Cheating at Sourdough

I've yet to get a sourdough culture going that is strong enough to rise a regular bread dough, so in the loaves I've made in the last week or so I've added 1/4 teaspoon instant yeast to the dough (per 4 1/2 and in one case about 7 cups flour) in the middle of the process—at about day two of three.

These loaves are mostly white flour, with 1/4 cup of whole wheat flour for flavor. The bug was impatient, so I cut into the funny-looking one before it had cooled, and it got a little gummy.

In the Reinhart book, many of the recipes have you mixing the flour and salt together and adding them to the wetter ingredients (a starter or barm plus water, for example). I've found that technique problematic, because often it results in a stiffer dough than I think is right—and adding more water at the end is extremely annoying and difficult. In future, I'll go back to the usual way of adding the salt with the first cup or so of flour, and adding more flour gradually until it just feels right to me.

The ugly loaves in front, variations on Reinhart's version of Poilâne bread, are 100% whole wheat (and they sure tasted like it). Good and sour, but very heavy and dense. I forgot about the baguettes in the oven, and they burnt a bit.

The whole wheat loaf crumb.

The baguette's crumb. This loaf was baked on a sheet pan because I have only one French bread pan (I was making four loaves at a time)—hence the flat bottom. Very chewy and sour, but I prefer the lighter texture of my normal, nonsourdough French loaf.

The baguettes made excellent bread crumbs, incidentally, which I put on top of the most ridiculously complicated tuna noodle casserole ever. Look at this recipe! It's a tuna noodle casserole, for crying out loud! Yes, it was good, and maybe slightly more healthful than the canned-soup variety, but really not worth the kitchen mess and effort.

This is the cinnamon crumb nut apple surprise quickbread from Rose Levy Beranbaum's The Bread Bible. Not a bread bread, but I was craving a slice of it to go with my afternoon Earl Grey. I took the remaining slices to Mr. Chalmers's office kitchen.

The apples are the surprise part, I guess.

I think my breads were better before I started reading the Beranbaum and Reinhart books and trying to learn how to make better bread, but I think I'll get to a point where the extra knowledge starts to pay off. A few factors might delay this: I'm no good at following directions, I'm forgetful, and I'm no good at keeping track of what I've done for future reference.

Good Food in Georgia

The Chalmerses and a friend made the about-three-hour drive to Marietta yesterday to have lunch at Tasty China (585 Franklin Rd. SE, Marietta, 770-419-9849—though they've never answered the phone when I've called), the Sichuan restaurant that's been much discussed on the South board on Chowhound for the last year and a half or so. The bug slept all the way there, and was brilliantly behaved throughout our extended meal, thoroughly charming the servers and trying lots of different foods.

We ordered more food than could fit on our table, and they had to take plates away and pack up to-go containers as we were eating. A singularly unhelpful and vague report on our meal is here, on Chowhound; scroll up for much more detailed descriptions of dishes by people who know what they're talking about. Locals with any interest in Chinese food should try to get over there. It's worth the drive, says Mr. Chalmers, who actually did the drive and who isn't normally a fan of Chinese. (He was won over by, among other things, the interesting use of cumin in several of the dishes.)

Afterwards we checked out the international grocery in the same strip shopping center (no purchases, but they do carry Bulgarian feta, I was happy to see: look for the green-and-white-striped tins in the refrigerated case). If you're at Tasty China for dinner on a weekend, you might go to one of the two Latino dance clubs next door afterwards—just a suggestion. Since we were there on a Sunday afternoon and were packing a toddler, we instead went into downtown Marietta and had coffee at a surprisingly attractive and well-patronized coffee house just off the square (the name of it escapes me, but it's opposite a blue-and-white-facaded Greek restaurant). It was a very cold but very good Sunday afternoon.

Progress Reports

Yesterday afternoon I noticed five bubbles in my first "real" sourdough starter made with only flour and water, which means I've captured some wild yeast from either the flour or the sweet Madison County air. You might be able to pick them out:

There may be sourdough bread in our near future, who knows? I'm not entirely sure what comes next. If only for my own future reference, here's what I did. This starts out close to BBA, but then veers off on day 4 as I worry it's not working (and as I reach my "viewing limit").

Possible sourdough starter

Day 1: Combine 1 cup whole organic rye flour and 3/4 cup lukewarm water; press the mixture (it was like a paste) into the bottom of a tall plastic container. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let sit at room temperature for 24 hours.

Day 2: Scrape the mixture into a bowl and mix in 1 cup King Arthur unbleached bread flour and 1/2 cup lukewarm water; press the dough (now a stiff ball) back into the container. Cover and let sit at room temperature for 24 hours.

Day 3: Discard half of the dough ball. To the remaining, add 1 cup bread flour and 1/2 cup lukewarm water; press into the container. Cover and let sit at room temperature for 24 hours.

Day 4: Add 1/2 cup bread flour and 1/2 cup lukewarm water directly to the container and mix it in with a rubber spatula. (It's runnier now, and easier to mix.) Put a piece of tape on the outside of the container to mark the level of the mixture. Cover and let sit at room temperature for 24 hours.

It's about 5 a.m. right now on day 5, the stuff has risen about 3/4 inch above the tape, and that's all I know about this sourdough thing for now.

Last night I made my first attempt at kung pao chicken. I should say that I don't cook a lot of Chinese food, at least not Americanized Chinese (although once at about 3 a.m. after a big night out with my now husband I made us my mom's moo goo gai pan, and I do have a few Chinese Chinese dishes in my regular rotation—ugh, "rotation": this is why I want to try more new foods). I don't know much about stir-frying, and I don't own a wok. So I was pretty much at the mercy of actual recipes this time. I couldn't find any that seemed just like West Side Cottage II's: the "authentic"-looking ones didn't have the vegetables (I like it with crisp carrots, celery, and water chestnuts), and the ones that had the vegetables seemed lame on the sauce front. In the end, I kind of winged it, and the results were wonderful. I won't post a recipe yet, because what I came up with was close to what I wanted but not quite right (the marinade and sauce were based on Fuchsia Dunlop's gong bao ji ding). I know that the elements of most takeout versions are fried in tons of oil, and of course I didn't do that—the only real problem was that the sauce was too sweet and had too much soy flavor. I think I can fix the latter by using Chinese light soy sauce next time.

I'm all out of black vinegar or I'd make a second attempt right now and post a recipe. Soon, folks.

Sorry for the crappy lighting. It looked better than this.

Leftovers

This week I've found myself trying to use up ten pounds of jagerwurst we stuffed and smoked over the weekend. We gave away as much as we could without being obnoxious sausage-pushers, and I managed to fit a half dozen links or so in the (now) completely full freezer. It can be eaten out of hand, perhaps on a plate with crackers and cheese and pickles, but I can handle only a few slices at a time. Here's what I made last night; it was really good with French bread and cheap red wine on a wintry-mix sort of evening.

White beans with kale and jagerwurst
Serves 4.

2 cups dried white beans, rinsed
1 bay leaf
1 sprig rosemary
Chicken stock
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 large white onion, diced
About 1 pound kale, trimmed and chopped (I used blanched kale that I'd frozen a few months ago)
About 3/4 pound jagerwurst or other smoked pork sausage, sliced 1/2 inch thick
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

In a pot, cover the beans with water by 2 inches and bring to a boil over high heat. Remove from the heat and let soak for 1 hour. Drain and rinse the beans and return them to the pot. Add the bay leaf, rosemary sprig, and stock to cover the beans by 1 inch. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat to a simmer and cook until the beans are just tender, 1 to 1 1/2 hours, adding more stock or water to keep the beans just covered. Remove and discard the bay leaf and rosemary.

Meanwhile, heat the oil in a saucepan over medium heat and add the onion. Sauté until the onion is soft and just starting to brown. Remove from the heat. When the beans are almost done, add the onion to the pot and stir in the kale.

Return the pan to medium heat and add the sausage. Cook until well browned on one side, then add the sausage to the pot and simmer until the kale is tender and the beans are soft. Season with salt and pepper to taste and spoon into shallow soup bowls.

List in Progress

It's been a hell of a year so far, but I'm still here, still thinking crazy thoughts about food.

I'm not one for lists—or, rather, for following lists; I love making them!—but here are a few things I'd like to learn how to do well this year (or whenever):

1. Sourdough bread. I've ordered The Bread Baker's Apprentice, which should arrive next week. But I was too excited, and went ahead and began a starter this morning, following the BBA page I could read in Google Books. Apparently, though, I've reached my "viewing limit," which means I only know what to do through day three. Can anybody tell me what is on pages 230ff?
2. Kung pao chicken like they have at West Side Cottage II, which was our local delivery/takeout Chinese in New York. All the elements are perfectly cooked, and the sauce is dark and spicy. Have I mentioned here that in Gainesville, Florida, where we lived for a year between New York and Georgia, the kung pao chicken had zucchini in it? I've still never forgiven Gainesville for that.
3. Summer sausage. I love even mediocre summer sausage, and I think it'd be fun to make my own.
4. Bagels, and again I mean New York bagels, good ones, the kind you just cannot get anywhere near Athens. I have a good start: my first attempt, a couple weeks ago, worked really well. I added vital wheat gluten to high-gluten flour, and used barley malt syrup in the (very stiff) dough and the poaching water. Next time there will be pictures, because next time they'll look more like bagels and less like softballs.
5. Lox. Which means building that smokehouse, and also: learning how to cut a straight line with my Skilsaw. Can one make cream cheese at home?
6. Kouign amann. I can't pronounce it and I've never eaten it, but it sure sounds like something I'd like. My mom's made it a few times and has given me some tips to augment this recipe.
7. Gnocchi, light and fluffy, now that I have a potato ricer.
8. Iranian cheese, the stuff that's like Bulgarian feta, which I haven't come across outside New York. It has the consistency and saltiness of feta, but is very, very sour—not to everyone's taste, but I think it's wonderful. The bug was found yesterday sitting in a corner of the kitchen, on top of a heating register, with a fistful of Bulgarian feta we'd brought back from the city. She likes it too.
9. Beef with long hot peppers. This will be easy. I've given up on my pork with sour long beans dish from Grand Sichuan International: the Ninth Avenue restaurant is no longer extant, I learned, which I think is a sign that I should just let it go.
10. Lovage. This year I will try harder to grow it, and if the seeds don't sprout, as happened last year, I'll look harder for potted lovage. My mom planted some for me in my yard this fall, but the drought might have killed it off.

Also, I want to try to use more unfamiliar ingredients—unfamiliar to me, anyway—in everyday cooking. Once recently I bought a turnip, and I don't think I'd ever eaten one before, but it was a revelation. I love turnips! (I sautéed thin slices in duck fat. I love duck fat!) I'm looking for more of that this year.

And now for some random pictures that might represent how the holidays went for the Chalmerses.

There was a cookie-baking day with Athens friends.

There was a long drive to New York, and reading to Cooper.

There was a trip to drizzly Mount Vernon, New York, for pizza at Johnny's (30 W. Lincoln Ave., near Gramatan Ave.)—mentioned on Jeff Varasano's pizza page.

It was probably the bug's best restaurant outing ever. She was fascinated, as were we, by the place and the people there (all of them men: she probably appreciated the low, deep hum of the conversations?), and she seemed to like the pizza, too. It was very good: thin, charred, bubbly, flavorful crust, simple sauce, not too much cheese, that's it.

There was the bug's first time on a beach, near Rye Playland: subfreezing temperatures and below-zero windchill.

There were two nights in Atlantic City, oddly.

There was coming home and cozying up in the big chair.

Pralines

I never thought there would come a time when I could write a blog post with the title "Pralines," but here it is. A couple-few years ago, I promised Mr. Chalmers I'd never again attempt to make pralines due to the terrible black cloud that descended and hovered over the household during my third, fourth, fifth, and sixth complete failures in the space of about a week and a half. I fully intended to keep my promise, but something about my circumstances this year emboldened me.

At the end of a day of high-volume cookie baking this weekend with friends, one of them stuck her ex-boyfriend's praline recipe on the wall above the stove and proceeded to show me how it's done. The recipe was from Southern Living, 1959. First of all, I love the ingredients: sugar, baking soda, light cream, butter, and pecans—there's no corn syrup crutch (so many praline recipes call for a whole cup of the stuff, which makes the praline mixture—note I did not say pralines, because what I've made in the past would not be recognized as such anywhere south of I-60—it makes it taste not so much like sugar as like corn syrup). Second, the recipe contained one vital piece of information other recipes I've tried did not: if the damn candy mixture starts to harden before you've hurriedly gotten it all scooped out of the pot, just add a tablespoon of hot water and keep going. Genius! Third, and most important, the pralines taste wonderful and have a creamy, smooth, melt-in-your-mouth texture.

After seeing it done on Saturday I decided to try it all by myself on Sunday. Success:

Pralines
From Southern Living, via my friend Regan

2 cups sugar
¾ teaspoon baking soda
1 cup light cream or evaporated milk
1½ tablespoons butter
2 cups pecan halves

1. Get everything ready in advance: Put a cup of cold water in the freezer for the cold water tests, lay out a big sheet of waxed paper or parchment right next to the stovetop, measure the butter and pecans and have them next to the stove.
2. Combine the sugar and soda in a deep 3-quart saucepan [4-quart worked fine]. Mix well with a wooden spoon, then add the cream. Stir carefully to keep the sugar crystals in the bottom part of the pan [Not sure what this means]. All the crystals should be dissolved before the mixture boils—this helps make it smooth and creamy.
3. Bring to a boil over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally [I'd say frequently] to prevent scorching [I stirred up little browned bits from the bottom and sides, and was worried, but it all evened out toward the end]. When the mixture starts to boil, it bubbles high in the pan, so reduce the heat and continue stirring to keep it from boiling over. Cook to about 234 degrees F., until candy forms a soft ball when tested in cold water [I pulled my pot off the heat at 230 or even a bit lower, trusting the color and the soft ball test more than the thermometer]. Test several times; read the thermometer while candy boils, but remove the pan from the heat during the water test so it won’t overcook.
4. Remove the pan from the heat and immediately stir in the butter. Measure accurately—too much butter may keep the pralines from firming up. Add the pecans and beat until thick enough to drop from a spoon, 2 to 3 minutes [I beat for less time; don't let it thicken too much; it'll thicken as it drops from the spoon]. Candy thickens rapidly with beating.
5. Drop candies onto waxed paper. Add 1 tablespoon hot water if necessary to keep the candy at the right stage for dropping from the spoon.

Pandoro + Danish = Babka

Here's my version (only a little simplified) of my mom's version of Mario Batali's pandoro and Craig Claiborne's danish. (For all the Craig Claiborne fans out there, have you seen his newly reissued book of Southern recipes? Did you know he was from Mississippi? I did not.)


Cheese Babka

For the yeast mixture:
1/4 cup warm water
1 tablespoon active dry yeast (I used instant)
1 tablespoon sugar
1 large egg yolk
1/2 cup all-purpose flour

For phase 1:
3 cups all-purpose flour
4 large egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1/2 cup room temperature water

For phase 2:
2 cups all-purpose flour
4 large egg yolks
1 large egg
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup room-temperature water
Zest of 1 lemon
1/4 cup golden raisins (I used black)

For the cheese filling:
1 cup cottage cheese
1 large egg
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon butter
Zest of 1/2 lemon

For the topping (optional):
1 large egg, beaten together with 1 teaspoon water
Sugar

Make the yeast mixture: In a small bowl, combine the water, yeast, sugar, egg yolk, and flour. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place for 2 hours, or until doubled in bulk.

Phase 1: In a medium bowl, beat together all the ingredients. Add the yeast mixture and mix well. Gradually stir in the flour to form a sticky dough. Knead for 5 to 10 minutes, or use the dough hook attachment on an electric mixer (which I don't have; use those arms!). The dough should remain somewhat tacky, unlike bread dough.

Butter a large bowl and add the dough. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place for 2 hours.

Phase 2: In a medium bowl, beat together the flour, egg yolks, egg, sugar, salt, water, and lemon zest.

Punch down the dough from phase 1 above and pour in the egg mixture, stirring and cutting slowly to break up the dough. The texture of this mixture will appear strange, but will smooth out after the addition of the flour. Gradually add the flour and mix until thoroughly incorporated. Knead for an additional 10 minutes. Place in a buttered bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let rise for 2 hours. Punch down the dough and knead in the raisins.

Make the cheese filling: In a food processor, process the cottage cheese until very smooth, then add the egg, sugar, butter, and lemon zest and process to combine.

Shape and bake the babkas: Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter and flour 2 large coffee cans (I used cans that were 6 3/4 inches tall and 6 inches in diameter, but you can get creative here and use 3 smaller cans, or tall cake pans, or whatever; just adjust the baking time and watch them closely).

Divide the dough in half. On a lightly floured surface, pat out half of the dough into a rough rectangle about 6 by 12 inches. Spoon half of the filling over the rectangle and do your best to roll it up and get it into a coffee can. It may look as messy as this:

But don't worry. Do the other half of the dough and filling. Cover and let rise for 30 minutes. Bake for 35 minutes, until nicely browned on top, then brush with the egg wash and sprinkle with sugar. Return to the oven for 5 minutes. Let cool on wire racks for 10 minutes, then loosen the edges with a thin knife and remove from the cans. Let cool completely, then slice one and give one away.

Sleepy Cozy

One of my new favorite things to do with the bug is to take her over to Watson Mill Bridge State Park, which is about three miles from our house, to go for long morning walks in the woods. The last time we went, it was before naptime and I thought the one-and-a-half-mile loop would make her nice and sleepy. I didn't expect it to put her to sleep half a mile in—I carried her the rest of the way. Before I lost the use of my arms I took some pictures along the trail.

In the evenings now that it's cold, I've been warming up the bug's bedtime milk with a pinch of cinnamon, a tiny bit of nutmeg, and one small drop of honey. She breaks out into a huge smile after every gulp, but it's always too dark to take a clear picture unless she's absorbed in her cup.

It's drizzly and chilly this morning (okay, not that chilly—45.2 degrees), but I might go ahead and bundle us up and go out. It's either that or hibernate.

Better Late

The Chalmerses set out Wednesday morning for Pittsburgh, for no other reason than we've been wanting to see it together—I'm interested in Rust Belt ruins, and Mr. Chalmers reminded us that Pittsburgh was the setting for Wonder Boys, which was not so good but which showed the city in a way that was attractive to both of us.

The bug was wonderful and sweet in the car, reading her books and hugging her animals, in particular Grandma Bear:

We stopped in downtown Charlotte, North Carolina, for a light lunch outdoors (pizza margherita), and walked around marveling at the tall buildings and feeling like country come to town. The bug had a ball peeking through holes in various public statues and structures. It was windy, but not too cold.

By evening we'd reached Wytheville, Virginia, a small town in the far southwest corner of the state, where Interstates 77 and 81 intersect. It's been the setting for many a fantasy of the Chalmerses ever since Mr. Chalmers passed through it on a cross-country trip many years ago; this was my first time there. It's hard to imagine that it could have exceeded my expectations, but it did: it truly is the most beautiful small town I've ever seen. Here's the main drag (the moon is in the upper right corner):

While strolling down the sidewalk looking in shop windows (many of the the shops were open for business, amazingly), we saw: a man asleep at his desk in what I think was an insurance company, a huge pencil advertising a stationery store, people (oh, let's call them neighbors) putting up holiday lights on the streetlamps, and an almost full moon (the bug is very excited about the moon these short days). The small but perfect public park was an idyllic glade of bright-yellow-leafed trees lining a babbling brook with wooden footbridges. We had a tough time convincing the bug to come down off the big rustic outdoor stage (think Shakespeare in the Park). We walked through a pretty neighborhood, and were passing a big old Victorian house with a crazily overgrown wooded yard as people were just arriving—Thanksgiving guests. It was lovely.

We had supper at a place on the main street called Troy's, which was a New York–themed Philly cheesesteak joint:

My cheesesteak was excellent, which is good because Troy's was about the closest we got to eating in the North on this trip.

Coming down a mountain into West Virginia that evening, on a curvy, fast highway, we had an honest-to-god blowout. Within twenty seconds our tire was completely gone. Mr. Chalmers very carefully pulled over right next to the guardrail beside a sheer dropoff. With trucks and holiday traffic whipping past us, we got the car jacked up, but we couldn't get one of the lug nuts off—it just kept spinning frustratingly. The bug was asleep. Mr. Chalmers started walking back up the mountain, where we'd passed an exit about a mile back. It was cold and windy. About an hour later, a courtesy patrol truck stopped, and the man used special tools to get the tire off and the spare on, then he went to look for Mr. Chalmers, because he said there was absolutely nothing off exit 1. Half an hour later he came back—without my husband. The courtesy guy called up to the mountain tunnel people—nobody had seen him. He called the state troopers—no luck, but they'd go out looking for them when they could spare a car (apparently there was a big domestic disturbance in the next town, ten miles down the road). Just then a truck pulled up with Mr. Chalmers in it. He'd walked (and run) eight miles, to the nearest business, a liquor store, and gotten a ride back.

By that time, the hazards had run down the car battery, so we had to jump start it with the courtesy truck. It was after 10 when we got to a motel with an available room and started trying to put the bug to bed. We were all exhausted. The bug, however, would not sleep. She was delirious with excitement about being in a new place, and insisted on exploring the new place until 3:30. So we slept off and on from then until she woke up for good at 7:30. It was actually a relief to be out of the bed with that little kicker—if she wasn't kicking us in the throat we were getting it in the face.

In better spirits now with a few hours of sleep under our belt, we drove slowly to the Wal-Mart and got a new tire put on—we were all set by 8:30 in the morning. Thanksgiving morning. Pittsburgh would've been a possibility if the specter of at least two more sleepless nights in a hotel room weren't looming over us. So we drove home. It was a pretty drive, and thankfully uneventful. The bug was adorable, of course, and perfectly sweet. She's a good road-tripper but a very bad co-sleeper.

It's Saturday now. The first thing I heard this morning when I woke up was Mr. Chalmers and the bug outside cleaning the smoker getting it ready for a turkey breast he'd put in a brine yesterday afternoon. We had just the right size pot:

We've been making food since yesterday, eating each dish as it's ready and not worrying about Thanksgiving traditions or getting everything on the table all at once. (Mr. Chalmers told me we can do anything I want for Thanksgiving each year as long as he gets to smoke turkey.) So I made Polish food.

First up, pierogies. I'd never made them before, so I pretty much followed this recipe, which worked well, though the dough was a little doughy—roll it thinner than 1/8 inch. For the filling, I boiled 2 1/2 pounds of potatoes (mixed varieties), had Mr. Chalmers rice them (even though I've been boxing, his arms are still stronger), then beat in 1 minced sautéed onion, 4 ounces grated Cheddar cheese, some chopped parsley from the yard, and salt and pepper.

I'm a fried pierogi type, as you might've guessed. I boiled them till they floated, drained them well (till they were a bit dry), then fried in butter with onion.

The bug had her own little bowl. She especially liked the applesauce her grandma from Washington made for her.

Ever since I saw a picture of a plastic to-go container of cabbage rolls (in my Pittsburgh research online), I'd been craving them.

Thanksgiving cabbage rolls (mostly from Joy of Cooking): Cut out the core of a green or Savoy cabbage and put it in a large pot of boiling salted water for 5 minutes or so. Meanwhile, mix together 1 pound ground turkey, 1 large egg, 1 grated carrot, 1 diced onion, 1/2 cup breadcrumbs, 1/2 cup water, 1/2 cup raw white rice, 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, and 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper. Pull a leaf off the cabbage and put the head back in the boiling water. Slice the back of the center rib off to make the leaf flexible. Set the leaf on the counter concave side up and put a 1-inch-diameter line of the turkey mixture at the core end. Roll it up like an eggroll, somewhat loosely (the rice will expand). Repeat with the remaining filling.

Chop 1 cup of the remaining cabbage. Heat some olive oil in a large sauté pan and add the cabbage and 1 diced onion. Cook until lightly browned, then add 1/2 cup wine (I used red; it was open) and cook until it's evaporated. Add 1 (28-ounce) can whole tomatoes in puree and break up the tomatoes a bit. Add some water, about 1/4 cup brown sugar, some raisins, 1/2 teaspoon citric acid (I couldn't find any, so I used Fruit-Fresh, which contains ascorbic and citric acids, plus about a tablespoon of sherry vinegar—?), about 6 ginger snaps, and salt and pepper to taste. Arrange the cabbage rolls, seam side down, in the sauce, cover the pan, and simmer for 1 1/2 hours.

Serve with sour cream or crème fraîche.

Somewhere in there we also had sausages. Oh, and I made a plain old apple pie for dessert.

Today, of course, will be turkey, and I also want to make my mom's cheese babka, which is sort of a mash-up of a Mario Batali pandoro and a Craig Claiborne cheese danish. Mr. Chalmers kindly consented to using preground coffee for the forseeable future so that I'd have two big cans to bake the babkas in. They've been emptied and washed, so stay tuned.

Regular Food

Hi! The recipe-testing job is over, and of fifty-four dishes I managed to take pictures of about six. Sometimes I'd make a dish, put it on the table, then start the next one without stopping. And sometimes they just weren't gorgeous, or it was still dark and the pictures would've been bad anyway. Here are a couple, though:

Crunchy fried smelts with a chickpea and beet salad—the dressing was simple and tangy (lemon, Champagne vinegar, olive oil, Dijon), which offset the richness of the smelts nicely. The fish were fried in a very light tempura-style batter. They could be eaten bones and all.

This is one of I think four racks of lamb I grilled in the last month. This one was sprinkled with coarse sea salt, then basted as it grilled, first with soy sauce, then miso paste, then mirin to glaze it a bit. I had to test it twice (poor me).

Here is the bug digging into one of the less successful dishes. The recipe was fine; it just wasn't a good concept for a dish: morcilla (Spanish blood sausage), onions, smoked paprika, and squid, wrapped in a banana leaf and grilled. The squid didn't go so well with the sausage. I gather it was supposed to be a riff on a Hawaiian lau-lau.

I made a lot of crêpes in the month of October (by which I mean I made a lot of batter, and my mom made a lot of crêpes). The last one of the batch is always the funniest. Halloween crêpe!

Braised oxtail on puff pastry, with sweetbreads sautéed in browned butter, with shallot and olives and white wine. This was the second of two sweetbreads dishes. (Note to Athenians: Because of me, Justin at the East Side Publix has about a case of sweetbreads he'd love to sell you. Enough sweetbreads for anything you'd like to make will set you back about $1.29. Email me and I'll send you some recipes.)

One of the last recipes was a pan-roasted quail with a cherry-Port jus, fresh herb spaetzle, and seared foie gras. Mr. Chalmers was out of town and the bug was asleep when I made this lovely, rich dish. At the very end, I seared the foie gras, set it on the counter, then made myself a quesadilla for supper. I was so sick of foie gras.

It was the best quesadilla ever, incidentally, with Monterey Jack and some quick-pickled vegetables left over from an earlier recipe.

I'm happy to be back to making normal food, although so far I think I've been overcompensating: generic Cheerios, grilled cheese, cinnamon toast, hamburgers.

Here the bug is eating dry cereal with diced pears, but she won't let go of the half pear long enough even for me to cut the core out. I love her fall work shirt and her very serious expression.

Here's a corrective to the preceding picture.

I was unsuccessful in my attempts to explain to her why it wasn't a good idea to play in the pile of ashes in the backyard.

Yesterday I finished up some copyediting work, then the bug and I went into town and bought something I've wanted for a long time:

A heavy bag! And heavy-bag gloves and hand wraps (which, I learned the hard way yesterday, are necessary).

I wanted one with a Puerto Rican flag on it, but all they had in my size was plain black. Perhaps that's a good thing. Back when I was working as a cook, I used to hit a funny homemade bag in the garage every night after work, and it really helped me sleep (the sous chef, if I remember right, recommended it as a way to wind down after doing three hundred covers in three hours). I'm not having trouble sleeping now (last night is an exception—the bug and her crazed shouting might've had something to do with it), but it sure is fun. The whole lean-to feels like it's going to come down with just the slightest tap (from, say, the bug).

Also, it's fall:

Testing, Testing

I'm in the thick of a kind of over-the-top rush recipe-testing job, but I wanted to give some sense of the kinds of things happening here lately. Before I started the testing last week, I went ahead and made b'stilla, because I'd been craving it for some reason.

Buttery phyllo dough pie filled with shredded chicken thigh meat (traditionally squab), egg, almonds, cinnamon, parsley, onion, and topped with powdered sugar and cinnamon.

I haven't been able to take pictures of everything I've been testing, but in the first week I've been called on to poach an entire rack of lamb by submerging it in duck fat (three-plus pounds thereof); make sausages out of scallops, shrimp, and sea bass and grill them with a sweet chili glaze; thinly slice raw beef and roll each slice around a watercress leaf and homemade lemon mayonnaise and fried capers, set it in a Chinese soup spoon with a bit of broth made from the trimmings of two to five pounds of shiitake mushrooms, and top it with parsley sauce and a flatbread chip (this is a one-bite hors d'oeuvre); and do spherification to make coffee "caviar" as a topping for chocolate mousse:

I got everyone to try the syringing, and Mr. Chalmers (above) and my dad were by far the best at it. Most of my eggs had a little tail. This was just coffee and a bit of sugar mixed with sodium alginate, heated and cooled, dropped into a calcium chloride solution, then rinsed.

The spherification worked very well, but I would've liked a more intense coffee flavor. Some of the balls, probably the ones that spent less time in the calcium chloride solution, did have a little burst of liquid in the center. You can see what was probably one of my tadpole-shaped balls in the front.

Two dishes so far are tied for most difficult: (1) the duck breasts cooked sous vide, thinly sliced and place atop sautéed wild mushrooms with shallot and foie gras, in a truffle-scented foamed broth; (2) a three-part dessert for eighteen consisting of pastry puffs filled with lemon-thyme custard and decorated with white and bittersweet chocolate, paper-thin slices of mango wrapped around pillows of coconut-milk-cooked tapioca with cilantro and spices and placed on top of a pumpkin seed "gelee," and shots of cold hot chocolate layered over mango puree and diced strawberries and topped with cayenne-cinnamon whipped cream and shaved chocolate.

Even with a lot of help in the kitchen from my mom, I only had the energy to plate up about four servings of this, and couldn't be bothered to find matching platters or glasses or take a really nice picture.

The dessert took me all day Sunday to make, and it was our supper. Mr. Chalmers had grilled a bunch of hot dogs—with buns and everything!—for lunch, and it was the most comforting and satisfying thing I've eaten in seven days.