
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon peeled and grated ginger

Which is this, all mixed up (don't know what to do):



Then you just marinate your salmon fillets in there for at least 20 minutes like so:



And when that's done you pat your fillets dry and then cook them like we did before until they look like this:



And then you try to eat it before your cat does.

About Meatloaf

I don't know if you ever get this way--I don't know your life--but sometimes I just really, really, really want meatloaf. Like, a lot. Like, more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole entire life (even more than that red Corvette Stingray I really, really, really wanted when I was ten). So what's a girl supposed to do? Why, make meatloaf of course!

But here's the thing; meatloaf is kinda tricky. I mean, not that it's super hard to make or anything (it is just a log of meat, after all), it's just that I tried making meatloaf for years and years before I settled on a recipe that was just right. And oh, how right it is. And, AND! you're in luck, because I'm a-gonna spare you those years and years of wandering the desert like some sort of traveling Wilbury and share with you my perfect, perfect meatloaf recipe.

First up, pour yourself a glass of wine. Like so:



Then, get your shit together. And that shit is:

• 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
• ¾ cup finely diced onion (about half a medium onion)
• ½ cup finely diced green pepper (about half a small pepper)
• ½ teaspoon kosher salt
• 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• ½ tablespoon minced garlic
• 1 pound ground meat of your choice
• 2 slices sandwich bread
• ⅔ cup barbecue sauce
• 1 teaspoon chili powder
• ½ teaspoon ground cumin
• big pinch of cayenne powder
• 1 egg

(Quick aside: I normally make this in all of its full-sized glory so's to have lots of leftovers for sammiches and stuff, but this time I only made a half batch, which is what you see here. For your full-sized loaf just double the recipe and follow the additional notes I'll try to remember to include below.)

Step The First (after the wine and the getting your shit together and whatnot): Preheat your oven to 350 F.

Now, here's your veg:



Heat up the olive oil in a medium skillet until it gets all shimmery, then throw in the onion/green pepper portion of your veg with a pinch of salt and pepper like so:



Saute that for a few minutes until your veg is soft and the onions have turned translucent like so:



Add in the garlic and stir that up for about 30 seconds, and then pull your pan off the heat while we talk a little bit about MEAT. (I don't know why I wrote MEAT like that; just seemed like the appropriate thing to do.) MEAT.

You can use any combination of ground meat you want for this really, just be aware that turkey and chicken will end up a lot drier than beef or pork. When I make a big meat log I usually use a pound of ground turkey and a pound of ground beef, but this time I found this magical package in the grocery store:



(And I also know that we could have a friggin' year-long conversation about the evils of the ground meat industry, so by all means, grind your own meat. I don't have a meat grinder because no one bought one for us off our gift registry so I guess we'll just take our chances since we haven't died so far as far as I can tell. I mean, who knows, I could be writing this from beyond the grave OMG AM I A GHOST? WTF.)

While we're talking, we might as well talk about barbecue sauce too. Now, I know I could make my own barbecue sauce from scratch--and you're welcome to do just that--but why would anyone do such a thing when this is in the world?



(Seriously guys, Dinosaur Bar-B-Que is so fucking good.)

Where were we? MEATLOAF. RIGHT.

So those slices of bread.



Those are the ones. Take them to the kitchen faucet and soak them down with water, the squeeze that water back out like you were squeezing a sponge.



Yeah, like that. Now chop your bread spit-ball up into little pieces like so:



Fun!

And with that, we're ready to start assembling (initially I typed "assumbling" which sounds like a whole lot more fun whatever that is). Get a big bowl, and dump your meat in it. Then, dump in your sauteed vegetables.



Then, get your hands in there and mix everything together. And this is where it really helps that you've gotten your shit together in advance, because after you add each of the next ingredients, you're going to have to mix everything together with your hands. With your shit together in advance, you won't have to keep washing your hands. Without your shit together in advance, you cover your kitchen in meat goo. I think the choice is clear.

So. Add the chopped up bread mush and mix.

Add most of the barbecue sauce and mix.

Add the spices and mix.

Add the egg and mix.

Everything should be all mixed up uniformly now, which will give us the perfect opportunity to talk about pans.

Here are the two pans I own:



The one on the left is your standard 9 ½ x 5 ½-inch loaf pan, and is the one you should be using if you're making a full-sized loaf. Your meatloaf should completely fill this pan. The one on the right is some other weirdo pan that came with the set that's shallower and wider than a standard loaf pan, and it's what I'm using here. But since it's shallower, I didn't smoosh the meat all the way out to the sides; instead, I kept it tall and proud and loaf-like when I shaped it in the pan. Oh! Because that's the next step in the recipe: pressing your meatloaf mixture into the pan, and topping that off with your remaining barbecue sauce.



Then, pop that baby (but not your actual baby) into the oven and bake for 45 minutes (an hour and a half for the full-sized loaf).

When it's done, take it back out of the oven and let it sit for about 20 minutes, if you can wait that long.



Because believe me, the smells that will start filling your house are liable to make you want to chew your own arm off. I'm drooling just thinking about it. Oh man.

ANYWHO. When you're ready to serve, just pour off any fat that may have accumulated in the pan and slice the loaf into thick slabs of meaty goodness. Serve with more barbecue sauce, or ketchup, or A-1 (my condiment of choice), or whatever it is you like or nothing at all because have I mentioned this before? This is SO GOOD.



(And yes, those are my cheese grits. ALSO GOOD.)

About Chilled Zucchini Soup

Blah, blah, blah, HOT AS BALLS, blahblahblaaaaaaaah. I don't know, it's HOT AS BALLS. But Vahid asked for more summer recipes, and this is a really good one, especially as it's almost the exact opposite of HOT AS BALLS. Which would be cold as cubes? I don't know, my brain is fried on account of it's HOT AS BALLS.

ANYWAY, this joins the pantheon of cold soups I've shared on this here website, and like those others it's delish. (What did I just do there? I DON'T KNOW. Random letters are just coming off my fingertips right now. Let's move on.) Soooo... for about 4-6 servings (or one really, really big serving you bloody pig), you'll need:

• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• 2 large shallots, thinly sliced crosswise like this:
• 
• 4 large zucchini, peeled and halved lengthwise, then cut into thin slices like this:
• 
• 2 strips of fresh lemon zest, about the width of your vegetable peeler and the length of your lemon, sort of this this:
• 
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 3/4 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth
• 1 3/4 cups water
• 1 cup loosely packed fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
• 1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh dill, or about this much:
• 
• 6 ounces plain Greek yogurt

Heat up your olive oil in a 4-quart heavy saucepan or dutch oven over moderate heat. Add the shallots, and cook those down for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally until they're softened. They'll go from this:

to this:


Add your zucchini, lemon zest, salt, and pepper, and cook those down for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally until the zucchini is softened.

They'll go from this:

to this:


Next up, add your broth and water (this is what makes it soup!), and simmer everything for about 3 minutes until the zucchini is tender.



Throw your herbs in the pot.



Then, working in batches, puree the soup in a blender until it's smooth. IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE (although it's not to the side, which I guess makes it more of an IMPORTANT WITHIN-PARAGRAPH NOTE): When pureeing hot liquids in a blender, make sure you take the little nubbin thing off of the blender lid. I don't really know what that's called, if it's called anything at all, but it's the thing that leaves a giant hole in the lid. And now you're probably asking yourself why you'd want a giant hole in the blender lid, because isn't a lid supposed to, you know, seal shit up? And this is true, but if you don't have a giant hole in the lid when you're blending hot liquids there would be no place for steam to escape and with no place for steam to escape you get HOT STEAMING EXPLOSIONS. Hence, the Industrial Revolution.

But, you still have a giant hole in the lid which can (and does, believe me) lead to splash back, so just hold a kitchen towel over the hole to catch any soup that might be organizing a massive jailbreak.

Or, you know, you could just buy a stick blender and use that to puree your soup right in the pot. Like this!



Set that aside to cool. Once it's at room temperature, whisk in the yogurt.



Give it a taste, and add more salt if you need it. Then stick that bad boy (or girl, whatever) in the fridge and let it chiiiiiiiillax for a few hours. When it's cold, it's ready to serve!



Stay cool, friends!