The Lascivious Snape vs. Smitten Kitchen Every Day

#1 - Grandma-Style Chicken Noodle Soup

Last Tuesday I was deep in the clutches of some kind of primordial death flu. Fever, uncontrollable shaking, thumping headache, and feeling like I'd gone five rounds in the ring with a bag of navel oranges. It was also the day after Christmas, meaning the fridge was stocked with some prized leftovers. Among them, and ranking highest, about 10 ounces of some of the best prime rib I've ever cooked. Eager to put those ounces to work and not go to the store, I fashioned a prime rib sandwich by slicing the rib thin, quick searing it to add some color and remelt the fat, then topped it cheese, arugula and horseradish sauce and called it dinner. And it was great. And I ate about five bites of it. Too rich, too indulgent, and all wrong for me in my weakened state. Should have known better.

Wednesday, I decided to get serious about my impending death and brew up a proper curative. I also spied the perfect gateway to my new project. Smitten Kitchen's Grandma-Style Chicken Noodle Soup.

There's nothing remotely odd or surprising about this recipe. It is right down the line and relies on a simple premise - give it time, and you will succeed. Well, I work from home now, so time I have. Deb does it by sauteeing mirepoix to get a little color on it, then going into the pot with garlic, parsley stems, bay leaf, water, and a whole chicken, cut up if needed. I got a giant stock pot from my grandma, so I don't have to cut up my 5 lb. bird to fit in the pot, but I went ahead and halved it anyway, figuring it would make easier removal and meat pulling down the road. I also removed half the bird's skin before the first simmer, since my chicken was larger than the recommended size, and I didn't want all that fat getting in the way. Simmer for about 25 minutes until the chicken in cooked and pull-able. Remove it to cool and get the stock back to a simmer. Once the chicken is cool enough, pull it, then return the bones to the pot and simmer for a minimum 1 hour but really as long as possible. (Deb recommends watching a Harry Potter movie, but doesn't say which one, further evincing the soup's maverick nature.)

Or ... maybe do what I did. So we're going off book already. In addition to making this recipe, I also wanted to test the whole roasted bones thing. So instead of returning the bones immediately to the pot, I instead moved my bones - some still clinging to a bit of meat - to a 450F oven for about 30 minutes to really brown up. Then I re-added the bones to the pot, "almost covered" and simmered for 3 hours. It made a huge difference. Whereas my typical chicken broth is a disappointingly pallid specimen, more off-clear than TV yellow, this broth was golden and sumptuous looking. It's what a chicken broth should look like.

Anyway, I'm going on. Let's finish this soup. When you're ready, strain the soup through a fine mesh or cheesecloth set in a colander. You're welcome to use the veg, but Deb feels they've given their all, and so do I. Discard the bones and aromatics, return the now-clear broth to the stove and add a fresh batch of veggies: carrot, celery, onion and optional: green onion, leeks. Add the pulled chicken to warm through. When you're ready to serve, ladle into bowls and add a helping of your choice of noodles, cooked and kept separate until the bowl. Top with parsley and, if you're Deb or me, fresh dill. Eat.

This is the best chicken noodle soup I've ever made. As I said a few lines back, there's nothing special about it. No twist, no surprises. It's just the classic flavor done the right way. By taking enough time, using enough ingredients, not skipping steps and maybe - just maybe - roasting the bones first, you can have a hearty restorative that doesn't feel a bit heavy. This was a great start to a new project, and just what I needed last week.

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I want someone to come make that soup for me, and also Baby Snape is ADORABLE.

Freeze dried strawberries are so good it's almost worth considering never bothering with cottony, white storebought strawberries again. I'm sure they are pumped full of all kinds of carcinogens, but whatever: they taste so purely and intensely of strawberry. I sprinkle some on my yogurt and granola whenever I'm lucky enough to have them sitting around.

For a long time I had an obsession with making them into ice cream, and finally did it last spring. Unfortunately cooking them leeched out their color and the resulting ice cream was a rather unappetizing gray color, but was very, very intense.

Awww, thank yall for the nice words

Just counted. Yesterday we made our 9th SK Every Day recipe, the roasted vegetables + halloumi roast. It's pretty much foolproof, you just roast veggies and halloumi until delicious (though the gf thought 2 teaspoons as instructed was too much salt and gave me the leftovers). The marinade initially looks hilariously small relative to the amount of veggie but it worked out fine.

The mushroom shepherd's pie is tasty, but missing something? Thyme?

So far the highlight might be pelmeni (Russian dumplings with a splash of vinegar to finish) or the breakfast skillet of polenta and eggs. Nothing's been bad.

#3 - Crispy Short Rib Carnitas with Sunset Slaw

This book is proving to be a back-to-back stunner, but I will admit that when I first meandered through its pages, the chapter that left me coldest was the one right at its center: Meat Mains. Don't get me wrong, they looked good. Some of them really good. But as I get older I find myself drawn more and more to the allure of vegetables. These meat dishes might look tasty, but I positively tongue-wagged through the salad chapter. Me ... Snape ... salads!

Even today's subject - a luxurious braise of fatty short rib, crisped under the broiler at the last minute and served simply on toasty corn tortillas - I think I made mostly for its accompanying side: sunset slaw. "Sunset slaw?" I thought. "What's that?!"

Turns out sunset slaw is a simple mix of shredded red cabbage, shredded carrot, green onions, mayonnaise, hot sauce, lime juice and salt. Zen simple and crazy good. And because there's no wilty green cabbage, it keeps in the fridge. For real. Like ... for days! Amazing!

Oh yeah, the tacos. Braise the best short ribs you can find in a mix of orange juice and lime juice (fresh for both, please), plus a bunch of garlic cloves and some chili powder. The recipe calls for 5 garlic cloves, but it also says that the cloves (which are left skin on) can then be squeezed onto the tacos at the end for those interested. Well, I'm very interested in that, so I upped it to something like 10 cloves. Maybe more. After braising low and covered for 2.5-3 hours, take off the lid (or foil cover) and put the spurs to it - 425F - and baste it as it begins to crisp and caramelize. Shred the meat and served on toasted tortillas. Deb does hers in a dry skillet. I do mine right over the gas stove (all hail!). She says to serve with diced white onion, cilantro and lime (plus garlic cloves), street taco style, and that is good. But if you also happen to plop some sunset slaw on top, well maybe that'll work out too.

Verdict: I think my smoked pork carnitas turn out a little better when I take the time, but no doubt this is good eating. You really can never go wrong with tacos. And that slaw is the bomb. I don't know why I'd never considered an all red cabbage slaw before. I will from now on.

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Okay, so I took a picture, but I just ... I don't like it. I'm bad at this. Here's someone else's (which I also don't love - for one thing, the slaw looks dry. Mine was more slaw-like).

#4 - Broccoli Melts

My favorite dish from my Alton Brown project was not a rich, tangy mushroom stroganoff, or a gooey grilled cheese, or even the clever chicken parmesan meatballs, which I've made numerous times hence. No, my favorite dish was a broccoli sandwich. And that's not a big surprise. If we remove mushrooms from contention as fungi and not plants, broccoli is probably my favorite vegetable. I love the flavor, I love the texture, I love it raw, I love it cooked, I love it in many different contexts. Broccoli is my bae. So when Perelman offered up her own take on a broccoli sandwich in her new book, I knew it wouldn't be long before I gave it a whack.

I also love how the dish came to be. It was inspired by her husband's love of the classic tuna melt, which resides in the culinary catalog of "dishes we only eat when we're alone." That tickled me, as that very same circumstance is often a topic of discussion over on the Food Thread. Perelman is not big on fish, however, so she adapted the concept of the melt into something she does like. I liked it a hell of a lot, too.

First off, this melt is not a sandwich but is actually a toast. Anyway, cook a lot of broccoli or broccolini until just shy of tender. She does this by simmer-steaming in a pool of salted water. I just steamed it. Then once it cools a bit and has a chance to steam out, chop small. Until it's a "rubbly" pile. Back in the pan, heat olive oil and then quick sautee chopped garlic and red pepper flakes, then re-add the broccoli. Cook just a couple more minutes or until fully done, then transfer to a bowl a finally mix with lemon zest, lemon juice and a helping of grated Pecorino Romano (which I actually had on hand! Another reason I made the dish so soon.) While all that is going on, prep slices of your choice of bread. She recommends a seeded country loaf, and that sounded good to me, so that's what I used. Toast it plain under the broiler on each side a minute or so, just to dry it out and begin to get some color on it, then remove from the oven. Top each piece with the broccoli mixture, then crown with slices of, in her words, "totally unfancy deli provolone." Pop back in the oven to melt and brown the cheese. Serve.

Whether or not you'll like this dish comes down to how you feel about broccoli. If you like it, this is a damn tasty way to eat it (broccoli and cheese get along gloriously, don't ya know). If you don't like it ... well, I assume you stopped reading already. I love broccoli and I loved these melts. Crispy, cheesy, salty, a little tangy from the lemon, and very broccoli-y.

Final note: it doesn't really function as a full dinner, so I served some sauteed chicken on the side with similar flavors - garlic, red pepper, lemon - to kind of carry it through, but it'd make a bangin' lunch or snack.

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Oooh, these melts sound fabulous!  Boomer and I occasionally have tuna melt dinners when Hugs is working the late shift (tuna salad being the only fish thing that I will eat), but broccoli melts would be equally welcome...

You ... you work at the library. Rig that shit and get your book the next time it's available.

I will say - my one major Point Of Contention with Deb’s recipes is her fondness for “crispy eggs,” which I find nasty and always replace with poached eggs.

We did - it was definitely not weird. Fun sort of textural contrast. It would frankly be better as a pair of sides for a chicken thigh though.

I'm way behind on write-ups, but not on dinners. I think I'm up to 13-14 recipes made, eclipsing the halfway point vs. my last project's effort, and it's only the first month. This book is mad good y'all. Anyway, let's get one on the record.

#5 - Raspberry Hazelnut Brioche Bostock

Everything I have made up this point has been good, repeat-worthy even, if never quite mind-blowing. That changes today. This sweet, tart, crunchy, buttery, luscious bostock, a dish the author playfully calls "French French toast," is probably the greatest breakfast bread I have ever made. (Here, as always, we exclude biscuits, which are an anytime food.) So what is bostock, because I certainly didn't know. It doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. To take Deb's word for it, bostock is a French pastry in which day old brioche is revived with a flavored syrup, sweet frangipane (almond paste) and sliced nuts, then baked until crispy. Ummmm, yeah, sign me up for that. Looking to add her own twist, the chef swaps the frangipane for a homemade roasted hazelnut cream and smears on a layer of smooshed fresh raspberries.

Well, I don't like hazelnuts, and wouldn't you know it, I was fresh out frangipane. Tell you what I do like though: Texas pecans. Especially the ones that I got at the tree farm last November and were already on hand in the freezer. Here's what I did:

Set out thick slices of brioche in the morning to spend the day getting stale. In a food processor, I combined pecans I toasted in a pan and cooled, pinch of salt, sugar, unsalted butter, 1 egg and some almond extract (keep it tradish). Processed into a smooth cream. Try not to eat it all before making dinner. Meanwhile, I made a syrup of equal parts water and sugar, plus 2 oranges worth of orange peel. That's more than recommended, but I didn't have the (optional) orange liqueur so I tried to bump it in other ways. Cool. Finally, the build: brush each piece of toast with the syrup. Don't be stingy. Then mash on fresh raspberries blackberries, because that's what was on sale. Then a layer of the pecan cream. It'll blend or make a little bit of a mess with the fruit, and that's all good. I think I used more cream than is traditional. Then sprinkle with some leftover chopped pecans. Bake until the top is puffy and the edges are crisp. Sprinkle with powdered sugar. Eat.

It just ... it hits every note. Sweetness and saltiness from the cream and pecans, tartness and freshness from the fruit, richness and crispiness from the bread. This was eyes roll back good.

Or maybe it wasn't. A few dishes further into the project, Mrs. Snape confessed to me that while she liked it a lot, she would probably put it at the bottom of her list. So what do I know?

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It's in the breakfast section of the book, but yeah it's pretty dessert-like. Kinda like how a thick slice of custardy French toast is almost indistinguishable from bread pudding when you think about it.

Served with scrambled eggs and sausage, it was breakfast. Served on its own, or maybe with flavored whipped cream (frangelico? brandy?) ... yeah, totally dessert.

That's two big thumbs up for the Polenta Baked Eggs, which do look amazing, but man, that's everything Baby Snape doesn't want to eat. It'd be a two-dinner night for sure.