Bad Home Cooking

The right stuff

So I'm thinking, maybe it's not all MY fault.

Maybe if I had the correct equipment, properly maintained, I might not burn the steaks and botch the crepes.

I love my crockery, pots and pans, and I have several very nice pieces, all of them bequeathed to me by others. There's my Le Crueset Dutch oven, courtesy of the Flamenco guitarist, who got points for trying to help. There's the big, multi-functional skillet my step-mother always employed, which I liberated from certain garage sale banishment after her untimely death. I invoke her spirit whenever I use it, but as of this writing there is no evidence to suggest any of her cooking skills have rubbed off on me.

The pan I use the most, however, is a cheapy non-stick skillet-like thing I picked up at Target, and it's nearing the end of its useful life. It's dented. Stained. And its heft no longer satisfies me. Still, I use it for everything, from tortilla Espanola to crepes to pancakes to browning chicken. I've been mulling replacing it for months now.

Then I read "The Best All-Purpose Skillets" in my latest Cook's Illustrated, written by staffer Lisa McManus (who was actually my editor 20 years ago!), and the case was made for me.

Apparently it may not be entirely my lack of cooking skills mucking things up. It could be due in part to my crappy skillet.

This All-Clad 12-inch stainless steel fry pan was voted best in show by the esteemed Cook's Illustrated team. "One of the lightest pans in the lineup, it also offers one of the thickest bottoms of the fully clad pans, which made it easy to maneuver while providing steady heat and even browning." It mentions the 10-inches of cooking surface. It mentions the well-balanced weight, making it easy to spread out crepe batter. Yes, it mentioned crepes. I've been fancying a crepe pan for a long time.

One glitch: The price tag -- $135. Who am I to spend all that money on a pan? Even if it allegedly will last for decades? That's the cost of one week of summer camp for one of my kids. That's shoes and new jeans and shirts for both of them. That's my phone bill. Two weeks of groceries. See where I'm going with this?

But now my tax return has come in and I'm starting to rethink the proposition. Maybe I should do my bit to stimulate the economy. Maybe this could be viewed as my own personal bail-out. What say ye all? Pop for the good stuff or run back to Target?

Lamb With a Thousand Spices

The recipe promised to bring men running.

"When I made this dish, I left the kitchen window open," writes the anonymous Lisa, who posted this dish on the allrecipe website. "The smell attracted several male neighbors, and when my husband came in, he said that it smelled so good, he hoped it was coming from our house and not from someone else's! Serve with my Moroccan Couscous and Cucumber Raita on this site."

That sounded good to us. Not so much the men coming running bit, since Julia is happily married to an eminent Ancient Near Eastern scholar, and I'm still stupid for the flamenco guitarist. But anything that smells good enough to bring men running must by definition have something extra; some mysterious something contained within the 14 spices (plus lemon zest!) that touched the primal animal. It sounded promising indeed. So we printed it out and ventured into my spice box to see what I had on hand. It was when we saw how much space the spice and jar bottles took up on my table that we gave the recipe its new working name of Lamb with a Thousand Spices.

Sure you can click above and see the original recipe, and you should. But I recreate it here for you. Because I love you. The measurements are strangely worded, because on Allrecipe.com you can change the portions and the ingredient measurements change accordingly.

Lamb with a thousand spices:

1/4 cup and 1 teaspoon olive oil, divided

3 pounds lamb meat, cut into 1 1/2 inch cubes

Ready? Take a deep breath...

1 tablespoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
3/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 1/2 teaspoon ground cinammon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
3/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1 1/2 pinches saffron
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 1/4 teaspoon ground coriander
1 tablespoon plus 1 1/2 teaspoon freshly grated ginger
1 1/2 lemon, zested

*whew!*
3 medium onions, cut into one inch cubes (huh?)
7 1/2 carrots, peeled, cut into fourths, then sliced lengthwise into strips (You know what? Just buy a bag of baby carrots and achieve the same thing.)
4 1/2 cloves garlic, minced (hell, throw in that last half a garlic clove while you're at it.)
1 1/2 (14.5 ounce) low-sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon and 1 1/2 teaspoons sun-dried tomato paste
1 tablespoon and 1 1/2 teaspoons honey
1 tablespoon and 1 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch and the same amount of water (optional, for thickening sauce if need be)

Toss the lamb with two tablespoons of the olive oil. Set aside in a bowl. Measure the spices (the paprika, turmeric, cumin, cayenne, cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, salt, ginger, saffron, garlic powder and coriander) into a large, resealable Ziploc bag. Mix well, then add the lamb. Mix well, then refrigerate overnight (or for at least eight hours.)

Brown half the lamb in 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pan (we used the tagine). Remove to a plate and repeat with the remaining lamb. Add onions and carrots to the pot and cook for five minutes. Stir in the fresh garlic and ginger; continue cooking for five more minutes. Return the lamb to the pot and stir in the lemon zest, chicken broth, tomato paste and honey. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to low. Cover, and simmer for 1 1/2 hour to two hours (we did two and a half). You can thicken the broth if it's too thin.

Working the night before, Julia spooned out the spices into a gallon Ziploc bag. We doubled the amount because we'd almost doubled the amount of lamb to feed the Seder guests. This is before I remembered that two of the wives in attendance are strict vegetarians and wouldn't be touching the stuff. No matter, I thought. If this dish came out as promised, the men would eat more than their fair share.

It marinated overnight. Already I was all tingly with the thrill of the unknown. The scent of danger. Me! Marinating!

The next day, the day of the Seder itself, we started cooking at about 1 in the afternoon. I chopped and diced, trying hard to stay focused in the face of my growing panic that we'd started too late and that none of this was going to turn out anyway.

The first problem: We had too much lamb for the tagine. We had to split the portions between it and my dutch oven (or is it a soup pot? Who cares. It worked!). Before long, the lamb was bubbling away.

Luke arrived to see the kids and Julia. First words out of his mouth: "It smells incredible in here! What are you cooking?"

Julia and I just smiled.

The second man to show up was my friend E.J., who beat the traffic (and his wife, apparently, coming in a separate car,) to be the first arriving Seder guest.

"It smells fantastic in here! What are you cooking?"

Third man: Dr. Ash. "Oh my God. What are you cooking?"

Fourth man: Tony. "Que Alegria! Is that the lamb?!"

Over the course of its simmering, we noted that the lamb had a significant kick at the end. Maybe we'd put in a bit too much cayenne pepper? Julia suggested adding a lot more honey, which we did. I can't tell you exactly how much. Two twirls around the perimeter with the bear.

Finally. The Lamb with a Thousand Spices was done. Julia added a fistful of prunes to the mix toward the end, because a lot of traditional lamb tagines include prunes, apparently. And at the table she sprinkled it with freshly-chopped coriander.

Did it taste as good as it smelled? I am happy to report that it did. Even though I was running around mitigating the million little details that I had not attended to (like preparing the actual Seder part of the Seder dinner, for example), and serving things up and pouring wine, I finally sat down and tried a mouthful. The lamb dissolved in my mouth like butter. I could taste the honey, and the cardamom, too. There was still a nice little kick at the end. We served it with roasted heirloom potatoes and other vegetables. But oh, for some crusty bread to mop up those juices!

Next time, I suppose. This dish paired great with the shiraz Tony brought and got raves from everyone who tried it. There were some leftovers, but not a lot: The males came through, each going back two or three times for more. In all, it was a vast improvement over my miserable failure two years ago. But that was a wholly different recipe, and of course, I didn't have a tagine yet, either. Lamb with a Thousand Spices will be made again, and soon. Perhaps for a Spring party?

Now if only I could say the Ruby Red Soup turned out as well. More on that next post. Stay tuned!

Tagine Mon Amour

¡Mira! Look what the flamenco guitarist bought me this weekend in Santa Barbara!

A tagine! And such a lusciously curved specimen. And in such a deep shade of coral. It's like art pottery...but functional!

Oh baby, this raises the bar on my Pesach seder significantly. This means that something lamb-ish will definitely be on the menu. I can smell it now...even though I'm not sure what's going to be in it yet.

Eight adults and seven kids are coming to my second-night seder. I don't even have eight chairs for the grown-ups. Much less seats for seven kids and one more for Elija, who's supposed to bring the matzo-ball soup.

I suppose this really will be a night unlike any other night. And on this night we brought our own chairs to the seder table. And reclined upon ornate cushions, which were provided by our winsome hostess, and were pleasing to the eye, and to the buttocks. For she is in possession of many fine cushions and other frivolities such as teapots and tea glasses and coral-colored tagines. Alas, she is sorely lacking in furniture.

Now I'm on the prowl for Moroccan lamb dishes. I betcha the gorgeous Clotilde at chocolate and Zucchini has some. Wonder if she's going to be in California in early April. She'd have to bring her own chair, though. Lydia at the Perfect Pantry could show, too. But only if she brings her preserved lemons (hint hint!)

In any event, I'll find something, probably something with cous-cous, since I can't actually use grain on Pesach, and conduct a test run with the tagine. Sometime this week, probably. Tony gets to sample the output. He doesn't have to bring his own chair, though. Unless he wants to.

Local boy makes good

You gotta admire a man who will buy you upscale enameled ironware.

He will be rewarded thusly in heaven.

And with soup in the meantime.

Now the only question is: Who shall inherit my Le Creuset?