About How I Learned To Cook

Well hello there. I just thought I'd pop by for a sec and see how y'all are doing. More than one of you has asked the question so I thought maybe it's time I drop by to answer that question, and by "that question" I mean, "What the hell happened here?"



To be blunt, I almost died. The day after my last post I was hospitalized with a pulmonary embolism. Several, actually; both of my lungs were completely riddled with clots, and that pretty much changed everything. I was put on medication that severely limited my diet (no alcohol, no greens, no fats, NO ALCOHOL), and as you might guess, a severely limited diet severely limits the recipes one might want to share on one's recipe blog.

Luckily(?) that medication didn't work, and at the end of the summer I almost died AGAIN. And of course I did, because I'm the girl who had chicken pox TWICE as a child. So I switched over to this new experimental drug that has no diet restrictions (YAY ALCOHOL), but as I told Vahid last weekend, that does nothing to alleviate the shitty lighting situation I've got going on in my kitchen. Until I figure out a solution to that problem, all of those half-written recipes I have waiting in the wings will just have to wait some more (wings, incidentally, being one of those waiting recipes).



I thought that while I'm checking in I might as well talk to you about how I learned to cook in the first place, you know, in case that maybe helps you learn how to cook or get more comfortable in the kitchen or whatever it is you hope to accomplish by reading this nonsense. I don't know your life. But I do know mine, and yes, it all started in my mother's kitchen.

As many of you know, my mother is an amazing cook. But she comes from "the old country," and from what I've gathered over the years, people from "the old country" see their children mainly as sources of manual labor. So while I started helping my mother cook at an obscenely early age (I was rolling chả giò before I could talk), I was basically doing all the hard work. Like rolling chả giò. Crushing cornflakes and peanuts. Peeling potatoes. Prepping green beans. You know, all the SEXY GLAMOROUS STUFF.

While I did pick up a few things from my mom, and from all the crazy group meals my friends and I shared in college, it wasn't until I got to law school that I bought my first cookbook. And that cookbook is this cookbook.



I wanted to learn how to cook everything, so I bought a book on how to cook everything. And to this day, it's still the first place I turn to when I want to try something new. The instructions are clear, the recipes are simple, and most of all, they are bare-bones BASIC. In other words, they're the perfect jumping off point for experimentation. My copy of How To Cook Everything is filled with scribbles: ingredients to add, extra steps to up the ante, notes on what worked really well. If you don't have a copy, run out and get one immediately.

When I first moved to DC I didn't have cable, so I ended up watching a whole lot of PBS. (The other day my boyfriend said he'd fight to the death anyone who dared suggest that I wasn't the very first American to watch Downton Abbey. I still watch a lot of PBS apparently.) And while I was watching a lot of PBS, I watched a lot of America's Test Kitchen. Hoo boy, this show. If you want very specific instructions on how to do things, this is the show for you. Their recipes are INSANELY FUSSY; like, they are the polar opposite of Bittman's. But they are really, really great at actually teaching you how to cook. They not only show you how to dice an onion, they explain why it's important that your onion is diced evenly. They get to the science of cooking, and when you understand that, cooking is easy peasy.



It wasn't until I moved in with Mitch and Seth that I got cable, and started watching Good Eats. That thing I said about ATK and the science of cooking? Consider this a graduate course.



So there you have it. I learned how to cook from a book and two television shows. Looking back it turns out this was an incredibly boring story, so if you made it this far, I apologize for putting you to sleep. Maybe I'll bake you a cake or something.

About Roasted Asparagus

Why roast asparagus? Crunch and caramelization, both of which are BEST. So luckily this is pretty easy. Just make sure you use thick-stalked asparagus. And if the stalks feel particularly woody you can peel off the tough outer layer with a vegetable peeler. Then just lay them out on a foil-lined sheet pan:



Add a glug of olive oil and a couple pinches of salt and pepper, then mix all that up with your hands:



Then put the sheet pan on the bottom rack of an oven pre-heated to 450 F. After 10 minutes flip your spears over and cook for another 10 minutes. Serve and enjoy!

About Vegetable Soup

So the weather outside is weather, specifically unreasonably unseasonably warm weather--I think it's been in the 80s all week? RIDICULOUS. Even more ridiculous is that in the middle of all this I made SOUP for dinner. HOT SOUP. HOT VEGETABLE SOUP. Please don't bring this up in a couple months when it's 129 degrees outside and I'm in the midst of one of my annual summer WHIIIIIIIIIIIIINE sessions.

But really, I have a very good reason for making this. See, the last few weeks? I've been eating nothing but pizza and wings and poutine and all other manner of, just, crap? And my dresses maybe feel more like sausage casings? So perhaps I need to rethink my eating habits a bit? Would you like another unnecessary question mark? There you go.

This recipe is insanely healthy for you; it's basically nothing but vegetables after all. And luckily, it is delicious. It's seriously one of my favorite soup recipes, so much so that a couple of years ago I pretty much had a bowl every day and accidentally lost 15 pounds. Bonus! It's also really easy since the measurements aren't exactly precise. Like, you see how I say you need 2 cups of some sort of leafy green vegetable down there? Well, for some reason I always end up adding, like, 3 pounds of kale. (I really like kale.)

This makes a lot, but don't worry; it freezes beautifully. Here's what you need:

• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• 1 medium onion
• 2 medium carrots
• 1-2 stalks of celery
• 1 medium red bell pepper
• 3+ cloves of garlic
• 6 cups broth or water
• 3-4 sprigs of thyme
• 1-2 bay leaves
• 2 small zucchini
• 1 medium head of broccoli
• ½ medium head of cauliflower
• ½ small head of cabbage
• About 61 cents' worth of dark, leafy greens (or 2 cups, shredded)
• 1 lemon
• A couple tablespoons of fresh herbs (parsley, dill, and chives are especially nice)

First thing is that you're going to want to give all of that vegetable matter up there a rough chop. Don't worry about getting a perfect dice, because it's all gonna end up blended together anyway. (That is, unless you don't want a blended soup, in which case you should make sure each cube is perfectly symmetrical and exactly the same size. It's what the French would have wanted.)



In a dutch oven or stock pot (something big, basically), heat the oil over medium-high heat until it starts to shimmer. Saute the aromatics (your onion, carrots, celery, bell pepper, and garlic) with a pinch of salt until they soften.



At this point you can deglaze the pan with a glug or two of white wine if you happen to have any around. When the wine has almost entirely evaporated, add the both. (If you don't have any wine then just add the broth.) Crank the heat up to high and add the thyme, bay leaves, and the rest of your vegetables.

Now, if you've got my crazy kale addiction, chances are everything won't fit in the pot so good. But NEVER FEAR. Just slap a lid on that sucker and in a scant couple minutes your leafy greens will be wilted enough for you to give everything a good stir.



Once the pot comes to a boil, turn the heat way down and let everything simmer for 15 to 20 minutes, or however long it takes for everything to become nice and tender without overcooking it into mush.



Fish out the thyme stalks and bay leaves and blend that shit up.



Add the juice of that lemon I told you to get, and then salt and pepper it to taste. (My guess is that you'll need a fair bit of salt.) And you're pretty much ready to go. Just ladle some soup into a bowl and garnish it with some of those fresh herbs I told you to get. (If you're feeling particularly fancy, you can also add a dollop of sour cream or Greek yogurt.)



Let the healthy eating begin!

About Prepping Greens

Not just any greens, mind you. I'm talking about the dark green leafy vegetables that are pretty much the healthiest foods on the planet.

Wait a sec, that's not actually entirely accurate. What I'm REALLY talking about is a subset of the dark green leafy vegetables that are pretty much the healthiest foods on the planet, namely the kinds with big leaves and big stalks. And what kinds are those? Oh, you know, collard greens and mustard greens and turnip greens and Swiss chard and kale. In other words, the Southern kind.

The thing about the Southern kind is that because the leaves are so big, the stalks are big. And big stalks take a lot longer to cook than leaves, no matter how big those leaves are. So in order to cook greens just right, you need to first separate the leaves from the stalks. How does one do this, you ask? Just watch this handy instructional video:



And while we're on the topic of greens, please enjoy this picture of adorable Capitals defenseman Mike Green:

About Cleaning a Bell Pepper

Does it insult your intelligence to post this? I'm not sure I really care.

About Steamed Fish with Ginger and Scallions

Hi there. It's me. Sorry I left you hanging for a few weeks; we had our annual Super Bowl party at the house and ended up eating leftover dip for, like, ever. You know, as you do. But I'm back now with what is possibly my single-favorite entree ever, my mother's steamed fish. This isn't strictly speaking a Vietnamese dish, as I'm only half Vietnamese and I've taken one or two tiny liberties with the recipe over the years, but I think you'll agree it's super easy. But please note, you'll need some kind of steaming apparatus to make this work; I don't care what kind, just some set up that allows you to trap steam and then harness that steam to cook your dinner. This dish is totes Industrial Revolution, yo.

Here are the ingredients::

Fish
Any fish in any cut will do, whether it be whole trout or salmon steaks or tilapia filets, which is what I used here.

Soy sauce
Which you will add to the

Chicken broth
in equal parts. And what parts is that? Well, we'll get to that in a sec.

Scallions
Cut your scallions into about inch-sized rods. (Heh, I said rods.) And how many scallions should you cut up? Oh, I'd say about one bunch for every two servings. As the scallions cook they end up soaking up that broth you just made up there, mellowing out, and getting dang tasty.

Fresh ginger
Peeled, then cut up into little inch-sized matchsticks. And how much ginger should you cut up? Oh, I'd say about a thumb-sized knob for every two servings. As the ginger cooks it ends up soaking up that broth you just made up there, mellowing out, and getting dang tasty.

Some sort of pepper if you want
Like serrano or thai chilis or jalapeno like I used here. You know, for a touch of heat.

Some kind of oil if you want
Like peanut or sesame or canola like I used here. You only need like a tablespoon or so, and only to give the dish a bit of richness.

Got it? Well, here's what you should do with all that: Put your fish in a heavy, heat-proof bowl--something that can stand a good steaming. Throw the scallions, ginger, and pepper on top of that. Then add enough soy/broth until the liquid is barely covering your fish. Finally, swirl a little oil on top.



Slap on a lid, bring your pot of water to a rolling boil, and let that steam until the fish is done.



And when is your fish done? Depends on how thick your fish is. These tilapia filets only took about 12 minutes, but then again, these tilapia filets were only about a quarter-inch thick. So add extra time accordingly.



It is absolutely essential that you serve this over (preferably jasmine) rice, because all that broth in there is so freaking good. So put some rice on a plate, carefully (that bowl is hot!) top it with the fish, spoon out like a shit ton of broth and scallions and ginger, and maybe top with a bit of fresh cilantro if you want.



And if you want a lot of extra heat this pairs well with sambal. I promise it tastes better than it looks.

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.)