Hearty French Potato Casserole (in Two Acts)

Cast

Me, playing myself

Roommate, playing the Doctor
Annebriated friend, playing the Guinea Pig
My patient guide dog, playing with his kong

 …and making her kitchen debut…

 Guest star, Queen of Hearts, the Cuisinart!

Act I, Scene 1 (Inspiration and Grocery Store)  ACTION!

Sweet! Now that I have this newfangled food processor, slicing onions and potatoes will be super easy and fast. Thanks to this new recipe from the latest in Cooks Illustrated, this will make a lovely side dish. Whip this up in no time. I personally feel that the Yukon Gold Potatoes are a must for this one.

 Not-yet-inebriated friend takes me to the grocery store to purchase fresh ingredients. We buy a big ol’ slab of peppered, generic bacon upon the doctor’s orders.

 And SCENE!

 

Scene 2: (back at home), dining room table

 First sign that I am having delusions of grandeur: Peeling these potatoes went much faster this time! The key is to not drink lots of caffeine beforehand, so your hands don’t spark, jitter and jive with excess energy. Take your time and lovingly, carefully sculpt each tater, as if you knew that it absolutely wanted to be excoriated and consumed, just for fun. These legumes did not have the problem in previous potato posers; there were very few spots on them to whittle down.

 Scene 3: (in the kitchen)

Second Sign of Afore Mentioned Delusions: I’ll get the sharpest knife I can find to cut these one inch bacon pieces. Stacking all 3 strips on top of one another will make it go faster. Taking my own advice from priorentries, I am cognizant of my fragile fingers when I use them as combination 1-inch measurement and slicing guide for the knife. Success! Easy and clean.

Enter, Queen of Hearts, the Cuisenart

 I go back and forth to the food processor, dumping in the peeled onion first. It is so amazingly quick, I am almost crying with relief…or maybe that’s the onions. Disassembling her Majesty, the onions get poured into a bowl and set aside. I’m continuing to feel around in the saucepan with this slotted spoon thingy to detect bacon crispness. Nothing yet.

The Queen is reassembled and the first bunch of peeled potatoes are done in a flash. Zippily I continue to check the bacon and make room for the last batch of the potatoes. The heat on the bacon is too low, I am thinking. They’re still really squishy. Bam! Potatoes done! Now to just disassemble the Queen one last …

…and "Off with your thumb!" the Queen decrees. My goddam thumb starts bleeding all over the floor. Her Royal bitchiness’ slicing blade didn’t want to twist out of the food processor bowl, which stands to reason, since it was meant to just be pulled straight up and out. Damn inflexible aristocracy.

 My guide dog lustily glares at the pooling blood on the floor in front of him before overcoming the temptation to clean it up, and then leaves, chuffing a rebuke under his breath. Damn precocious guide dogs.

 Crap! The bacon is still on high heat! Luckily, when I take the slotted spoon to the meat bits now, they are crispy, in spite of the smell of charred flesh comingled with fresh blood in the air. The show goes on…

Act II: Scene 1 (Kitchen as battlefield)

Medic! I cry, as I apply some quick battlefield first aid. The Doctor enters and applies his healing arts, as sounds of maniacal laughter can almost be heard from the Queen of Hearts.

 I now must finish this without being able to feel with my thumb, or even get it wet. Inebriated Friend (who has been drinking and laughing since Scene 2) gets some medicine from the Doctor (a.k.a., vodka for himself) and ensures that none of the blood seasoned anything we’ll be eating. He takes some more medicine/vodka just to be sure. (I don’t know either; but it makes sense to him.)

For the most part, I don’t even use proper measuring spoons throughout this recipe. I just kind of parcel it out into the mix as judiciously as I please. The broth is super easy; the cans almost exactly equal 1 ¼ cups. I end up using my hands to smush the unbaked casserole into place as the broth simmers. When I hear it lightly bubbling, I don the Long-Armed Oven Mitts of Protection and pour the lava onto the dish, making certain to pour away from me in case of splatter.

 Now that my thumb is no longer throbbing thanks to the Doctor’s tender ministrations, I feel confident once more to fight on.

Scene 2: Dinner Table

In spite of a first blood encounter, the dish turns out like it’s supposed to. I again use my hand as a guide to cut the casserole into even pieces with a pie blade. Injury has made me appropriately cautious. This ends up being almost completely devoured by my now trashed friend, and 3 others. The broth emulates the drippings of a non-existent roast nicely, with the peppered bacon, salt, and thyme setting off the flavor.

The curtain falls as Inebriated Friend stretches out on the couch, and the ghostly, haunting motorized grinding sound of the food processor cuts his yawn short.

Stuff You Will Need:

•   measuring spoons

•   measuring cup, liquid
•   medium-sized saucepan
•   A plate for bacon
•   large mixing bowl
•   Cutting board for bacon
•   Can opener
•   Vegetable peeler
•   Onion slicing device (knife, food processor, etc.)
•   Tongs or tossing implement
•   Spatula or pressing implement
•   Butter knife and plate
•   Apron, oven mits, and dish towels.
•   Courage and a sense of adventure. Also good medical insurance.
 

Stuff You Put In It:

•   3 slices thick-cut bacon, cut into half-inch pieces

•   1 large onion, halved and sliced thinSlotted spoon
•   1 1/4 teaspoons salt
•   2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
•   1/2 teaspoon pepper
•   1 1/4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
•   1 1/4 cups beef broth
•   3 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled
•   2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces
 

1.     Adjust oven rack to lower middle position and pre-heat to 425 degrees. Grease a 9 by 13 inch baking dish.

2.     Cook bacon in a medium sized saucepan over medium low heat until crisp, 10 to 13 minutes.

3.     Using slotted spoon, transfer bacon to paper towel-lined plate. Remove and discard all but 1 tablespoon fat from pot.

4.     Return pot to medium heat and add onion and quarter teaspoon salt; cook, stirring frequently, until onion is soft and golden brown, about 25 minutes, adjusting heat and adding water 1 tablespoon at a time if onion or bottom of pot becomes too dark.

5.     Transfer onion to large bowl; add bacon, thyme, remaining 1 teaspoon salt, and pepper.

6.     Add broths to now-empty saucepan and bring to simmer over medium-high heat, scraping bottom of pan to loosen any browned bits.

7.     Slice potatoes 1 eighth inch thick. Transfer to bowl with onion mixture and toss to combine.

8.     Transfer to prepared baking dish. Firmly press down on mixture to compress into even layer.

9.     Carefully pour hot broth over top of potatoes. Dot surface evenly with butter.

10. Bake, uncovered, until potatoes are tender and golden brown on edges and most of liquid has been absorbed, 45 to 55 minutes.

11. Transfer to wire rack and let stand for 20 minutes to fully absorb broth before cutting and serving.

An adult beverage my roommate, The Doctor made for me as medicine for...

...the "handy" work of Queen of Hearts, the Cuisinart.

Hey, even I can tell that the Yukon Gold holds up to its name. Yum!

Home Style Fries

Here’s a tasty party treat that only took me all day to create and half an hour to consume. It’s not too ambitious; feel free to laugh, though, when you discover how a single mistake can defeat the point of a recipe.

On Peeling:

I made a disaster of the peeling process. Equipped with my shiny new vegetable peeler, it took me a moment to familiarize myself with the pointy end. 3 ½ pounds of potatoes is quite a bit, so I hunkered down at the kitchen table, turned on a dystopian nightmare audiobook, and began cheerfully peeling my potatoes down to almost nothing.

Great! Less to dice. (Don’t judge me! There were all these weird bumps and discolored spots that I didn’t know were okay to kind of ignore.)

On Dicing:

I decided that I would take the instructions literally here. I play games. Lots of games. Board games, video games, role-playing games, head games, love games; you name it. So naturally I have dice lying around of all sizes, including ½-inch and 1-inch dice. I used these as guides for my knife when cutting up potatoes and onions.

On food color:

You’ll often get these instructions that say to pursue “x” task until “y” color is observed.  Such a pain…but try these tricks:

·       Scour the net or phone a friend to get an idea of the timing of activity. Browning burger takes 7 minutes, for example.  But I only recommend this option as a last resort. It leaved very little room for experimentation and artistry when you micromanage the cooking times.
·       For low vision folks, whip out your portable magnifiers and put on your face guards. Get right up into that food’s greasy face and put the smack down on that color-ID.
·       I have a handy device that speaks aloud the color of my clothes. In this way, I minimize the chance of getting incarcerated by the fashion police. If you have one of these, place some clear seran wrap over the censor and use it on your dish. Make sure and keep yourself away from splatter of hot juices and stove burners. Wear your hazmat suits if need be!
·       Often the sound, taste and texture of the food is sufficient to tell when the thing is ready. If your feeling adventurous and aren’t afraid of food poisoning, lift up a sample to your lips with a spoon, blow on it, and pop it in your mouth. Spit like a camel if its grody.

Your caramelized onions should be easy enough to feel with a spatula for firmness.

On with the show:

Brief science lesson for you here, courtesy of an old issue of Cooks Illustrated, from which this recipe is shamelessly stolen. Pectin is this stuff that holds tater cells together. Alkaline substances rip through pectin like a blind man rips into poor helpless potato peels.  As it happens, baking soda creates just such a nice alkaline substance when in water, raising the Ph. to about 8.1 in the case of our parboiled taters. Even the eensey-weensey bit of baking soda that is added here is enough to dismantle potato cells because a chain reaction is started when the 10 cups of water are introduced to the base powder. What this means is that the outer edges of the taters get all mushy and soft, while the inside stays firm and raw. When roasted, the outside gets nice and crispy, and the inside is soft and yummy.

So it would behoove you to keep this firmly in mind whilst meticulously following instructions.  Avoid making Mistake No. 1,240: forgot the damn baking soda. I, naturally, fell victim to this, and my dish turned out tasty, but mushy all around.

Stuff You’ll Need:

·       Rimmed baking sheet
·       Sharp metal spatula
·       Rubber spatula
·       Dutch oven (Helga, or other named)
·       Cutting board
·       Slicing knife
·       Vegetable peeler
·       Large mixing bowl
·       2 small cereal bowls (for onions and chives)
·       Dry and wet measuring cups
·       Measuring spoons
·       Long-Armed Oven Mitts of Protection

Stuff You Put In It:

·       3 ½ pounds russet potatoes, peeled and cut into ¾ inch dice
·       ½ teaspoon baking soda
·       3 tablespoons unsalted butter, but into 12 pieces
·       Kosher salt and  pepper
·       Pinch cayenne pepper
·       3 tablespoons vegetable oil
·       2 onions, cut into 1/2  inch dice
·       3 tablespoons minced chives

  

1.     Adjust oven rack to lowest position. Place rimmed baking sheet on a rack and pre-heat oven to 450 degrees.
2.     Bring 10 cups water to boil in Dutch oven over high heat.
3.     Add potatoes and baking soda.
4.     Return to a boil and cook for 1 minute.
5.     Drain potatoes and return to Dutch oven. Place over low heat.
6.     Cook, shaking pot occasionally, until any surface moisture has evaporated, about 2 minutes.
7.     Remove from heat and add butter, 1 ½ teaspoons salt, and cayenne; mix with rubber spatula until potatoes are coated with thick, starchy paste, about 30 seconds.
8.     Remove baking sheet from oven and drizzle with 2 tablespoons oil.
9.     Transfer potatoes onto baking sheet and spread into even layer.
10.  Roast for 15 minutes.
11.  While potatoes roast, combine onions, 1 remaining tablespoon oil, and ½ teaspoon salt in bowl.
12.  Remove baking sheet from oven.
13.  Using thin sharp metal spatula, scrape and turn potatoes.
14.  Clear about 8 by 5-inch space in center of baking sheet and add onion mixture. Roast for another 15 minutes.
15.  Scrape and turn again, mixing onions into potatoes. Continue to roast until potatoes are well browned and onions are softened and beginning to brown, 5 to 10 minutes.
16.  Stir in chives, season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve now!

It figures. Even when I'm NOT playing games, my luck persists.

Meat Lasagna

Prometheus in ancient Greek mythology gave to man the gift of fire. He also was well-known for his creativity and originality, hence we refer to a person with such qualities to be Promethean. His particular story is especially apropos when applied to the state of my sad, sad abilities in the kitchen, attempting to harness the powers of fire toward a creatively tasteful entrée.

 Here's how I wrestled against home-made meat lasagna. I scoured the net for a suitably challenging recipe that would teach me through trial and tribulation some new cooking techniques. This one is adapted from allrecipes.com and can be found at:

http://allrecipes.com/recipe/worlds-best-lasagna/

 The challenge focus for today manifests in a fairly varied ingredient list, so if you are trying to recreate this adventure at home, make sure before starting that all of your spices and seasonings are Braille or large print labeled correctly (refer to Kitchen Prep Posts for tips).

I always try to get all of my ingredients in a row before even putting on the apron. For low vision folks, it helps to have an ingredient placement system so you don’t accidentally put 4 times the salt into your sauce. Personally, I place them in a neat arc on the baking center in the order they are listed on the recipe.  Examining the list closely and noting the prep time of 3.25 hours, I took in a deep breath and prepared for a long day. In my past experiences, doubling that amount of time is more accurate.

To save a bit of time and money, I purchased pre-minced onions and sneakily borrowed some no-boil lasagna noodles, the fennel seeds and Italian seasoning from friends. No need to spend exorbitant funds on an ingredient you don’t foresee using often. See how Promethean I am?

For some reason, I thought that greasing the lasagna dish first would be a great idea. Casting about the kitchen for something suitably greasy, I found what looked promising inside a new container with which I was not familiar. Inside dwelt a semi-soft, lotion-textured substance. I bravely enlisted a visiting friend to taste test it, who informed me that the yellowish mystery cream was tasteless. And since he most notably did NOT die, I liberally used some. Later, my roommate vetted it to be some sort of room-temperature solid butter, the likes of which only erudite microbiologists know and use, and that I had never heard. (“clarified butter,” come to find out. I frequently misremember it as “streamlined” or “clensed butter”.) The mad science continued without disruption—for now.

In the spirit of all this prep work, I also whipped out everything I’d need in the cooking process. So with a clang and a clatter, out came the mixing bowls, wire whisks, rubber spatula, Helga the Dutch oven, apron, mitts,  tasting spoons, paper towels, and the fire extinguisher if I had one—I settled for baking soda instead. And the first aid kit, I noted, was also at hand.

Step 1 of this recipe instructs the sighted food preparer to thoroughly brown the delicious sausage and beef to prevent poisoning yourself and others. This is especially critical when dealing with pork products. But these kinds of instructions are useless as many of you may not know what brown is. Instead, find a way to ascertain the meat’s texture. Spoon some out and cut it with a knife. Put on mitts and tear some apart in your hands. Press down on it with a thin spatula. However it’s done, listen for the sizzling of the meat to go from an Amazonian rain forest downpour to a gentle Pacific Northwest cleansing shower. At that point, the meat should tear apart without any stringiness or rubbery-like texture. (Side note: seek out recipes that are more descriptive in terms of touch, smell, or other non-visual cues. They do exist!) Proceed…

Now to deal with the insane amounts of tomato products. I learned here that using a wide-brimmed measuring cup is best, as I later had tomato paste and sauce dripping rhythmically off of my sink faucet, counter top, and window sill. (Don’t ask.)  For the seasonings, I took a close friend’s advice and simply added the approximate correct amount to the sauce, and checked it for taste. (I say again! Am I not Promethean?) Unfortunately, I got distracted and added in 4 times the amount of recommended salt.  Tasting the sauce henceforth was dehydrating.

 

Step 2 was omitted thanks to the no-boil noodles. Mistake no. 4,423.

The rest of the process was fairly straight-forward. Layering noodles and cheese and sauce is tactile-intensive enough; don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty. And then…Voile! Present to all who dare a salty-sauced, rubber-noodled lasagna! (Note to self: Use regular noodles next time, thereby circumventing Mistake no. 4,423.)

 In the end, it only took me around 3.5 hours to prepare. The trick is to chop, grate, and slice ingredients while the sauce is simmering, which, by the way, is easily discernible when you hear the mixture intermittently, softly bubbling like a bog. Enforce your organizational system strictly for both your raw and prepared ingredients. The stakes here aren’t too high if you mix up the parm and the mozzarella, but what if it were…I don’t know…say for example…salt and garlic.

Ode to Helga, The Dutch Oven

Oh, Helga! You are so good to me.

You don’t horde your food greedily.
That non-stick bottom keeps you mess-free.

This actually kept well in the refrigerator for days and days...probably because of all the salt preserving it.