Autumnal Food

[Toliver]

I've tried Sara Moulton's Brussels Sprouts with Dijon Mustard just using a large skillet. Very simple yet different. She also has a recipe for Confit of Brussels Sprouts that sounds great and I have yet to try. Come to think of it, there are quite a few recipes with brussel sprouts on the FoodTV website.

I'll wade forth into Autumn, but I do so grudgingly. I loves me summer tomatoes.

edited to say "Sorry to turn this into a brussel sprout thread!"

Edited September 26, 2003 by Toliver (log)

[Toliver]

Is anyone doing a celebratory fall menu this weekend?

Yes, we're celebrating my dad's birthday this Sunday. Thinking of framing the meal with apples -- maybe finishing with a Tarte Tatin. But I don't know what to do as a main dish. I just did a pork roast so I'm not in the mood for that. Pot au feu, maybe (more winter than fall, I guess...).

Ideas?

I just happened to glance over at FoodTV and saw a rerun of "Cooking Live" and apples are the theme for the show! Is that karmic or what?

Anyway, the main dish is chicken with apple curry. That's a suggestion...

It ain't pork, but it'll do!

Edited to add: Here's a list of recipes on FoodTV that feature "apple" in the title. There are a lot of main dishes with apples. Mmmm...smoked pork chops and green apple chutney.

2nd Edit: You could also do a riff off apples by using just cider/juice for a glaze or sauce on your main dish.

Edited September 26, 2003 by Toliver (log)

[babyluck]

Uh-oh. My dad wants to cook. I should let him, since it's his birthday. I offered to do it together (with strict division of labor, of course). Offered pot au feu or a choucroute platter as marginally seasonal/regional/flavor-related choices to my Tarte Tatin. He wants the pot au feu but wants to make it himself. (I don't know why I suggested it because I'm obviously making the tart and what did I think he was going to do? Make the vegetable? That's Mommy's job!)

Don't get me wrong; he's a really good cook, and taught me how to "cook by ear" but he will be the first to admit that I've surpassed him in the past few years. I make a damn good pot au feu that tastes just like the one we had in Paris when I was 12. He's made it once that I know of and it didn't. He's thriftier & more likely to take shortcuts & use substitutions than I am (and I'm not a Slow Fooder by any means, but when I cook for a special occasion I like to take my time).

I almost feel like I have to come up with a different choice so that I'm not disappointed. He will know if I don't think it's great -- I'm brutally honest and he will guess even if I keep my mouth shut. And in the kitchen -- forget it! -- if it's something I think I can make better than him, I'm completely obnoxious and we argue the whole time. Things get thrown. My mom gets upset.

Should I have him make his sauerbraten? I've been craving it... and I can watch him and take notes. Should I stop being such a control freak?

Sorry, turning this into the "cooking with dad" thread...

And Toliver, thanks, but my dad hasn't had much of a taste for curry since a bout with dysentery in India 40 years ago... not a cultural indictment, just a subconscious reaction.

Just saw your edits. Funny, I was doing the same search at foodtv.com probably at the same time you were (inspired by your find). Didn't find anything amazing, sorry to say. The smoked pork chops sound good but I'm going for traditional fare this time around (well, I almost always do).

I did a salad dressing with reduced apple cider for my pork roast based on a recipe from Adirondack Life -- it was too tart but worth working on. I bought an Adirondack cookbook this summer full of cold-weather foods -- that reminds me; I should go back to it now that it's cooler. Maybe there's something there my dad can make.

[Toliver]

I'd say let go and let your dad have his fun in the kitchen.

A good friend of mine has a favorite catch-phrase: "Like water off a duck's back." It's a matter of not letting things that bug you, bug you.

Let him cook. Will you be in there with him when he cooks? If so, let it be a bonding experience and a birthday present for him. Let him substitute, short cut and singe anything he wants.

It won't matter what the end result tastes like...it's the "getting there" that will be the gift to you and to him.

[babyluck]

You're right, Saint Toliver. We just need to keep our spoons out of each others' pots and we'll be OK.

I don't know if either of us will grow up enough by Sunday to follow your advice, but I can't argue with it.

[Toliver]

You're right, Saint Toliver.  We just need to keep our spoons out of each others' pots and we'll be OK. 

I don't know if either of us will grow up enough by Sunday to follow your advice, but I can't argue with it.

Hardly a saint. Just getting wiser as I get older. Believe me, there have been times I wanted to physically carry my mom out of the kitchen and tie her to the Barcolounger because she was always standing exactly where I needed to be in her very small kitchen.

But, over time, I've gained patience. I also understand her better. Understanding her helps me to let go so that the things that she does that used to drive me freakin' nuts don't anymore. Hence, "like water off a duck's back." It took me a long time to get to this point but it's a great place to be.

[mamster]

Here's how I said goodbye to summer last night (even though today it's 75 and sunny again; I guess I failed to sway the weather gods).

There's this great book called Stanley Park. It's been discussed a bit on eG, although not enough. The book is about a Vancouver BC chef and his restaurant. I am about to quote the best part of the book, so consider yourselves spoiler-warned.

When the pan was hot he added a knob of butter and some oil from a plastic, red-nozzled bottle, let it heat through and foam while he vigorously salted and peppered the chop. He dusted it with flour, then gripped the protruding bone with tongs and pressed it down into the foaming fat. When it was browned on both sides, he tested its firmness with his thumb, pushing gently on the flank of the hot chop, pulled it out and onto a small plate that he slid into a low oven. A few onions went into the pan, a grind more pepper, chanterelles and shiitakes sliced thin, some minced parsley. He tossed the mixture, letting it slide to the far edge of the pan, pulling it back and up towards him, which made it break loose from the slick surface and turn over before landing. He let it cook through, whistling with the music -- they had segued from Tom Waits to Tom Jones. When the mushrooms were starting to brown, he added a bit of garlic and the beer, swirling the contents of the pan to mix them while they boiled. A knob of butter to thicken the sauce. A new dry side-towel before grabbing the chops out of the oven. Back they went into the sauce, half-covered and slid just slightly off the flame.

He chose new potatoes for her, much better with the beer. He laid down a bed of the browned mushrooms in their sauce, nestled the chop on top, triangulated with three of the waxy yellow potatoes, sprayed the plate with more parsley and carried it out himself.

"Grenadin de porc au beurre La Fin du Monde," he said, sliding it onto the table in front of her.

I've been thinking about that scene for a long time, and then last night I was at the supermarket and pork rib chops were on sale. Back at home there was a bottle of La Fin du Monde (a marvelous, high-alcohol ale on lees from Unibroue in Quebec) in the fridge.

Surely chef Jeremy Papier gets better pork than my local QFC and can forgo such tricks, but I brined the pork with kosher salt, brown sugar, black pepper, garlic, and bay leaves. Instead of mushrooms, I was in the mood for red cabbage, which I cut into small chunks and set to braising with nothing more than olive oil, salt and pepper, and a dash of beer.

I grated a russet potato, heated some butter in a skillet, and formed the potato shreds into two ovals, letting them cook while I dried the pork and seared it in a hot pan in a bit of olive oil. Ninety seconds on each side and it was ready to finish in the oven. I added onions to the fond in the pan and cooked them down a bit, then deglazed with about half the bottle of beer (I drank the other half while cooking). S&P, and then when it had reduced a bit, a drizzle of cream and a pat of butter. By the time the sauce was done, the pork was out of the oven and resting to a final temp of about 140. I put a potato cake on each plate, a scoop of cabbage, a chop, and a few spoonfuls of sauce. The potato cake absorbed the juices without getting soggy. Have you ever made a beer pan sauce? I hadn't, and why not?

"You've made some kind of Germanic autumnal supper," Laurie observed, and she was right. Screw summer.

[fifi]

Holy Crap, mamster. That makes this Gulf Coast weenie wish for a cold snap!

[elyse]

I haven't read the thread yet, but I've been thinking of adding that I want to end my lemon cookies in place of spice and molasses stuff. People are unhappy about that. Sheesh!

[fifi]

elyse... DON'T read mamster's post. It is inflammatory and erotic in the extreme.

Now is the time for molasses cookies. My favorite is in the CI Best Recipe book. I tweak it a bit but they are gorgeous and chewy and sublime.

edit to add: Mods... Where are you? Someone needs to arrest mamster!

Edited September 27, 2003 by fifi (log)

[feliciahorowitz]

I don't think I had one really excellent tomato this season. Was it just me?

[Toliver]

I don't think I had one really excellent tomato this season.  Was it just me?

Sorry, felicia...

I had good luck with the tomatoes I tasted this summer. The standouts were some Roma's and a couple Brandywines (gifts from my mom's garden) that were just incredible...deep red flesh that was meaty and sweet without too much pulp/"goop".

[babyluck]

I'd say let go and let your dad have his fun in the kitchen.

Followed your advice & let him choose -- everything went fine except for a baffling time in the liquor store when I learned he changed the menu from choucroute garnis to pot roast. Only turned his burner down once while he was out of the room. Said "oh, I have a little butter left over from the tart" when I saw my mom making mashed potatoes with skim milk (ONLY skim milk). His meal was delicious. I've been eating open-faced pot roast sandwiches on sourdough toast -- mmm.

My Tarte Tatin was mush. Bad apples (see Tarte Tatin thread). Learned a little humility the hard way...

[Toliver]

I'd say let go and let your dad have his fun in the kitchen.

Followed your advice & let him choose -- everything went fine except for a baffling time in the liquor store when I learned he changed the menu from choucroute garnis to pot roast. Only turned his burner down once while he was out of the room. Said "oh, I have a little butter left over from the tart" when I saw my mom making mashed potatoes with skim milk (ONLY skim milk). His meal was delicious. I've been eating open-faced pot roast sandwiches on sourdough toast -- mmm.

My Tarte Tatin was mush. Bad apples (see Tarte Tatin thread). Learned a little humility the hard way...

It sounds fabulous! I am glad to hear things went so relatively well, no pun intended. Your mom & the mashed potatoes sounds just like my mom until the year I told her I'd like to lighten her workload in the kitchen and said I would be making the mashed potatoes from then on. She appreciated that and so did my brothers when I began using whole milk, real butter, some sour cream and, occassionally, a touch of horseradish.

And I am envious of your leftovers...yummmm.

Thanks for letting us know of the outcome! I am glad it worked out and that you still remain sane.

[Lady T]

Mods... Where are you? Someone needs to arrest mamster!

Huh? What?! You're kidding, right? I think someone needs to give mamster a medal!

[mamster]

I always knew deep in my heart that I was a controversial figure.

[lamb]

Here's how I said goodbye to summer last night (even though today it's 75 and sunny again; I guess I failed to sway the weather gods).

There's this great book called Stanley Park. It's been discussed a bit on eG, although not enough. The book is about a Vancouver BC chef and his restaurant. I am about to quote the best part of the book, so consider yourselves spoiler-warned.

When the pan was hot he added a knob of butter and some oil from a plastic, red-nozzled bottle, let it heat through and foam while he vigorously salted and peppered the chop. He dusted it with flour, then gripped the protruding bone with tongs and pressed it down into the foaming fat. When it was browned on both sides, he tested its firmness with his thumb, pushing gently on the flank of the hot chop, pulled it out and onto a small plate that he slid into a low oven. A few onions went into the pan, a grind more pepper, chanterelles and shiitakes sliced thin, some minced parsley. He tossed the mixture, letting it slide to the far edge of the pan, pulling it back and up towards him, which made it break loose from the slick surface and turn over before landing. He let it cook through, whistling with the music -- they had segued from Tom Waits to Tom Jones. When the mushrooms were starting to brown, he added a bit of garlic and the beer, swirling the contents of the pan to mix them while they boiled. A knob of butter to thicken the sauce. A new dry side-towel before grabbing the chops out of the oven. Back they went into the sauce, half-covered and slid just slightly off the flame.

He chose new potatoes for her, much better with the beer. He laid down a bed of the browned mushrooms in their sauce, nestled the chop on top, triangulated with three of the waxy yellow potatoes, sprayed the plate with more parsley and carried it out himself.

"Grenadin de porc au beurre La Fin du Monde," he said, sliding it onto the table in front of her.

I've been thinking about that scene for a long time, and then last night I was at the supermarket and pork rib chops were on sale. Back at home there was a bottle of La Fin du Monde (a marvelous, high-alcohol ale on lees from Unibroue in Quebec) in the fridge.

Surely chef Jeremy Papier gets better pork than my local QFC and can forgo such tricks, but I brined the pork with kosher salt, brown sugar, black pepper, garlic, and bay leaves. Instead of mushrooms, I was in the mood for red cabbage, which I cut into small chunks and set to braising with nothing more than olive oil, salt and pepper, and a dash of beer.

I grated a russet potato, heated some butter in a skillet, and formed the potato shreds into two ovals, letting them cook while I dried the pork and seared it in a hot pan in a bit of olive oil. Ninety seconds on each side and it was ready to finish in the oven. I added onions to the fond in the pan and cooked them down a bit, then deglazed with about half the bottle of beer (I drank the other half while cooking). S&P, and then when it had reduced a bit, a drizzle of cream and a pat of butter. By the time the sauce was done, the pork was out of the oven and resting to a final temp of about 140. I put a potato cake on each plate, a scoop of cabbage, a chop, and a few spoonfuls of sauce. The potato cake absorbed the juices without getting soggy. Have you ever made a beer pan sauce? I hadn't, and why not?

"You've made some kind of Germanic autumnal supper," Laurie observed, and she was right. Screw summer.

This may be an autumnal dish, but I think I need to take a cold shower now.

[bloviatrix]

For me, proof summer is really over happened this week. All summer I've been making iced tea. This week, for the first time since last May, the kettle came out. I've begun to drink hot tea again.