Dave the Cook

You guys reminded me I was going to bring crock-pots for the stew. Thanks.

Welcome to eGullet, therdogg. It might be easier to help you out if we knew specifically how your method is failing you. More details on your prep would be especially helpful. If you're using frozen spinach (I do, too, if I'm short on time or patience), you have to thaw it -- and squeeze it really dry. You can't just add it to the bechamel right out of the freezer, because the water in the frozen product will dilute the sauce beyond recognition.

Although it doesn't have much exterior fat, what with the skin off and all, poultry thighs still have some intramuscular fat. They also have a good bit of collagen in the form of connective tissue, which is why even skinless/boneless chicken thighs are more succulent than s/b breasts. Still, I'd brine it first, if for no other reason than you need the liquid insurance, because that collagen won't fully render until the meat gets to about 175 F (more specifically, 140 F for a good 15 minutes). It's a nice-sized hunk o' meat. I'd consider flattening it out, stuffing it, and tying it into a roast shape. I'd sear it, then put it in a 350 oven until it hits 155. For the last stretch (155 to 165; pull it and let it carry up to 170), give it a glaze for color.

I am very pleased with Mk III. Though it has a lot of meat, it's not really heavy, and the LSD gives it a terrific middle-of-the-mouth heat. It's not so hot that it raises beads of sweat on my ever-enlarging bald spot, which is my touchstone for Truly Hot, it's just enough to wake up the taste buds and raise the appetite. The sweetness of the veggies comes through nicely. I taste-tested it on my assistant, a native Georgian (surprisingly rare in Atlanta). Admirably true to her roots, she declared it excellent, though not, of course, real Brunswick Stew -- she's of the deep-South beef-pork denomination. Anyway, I think I've nailed it. Except for day-of-the-making mods -- say we find juniper berries at the market, for instance -- I'm not going to mess with it anymore. (annieb, I adore Edna Lewis, but she's too late to the party. Well, an extra stick of butter is always worth thinking about.) I will make up enough LSD so that we can put extra on the table as a condiment -- and I think it will make a great alternative sauce for the pork, too. The next step is scaling the recipe. With 100 people in attendance, I'm guessing that we'll have 60 to 75 takers on VD Stew. So far, I've only made half-batches; based on this, I think the full recipe makes six to seven quarts (does that sound right, guajolote?). That's roughly 35 six-ounce servings. What do you think? Double it? Triple it? The lives of bunnies hang in the balance.

what's a lima? you gonna have minature peruvian capital cities floating in the pot? I'm sure he meant the alliterative alternative, Bobbing for Butter Beans. See the pronunciation guide on the VD Stew thread.

Heather is so dreamy!

I noticed at the NY/NJ event, they had eGullet name tags. We can go one better: name tags with the event logo on them. I can handle this.

Yes. Does Mrs. Dr. Varmint know that you only married her in order to get access to her mother's kitchen?

Do we have a head count, or can we get one, for Friday night? Since I'll probably be in the kitchen anyway, simmering birds and bunnies for VD Stew (I hear Varmint's trying to get Glenn Close as a celebrity Stew Sous for this part), I'll volunteer to run the brigade for dinner -- alternatively, if someone else wants to do it (guajolote? malawry?), that's fine by me, too. But Varmint's gonna be busy with his pig, so it has to be one of the rest of us. In any case, I'd like to go ahead and scale the recipe and have a shopping list ready for Friday. Varmint will need to alert his shrimp connection, too. As for crew, I think there's: guajolote maggiethecat hjshorter malawry KatieLoeb tending bar If I left anyone out, or if I've volunteered you without permission, speak up. Now, who's going to be there to eat?

Randall: I'm not a wine geek, so I don't have a cool question about microstuff or barrels made from exceedingly rare wood, or anything involving the prefix "oen-." But I like wine, and I appreciate you spending some time with us. It's been fun and educational. You might have noticed that Varmint, one of our moderators, has invited about 100 of his closest friends to his house in a week or so for a Pig Pickin'. (Don't be jealous, I'm sure he'd let you come.) Beer is the usual choice here, but I can't drink beer. So I'm wondering: what's in your portfolio (or someone else's for that matter) that you'd recommend for smoky meat and starchy sides?

That's too bad. I think designers could learn a lot in an "apprenticeship" at a place like Home Depot -- stuff that would help them become better designers.

I've never tried it, and I don't know anything about it, but I do know that Chef's Catalog carries Scanpan.

All of the kitchen designers I know would be considered high-end designers and all of them have more work than they can handle, nearly all of it referrals from satisfied clients. Most of them will do what would be considered mid-range jobs on occasion, mostly as a favor to a friend or maybe the daughter of a previous client who has just purchased a starter home. Typically there’s not enough profit in these jobs to bother pursuing them. My guess is that most “designers” working on mid-range kitchens are attached to showrooms/home centers and are really just sales people, not trained designers. I’ve found that people interviewing designers are very reluctant to follow up on references or ask to be taken to completed jobs. If a designer has nothing to hide this should not be a problem. Why would someone neglect this step considering what a kitchen renovation typically costs? Not to dispute what Blondie has said in any way, but I think too many kitchen designers are not so much specialists in kitchen functionality and ergonomics as they are general-practice interior designers who are familiar with the materials and the infrastructure of kitchens (and usually bathrooms). In my experience (not that it's all that extensive, but I look at a lot of design magazines), the most common result of a kitchen redesign is a beautiful room whose essential purpose has been disregarded in favor of misguided aesthetics. They look better, but their utility is rarely improved. Finally, I'll point you back to the O'Neill article we were all reading last week:

Boy, you guys are good.

Sorry it's been so long since I given an update, but stuff happens. I have not been idle in my absence, however. Since the last report, I've made VD Stew Mk II. With apologies to all those who contributed incredibly interesting stuff on authenticity, particularly with reference to the original simplicity of Brunswick Stew and its ingredient list, I have to admit that we've gone in a different direction. I remind you of the original charge: to make a "fucking awesome stew." In other words, and I've confirmed this with my supervisor, authenticity takes a back seat to awesomeness. Besides, while the stew shouldn't compete with the star attraction (a whole slow-roasted pig), it nevertheless needs to have some character of its own, or risk being labeled forgettable. Unfortunately, the original Brunswick Stew really is kind of bland. A friend even went so far as to say, "have you considered the possibility that it's just not that good?" Well, no. Neither my ego nor my mission permits such thinking. But it's true that a simple stew of mild meats and sweet veggies is going to have a tough time keeping up. So I explored some avenues toward giving it some life and body, most of them based on suggestions made here. As for adding game to the pot, it's simply not practical. Given the scrawniness of your common grey squirrel, I figure we'd need about 20 of them. I ain't gonna peel 'em all, and there's no truth to the rumor that CafePress offered to buy the skins for a special Pig Pickin' fur-lined thong. To make a long story short, the recipe for VD Stew Mk II I switched the chicken to a stewing hen and added a duck. I used all their innards (plus a good handful of chicken livers to boot), and I bumped up the seasoning overall, plus a few other small tricks I picked up from Guajolote's version and some other posts on this thread. I also added a healthy shot of Worcestershire sauce. The result: the best damn chicken (well, chicken/rabbit/duck) and vegetable soup I've ever had. It was really, really good with some soft-flour biscuits and a glass of chardonnay. But in my heart, I knew it wasn't good enough for VD Stew. It wasn't awesome, let alone fucking awesome.The fact of the matter was, it was just too damn nice. No edge. No verve, no vim and vigor (whatever vim is, Mk II didn't have it). It was more suited to a rainy afternoon than a crisp fall evening drenched in the redolence of smoking pig. The problem rolled around in the back of my head for two weeks: how to make VD Stew a barbecue dish, without making it out of barbecue. Through a roundabout way that would be interesting only to me and selected abnormal psych deprtments, I was reminded of the classic New Orleans dish of barbecued shrimp. What's interesting about this dish is that, despite its name, it never comes within spitting distance (not that shrimp can spit all that far anyway) of a grill. And yet, something about it says "barbecue," even though you can't point to a single component and identify it as singularly cue-ish. I've got a pretty decent collection of Cajun and Creole cookbooks, and I paged through them, hoping to pick up a clue: some method or ingredient that would transfer from shrimps to birds and bunnies, and imbue them with the essence of 'cue -- without making them seem like a pale echo of pig. I found what I needed in Emeril's New New Orleans Cooking: a reduction of shrimp stock, Worcestershire, lemon and white wine, along with several herbs and spices. I've had this dish, both at Emeril's and at home, and I swear to its awesomeness -- just the sort of balls that VD Stew needs, and the ingredient list is happily authentic (at one point, I considered adding dried porcini to the stock, but Varmint whacked my pee-pee for exceeding my authority and offending Southern sensibilities). For the next, and probably final trial run of VD Stew, I'm going to steal Emeril's idea, substituting a stock made from hen and duck scraps. I'll also alter the herbs and spices to reflect the change in ingredients, and modify the technique slightly (mainly the timing Emeril outlines; shrimp shells only need about 20 minutes to give up their best, but poultry backs and necks take a good bit longer. Also, I'll roast the birdy bits for more depth and a slight smokiness). Then the problem becomes one of proportion: how much of this should be added? The recipe is no help, because in it, the reduction is tempered with cream and served straight up. My solution is to make a quantity of reduction, use only half of it and hold the rest in reserve -- adding it at the end if necessary. Finally, I needed a handle -- a name I could give it for reference purposes, instead of calling it "that lemon-garlic-Worcestershire stuff we got from Emeril." The following is what I'm making tonight. If it's not pretty damn close to awesome, I'll be showing up at Varmint's with a case each of Campbell's vegetable soup and KC Masterpiece. VD Stew, Mk III 1 5- to 7-pound stewing hen, cut up, including giblets, back, neck and wing tips reserved 1 3-pound rabbit, cut up, including giblets 1 5-pound duck, steamed, cut up, including giblets, back, neck and wing tips reserved; skin julienned and rendered to yield at least two ounces of fat 2 ounces smoked bacon, chopped in 1/4-inch pieces 2 ounces rendered duck fat 3 medium onions, frenched, divided 1 cup celery, sliced on the bias 2 cups fresh corn kernels, cobs reserved 2 cups butter beans 1-1/2 pounds russet potatoes, cut 1/2" x 1/2" x 1" 3-1/2 pounds tomatoes, cored, diced, and chopped, juice reserved; or 2 28-ounce cans chopped tomatoes, undrained 3 cloves garlic, minced 1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced 1 recipe LSD (recipe follows) 1 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce 2 tsp. fresh thyme 3 each fresh bay leaves 1/2 tsp. cayenne salt and ground black pepper 1. Simmer the hen parts, half of the onion, one-teaspoon salt and one bay leaf, in water to cover, for 45 minutes. Add the rabbit and duck pieces and all the giblets. Return to simmer for another hour. 2. Drain pot, reserving meat and stock separately, and discarding everything else. 3. Cool stock and skim fat. Add the corncobs to the liquid and reduce to two quarts. Set aside. 3. In a large Dutch oven, render bacon in duck fat over medium heat until crispy. Bloom cayenne in the fat, then saute celery, garlic, jalapeno and remaining onion until tender, about five minutes. 4. Add reserved stock, tomatoes (with their juice), the Worcestershire sauce, one-half of the LSD, thyme and remaining bay leaves. Simmer 20 minutes. 5. Add lima beans and potatoes, simmer another twenty minutes. While simmering, chop giblets and shred meat. 6. Add corn, meat and giblets, simmer a final twenty minutes, or until sufficiently thickened, stirring often to prevent scorching. 7. Adjust seasoning, adding more LSD if necessary. Serve. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Liquid Seasoning Decoction (LSD) Reserved backs, necks and wingtips from hen and duck 1/2 C chopped onion 1/4 C minced garlic 6 bay leaves 6 lemons, peeled and cut crosswise in 1/8" slices 1 C Worcestershire sauce 1/2 C dry white wine 1/2 tsp. salt, divided 1/2 tsp. chopped fresh thyme 1/2 tsp. chopped fresh oregano 1/4 tsp. ground black pepper 1/8 tsp. cayenne 1. Roast bird parts at 425 F until browned and crispy, about 40 minutes. 2. Pour fat off roasting pan, strain and reserve. Deglaze the pan with water. 3. Put bird parts and deglazing liquid in a saucepot. Cover with water and add 1/4 tsp salt. 4. Bring slowly to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for two hours. Set aside to steep for 30 minutes, then strain into a glass container. 5. Chill stock and skim fat. Reduce or add water to make one quart. 6. Over medium heat, saute the onion and garlic in a little of the strained duck fat until tender. 7. Add the stock, seasonings, lemons, Worcestershire sauce and wine. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes. 8. Remove from heat and steep for 15 minutes. Strain into a small saucepan, discarding solids. You should have about 3 cups. 9. Bring stock to a boil. Reduce to 3/4 cup. ------------------------------------------------------------ Comments appreciated.

Welcome to eGullet, smogle. By "triangle," do you mean the Research Triangle?

Both, I think! I have a fantastic S&G recipe from Elizabeth's on 37th in Savannah that includes another Southern staple, red-eye gravy.

I'm open to anything Guajolote has to suggest, but what about something Southern that's not slow-cooked pig, like a big pot o' gumbo and rice? Or shrimp and grits, or jambalaya?

Lily: I had the same question, but being a gardener of limited skill and experience (tomatoes and herbs only), I assumed that I was just ignorant. But I didn't see any drainable saucers at the landscape store. As for drilling, I don't know, and he didn't say. Drilling stuff this soft seems dicey, though I suppose there are appropriate tools. I don't think your comment is the least bit silly. As one of the patron saints of SSBs, Mr. Brown needs to be held to a pretty high standard of exactitude. 'twould be sad were we to find out he had feet of, er, terra cotta. Nevertheless, I missed a crucial part of the instructions, so I can't say that the technique is faulty. Wolfert: the pot is not soaked; I think this is strictly a radiation thing. But I will say that the chicken was exceedingly moist.

This would be white body radiation, I assume?

But my mind's not made up! What do you think of the method?

Another clarification: when I say breast up, I mean vertically. The chicken sits on its tail. (I knew I should have taken pictures.) The chicken (and flour) browned, although there were some areas where the flour was still dry, and just baked -- it looked like the browned flour some people do in quantity to keep around for making roux. If I understand what Brown is trying to accomplish, it's to create an oven within an oven, and smooth out temperature spikes due to oven cycling. Also, with the heated pot, you move the effective source of radiance closer to the food, which should promote browning. All of this makes sense. But I think you're right; the steam just fights this, effectively keeping the temperature lower. And now, I hang my head, having just realized that Brown's design includes a vent -- the drain hole in the saucer. Well, my saucer doesn't have a drain. Next time, I'll put the chicken on the saucer (it's 12-1/2 inches), and turn the pot over it -- the pot does have a drain. I'm sorry if my description doesn't make a lot of sense, and that I keep having to amend it. Should I take some pictures, or is it clear now? Or do you think this is not worth pursuing?

Sorry, I left out the part that said to put the flower pot and lid in the oven during preheating. He's very clear on this issue (AB is big on flower pots; his f-p smoker is in the book, too, and he briefly reminisces about Good Ol' Days, an Atlanta restaurant of 70s-80s vintage that cooked and served nearly everything in unglazed terra-cotta). Putting unglazed, unsoaked terra-cotta in a hot oven will almost certainly break it. The flour: I don't know. After brining, you oil the bird, then toss it in a paper bag with flour and spices. My guess is that it's an attempt to give the skin some crust in lieu of last-minute browning. But the instructions also say to put the chicken in the pot breast up. Since the flour trick would require additional fat (the initial oiling is just to get the spice mixture to adhere, I think) from the chicken to form a crust, you would think breast down (allowing the fat in the thighs and legs to trickle across the skin) would be more effective. In case you can't tell, I also think the recipe is strange. And as a serious AB fan, I am more than puzzled. Thanks for the baking soda tip. I'll try it before I toss the reeking pot out front next to the garden (a rusty pickup truck on cinderblocks -- right, fifi?)

I didn't know that there was a trick until fifi said so. I read about it in Alton Brown's new book Gear for Your Kitchen (review in The Daily Gullet soon, I hope). You put a brined, spiced-and-floured, 3- to 4-pound chicken into a lidded, unglazed, unsoaked terra-cotta pot, and put the pot in a relatively hot oven -- 450 F, I think. When the temperature of the bird reaches 150 F, you take it out of the oven and let it sit undisturbed until the temperature hits 165. I was disappointed. Brown says, in effect, it's his roast chicken -- you know, the one you do when you want it to be right. Because of that, I'm going to try it again. Everybody, and every recipe -- within reason -- deserves a second chance, right? Edit: I'm slow on the uptake here. But you can see that he's modified his technique for the recipe in the book. I don't think it's much of an improvement.

If I recall, the Tramontina has an aluminum sandwich bottom. Is there any indication as to how thick the aluminum component is?