When The Moon Hits Your Eye...

Have I mentioned lately how amazing Justin is to put up with me? This point was driven home to me earlier this evening, after the two of us engaged in a ridiculous tug-of-war over a bowl of bread flour. You see, I tend to be rather anal retentive about my baking, and am a stickler for accurate measuring. The volumetric measurements preferred by American cooks, and therefore employed by American recipe authors, are the bane of my culinary existence. Depending on how hard you pack flour into a measuring cup, a seemingly standard measure can hold a wide range of actual product. Weight, however, is universal. A pound of flour weighs a pound, no matter how densely you cram it into a container.

So when I noticed Justin sweeping the excess flour from the top of a measuring cup into the bowl he was measuring it into instead of the regular container, I kind of freaked out. Cooking may be an art, but baking is a science, and I wanted the pizza crust he was making for our dinner this evening to turn out perfectly. It's hard to gauge the quality of a new recipe when you don't follow it to the letter the first time around.

Justin looked at me like I was from another planet when I asked him to re-measure it, and when I offered to do it myself, a tug-of-war ensued over the bowl of flour. Thankfully, he acquiesced, or we could have been vacuuming up bread flour from the epic mess that could have potentially ensued. I re-measured the flour using a kitchen scale, the pizza crust turned out just fine, and more importantly, Justin didn't leave me over the whole episode. When it comes to baking, I'm crazy, I know. I'm just incredibly lucky to have this man who is crazy enough about me to overlook my irrational perfectionist streak in the kitchen.

As for our dinner... it was interesting. I'd spotted an unconventional combination of toppings in Food and Wine that included sweet potatoes (which have been my recent object of obsession lately), caramelized onions in a balsamic vinegar reduction, mozzarella cheese, and soppressata, a spicy Italian salami, and was keen to try it, mostly as a potential way to use up leftover mashed sweet potatoes. While the onions were delicious, and will definitely be making an appearance elsewhere in my culinary adventures in the future, the pizza was far from the best I've ever made.

Sweet potatoes are not a good pizza topping -- very texturally challenging. I think this pizza would actually be fine without them, as the savory, spicy pork was a perfect foil to the sweet, tangy onions. Minus the sweet potatoes, I'd certainly recommend the other toppings on this pie, if you're into making your own pizza. Just don't follow my example of being a total kitchen drama queen if you decide to go that route.

If you look closely, it turned out somewhat heart-shaped...

Balsamic Onion and Soppressata Pizza

adapted from Food and Wine

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large white onion, thinly sliced

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano

1/4 c. plus 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

1 12-inch pizza crust, par-baked

1 1/2 c. shredded mozzarella cheese

4 oz. soppressata, cut into thin ribbons

Preheat the oven to 450.

1. In a large skillet, melt the butter in the olive oil. Add the onion and dried oregano, cover and cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Add 2 tablespoons of water to the skillet and cook over moderate heat until the onion is caramelized, about 10 minutes; add a few tablespoons of water to the skillet if necessary. Add the balsamic vinegar and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until it has evaporated, about 10 minutes. Season the onion with salt and pepper.

2. Top pizza crust with the mozzarella, onion and soppressata. Bake for about 10 minutes, until bubbling and golden in spots. Cut into wedges and serve.

Food of the Gods...

Although part of my New Year's resolution was to do more cooking at home, the fact that all of my pots, pans, and other cooking equipment are about to go into boxes is putting that plan on a bit of a hold. I'll be getting back to that goal once we're settled into our new place, but in sort of a last hurrah for my culinary career in my current kitchen, I decided to ring in 2012 with one of my best dishes, the caramelized onion, bacon, and Gruyere pizza that is much-beloved by my mother, and was one of the first dishes I ever wrote about here on "The State I Am In." Though I had made pizza from scratch with Justin last year, I had yet to make my most famous recipe for him to sample, so I figured it was time to stop holding out on him.

Tonight, since he was coming over for dinner again, I decided to prepare for him another recipe that I had been quietly keeping to myself -- mac and cheese Lorraine. After discovering my affinity for flavor combination of Gruyere, bacon, and caramelized onions, I started seeking it out in other forms a few years ago, and I found a mind-blowingly delicious mac and cheese recipe that touched on all three of that pizza's major ingredients. I've sometimes made it as a quicker, less fussy alternative to the pizza version that captures some of the magic of the original without going through the multi-hour effort of making a crust. More often, however, I've made it as a way of using up the leftover caramelized onions from making the pizza (it takes so long to make them, that I typically make more than I need just to have them on hand. They're also excellent in quesadillas with some blackened chicken.)

Justin is kind of an easy sell when it comes to any recipe involving bacon, so I was hardly surprised when he emitted a rapturous "Mmm!" before the spoon even reached his mouth. I was not prepared, however, for the startled exclamation of, "Oh my God, this is REALLY good!!" that came next. I was pleased that he liked it so much, but I don't think I've ever served him anything that was borderline inedible. There were some recipes I've tried in the last year that have been better than others, but overall, my cooking adventures tend to be relatively successful. I guess I should be happy that I can still surprise him at this point.

Now that I'm finally sharing this recipe with you, I think you need to try it. Yes, it's on the heavy side. Yes, it's not exactly New Year's resolution diet-friendly. But it will knock your socks off, and probably those of your significant other as well. Make it for someone who you're trying convince of your skills as a domestic goddess (or god, for that matter), and awe them your ability to produce a bowl of utter deliciousness. Or, do what I did before I met Justin, and make a pot just to pamper yourself. You deserve a tasty surprise too, after all...

Mac and Cheese Lorraine

adapted from Rachel Ray

1/2 lb. pipette or elbow macaroni

4 pieces bacon, chopped

1 onion, thinly sliced

1 1/2 tablespoons butter

1 1/2 tablespoons flour

2 tablespoons chicken stock

1/2 c. milk

1/2 c. heavy cream

1 c. Gruyere cheese, grated

salt, pepper, and nutmeg to taste

1. Over medium-high heat, cook bacon to crisp. Remove to paper towels and drain.

2. To fat, add onions and cook 45 minutes to an hour until deep mahogany and well-caramelized, stirring occasionally. 

3. While onions cook, boil the pasta and prepare sauce.

4. Heat a sauce pan over medium heat. Add the butter, melt, and whisk in flour. Cook one minute, then whisk in stock, milk, and cream, and bring to a bubble. Allow to thicken a few minutes, and season with salt, pepper, and a scant pinch of nutmeg. 

5. Stir in cheese using a figure-8 motion. 

6. Drain pasta, stir in onion and cheese sauce to coat. Top with crispy bacon to serve.

One last post on the topic...

Okay, I get the sense that you are tired of reading about food, but this is what happens when I slow down my social life -- I finally have time to cook! Besides, I think food is fascinating. Just indulge me one last time, and I promise, I'll try to think of something else to talk about for a while.

According to yesterday's Red Eye, I'm somewhere between a "foodie" and a "food enthusiast." I own an immersion blender and although I can't name all five of the classical French "mother sauces," I can name bechamel, veloute, and the poorly defined category of emulsified sauces, such as bernaise, mayonnaise, or hollandaise -- characteristics of the foodie. However, I don't miss an episode of Top Chef, I can't wait for the Julie and Julia movie, I own a rabbit corkscrew, but I'm not above eating at P.F. Chang's -- the hallmarks of a food enthusiast.

Often, in my conversations with people about food, a central theme emerges time and time again -- how far are you willing to go for food? Once upon a time, an old friend of mine said to me, "It's just food, it can only be so good," while arguing against spending too much on what he deemed to be overpriced restaurants. To some extent, I agree. I've never eaten at Alinea, the restaurant typically heralded as the best in Chicago, and often included in lists of the best restaurants of the nation, and the world at large, but it is hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that the bare minimum you can spend there is $145 per person, before tax and tip. The food may be ground-breaking, but how much better can it be than your favorite dish at a local restaurant for a fraction of the price? In the end, you are really paying for the experience of enjoying food as a form of performance art, and only you can place a subjective value on what that experience is worth.

Although far less expensive, another vanguard of the Chicago dining scene recieves similar attention in my circles -- Hot Doug's. This "encased meat emporium" is the mecca of sausage afficianados nationwide, and yet, as much as I love sausage, in almost any incarnation (I'm going to exclude the tofu hotdog), I have never been to Hot Doug's. Why? It's too far, and I can't find anyone to go with me. Call me crazy, but the prospect of two trains, a bus, and a long walk, followed by an average two-hour long wait begs for some company. I think this is an affirmation that I'm not a true "foodie;" I just can't see myself devoting half a day to obtaining a hot dog by myself, even if it is the greatest available exemplar of said food product.

There is one area, however, in which I am willing to go the distance for food: actual cooking. This weekend, for instance, I prepared my caramelized onion and bacon pizza with gruyere for me and Mom, which only took a mere seven hours of prep time, spread over the course of two days. Yes, I live in one of the country's great pizza capitals, but this dish is worthy of the effort of making it at home. It was inspired by one of my favorite dishes at the Park Grill, in Millennium Park, which I used to order on every visit until it was taken off their seasonally rotating menu. My only choice was to devise a home version. When I first made it, my Mom asked me, "Okay, it's good, but is it really seven hours' worth of good?" The definitive answer is yes. It is that delicious, but more importantly, if you make someone a dish that takes seven hours to make, it shows that person that they are worth seven hours of your time. Sure, I like to cook for the soothing methodical process and the near-instant gratification, but cooking for someone else is a million times better than cooking for yourself. As the old cliche goes, 'tis better to give...

I'm not going to give you the recipe, because, as you might expect, seven hours' worth of instructions would take a long time to type, and the recipe for the crust comes from Cook's Illustrated, which actually scours the web for people who try to give their recipes out for free, and serves them with cease and desist orders. So, you'll just have to play your cards right, and if you're nice to me, maybe I'll make one for you...

Caramelizing the onions alone can take between 1-2 hours. Here are photos taken at each half-hour mark in the process. I always take my caramelized onions to about the point seen in the bottom photo. Much longer, and they start to burn.

The finished product. My mouth is watering just thinking about it...

Check out the crispy, golden delicious crust. We joked that we should have taken a audio clip of us eating, so you could hear the audible crunch of the crust. Using a non-insulated pan in a non-convection oven is key; the pizza is a soggy, under-baked disaster otherwise.

Nom nom nom...

Originally, I was just going to make muffulettas for my party over the weekend, until I was sitting at my desk late last week, and like a lightning bolt I realized that muffulettas are a symphony of porcine delights, and more than half of my guests keep kosher. I needed a pork-free alternative and fast. Mom suggested chicken salad, and sent me a recipe she'd spotted in a recent issue of Southern Living. At that point, I didn't have time to think of anything else, so I went ahead and made it. I made a few modifications, based on what I had on hand. For instance, the original recipe called for all mayonnaise, but I had some lowfat Greek yogurt leftover from my peaches and cream popsicles, so I threw that in to lighten up the calorie content. I also substituted shallots and green onion for ordinary white onion, since I had them on hand, and I thought they'd add some nice extra color.

Lo and behold, it was the greatest surprise of my culinary efforts for the party. It wasn't just good, it was really good! I went for the muffuletta for dinner at the party, but I was craving the chicken salad until I got to have some for dinner the next day. As such, I feel it is my duty to share it with you...

Cranberry Pecan Chicken Salad

adapted from Southern Living

2/3 c. chopped pecans

3 c. chopped, cooked chicken

3/4 c. sweetened, dried cranberries

2 stalks celery, diced

3 oz. 2% Greek-style yogurt

3 oz. mayonnaise

2 T. lemon juice

1 T. Greek seasoning

1 small shallot, finely minced

3 green onions, thinly sliced

1. Preheat oven to 350. Bake pecans in a single layer in a shallow pan for 5-7 minutes until lightly toasted and fragrant. Cool completely.

2. Stir together all ingredients, serve immediately or chill until needed.