Anger Burger

The Anger Burger kitchen has been a barren place, lately.  There’s not a good explanation, I’m just going through one of those crackers-for-dinner streaks where nothing seems worth doing dishes for.  This might on the surface appear as depression, but it’s more of a nervous aimlessness – that, and it turns out that “eating sugar” and “being motivated” were one in the same.   Whoops!

However, I did remember that I had made an apple tart at Thanksgiving and forgot all about it.  I didn’t even think I’d remembered to photograph it, but digging back through Lightroom unearthed a single, grainy shot:

It’s Ina Garten’s French Apple Tart though really, between us little birds, it’s just a pie without a lid.  Really!  The bottom crust is a basic butter-based pie crust, on top of which you layer thinly sliced apple in whatever obsessive-compulsive pattern you can achieve, top with sugar and butter, bake, and ta-da, a pie without a lid.

Overall, it was delicious, though any time you might have saved is totally lost in the time it takes to thinly slice the apples by hand and then carefully layer them into the pastry.  Still, I liked it in large part because it was so thin and because the lack of lid allowed for more of a reduction of the liquids, resulting in a kind of apple pie concentrate.

Now, some tips: Google the recipe and you’ll find some questionable-looking versions out there, which I’m aware sounds profoundly snooty and in fact is, but let’s get serious: you’re making this to impress people, even if only yourself.

• The thinner you slice the apples, the better it will look.  The problem here is that the thinner you slice them, the thinner the tart itself will be as well, and to counter that you’re actually looking at two layers of apple here, but the bottom one made no effort to look nice.  I just quickly packed in about 1/2 the apples and made them as flat as possible, and then came the fancy layer.  This also, if I recall, required one or two more apples than she called for, but since I always buy more than I need it was fine.

• Her recipe calls for 1/2 a stick of butter cut into small pieces and put over the apples to bake into them during cooking, and for my money that is way too much butter.  It’s not even gluttonous, it’s just an oil slick.  I think you can get away with the equivalent of a 1/4 stick of butter, or just a few pieces pinched off and dropped on top.

• I drizzled over about 1/4 cup of boiled cider before baking, because I’m totally obsessed with this stuff.  You know how in The Dark Crystal the Skeksis use the power of the crystal to steal the life essence from Podlings and then drink it?  I think that’s what they did to the apples that went into my bottle of boiled cider.

• Ina’s original recipe calls for the pastry to be laid flat on a baking sheet and then layered with apples, which would also work just great, though she advises that it’s alright if and when the juices all leak out and burn.  I think that losing the juices is a incomprehensible tragedy and recommend instead that you use a large tart pan and form the pastry carefully all the way up the sides.

So there you go.  A totally fussy tart that is worth the trouble if you’re showing off, but probably not if you’re going to eat it all yourself at home while watching old seasons of Supernatural on DVD.  Mmm, Winchester boys¹.

¹ Actually I’m just a Dean girl myself. Sam is, well, how should we put this: there’s a reason we call the show Shmoopernatural. Someone’s shmoopy and needs a hug.

A while back I mentioned that I ate something called Hippy Chow, and then described it only in the briefest and smallest of fonts.  Since I cooked it again for dinner tonight I thought I’d elaborate.

I started making Hippy Chow when I split a farm share with my mom back in Olympia and often found myself with more greens than I knew what to do with.  I honestly can’t recall where I came across the idea, but its a simple enough one that it doesn’t matter: cook the greens down with rice.  Before I knew it I was simmering down beet tops, kale, chard, mustard greens, leeks, onions, green onions, whatever you pulled out of the mower bag, I threw it into the pot with the rice.  And it cooked up beautifully every time.

In later years I branched out to pearled barley (which I adore in a way that I think would upset the Pope) instead of rice, and added sweet potatoes and parsnips into regular rotation.  The end result is always the same, a thick, nutrient dense casserole of dubious photogenic quality that warms my belly.

Ten years later, I’m still making Hippy Chow, though now largely when Mike is out of the house for the evening.  His Viking constitution doesn’t run well on vegetation.  Tonight he’s off on some kind of “dinner meeting” which I think might be a euphemism, and I’m at home with a simple Hippy Chow of kale and rice.  The key, I think, is sauteing down the vegetables in some olive oil for a few minutes before introducing the rice; pearled barley cooks so long that it doesn’t get this treatment, its vegetables get added 15 minutes into the barley cook time.

Good stock instead of water also helps, as with most scenarios.

The end result is chewy, flavorful, surprisingly rich and perfectly good as a meal in of itself, which is part of the objective as far as I’m concerned.  I’m not making Hippy Chow as a part of a complete dinner, I’m making Hippy Chow because I’m home alone and that means that I’m doing my own dishes, and, well, fuck that.

That is an awful photo and the food is ugly, too.

Hippy Chow
serves 1 stoner or maybe 2 non-stoners or 4 if you’re serving it as a side.

1/2 onion, chopped fine
4 cloves of garlic, finely minced
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 bunch greens (i.e., 1/2 bunch kale and 1/2 bunch chard, or 1 whole bunch mustard greens, etc.)
1 C. rice
2 1/4 C. stock or water
1 tsp. salt (more to taste)
pepper
2 tsp. good quality balsamic vinegar
fresh herbs to taste (basil, sage and rosemary are good)

• In a medium pot, saute the onion in the olive oil until lightly cooked, about 3 minutes.  Add the garlic and just stir to cook through (you really don’t want to brown it, just take the edge off it).  Add the greens and saute until they have greatly reduced in volume and are fairly soft, but still vibrant and green, about 5 to 7 minutes.  This goes a little smoother if you keep stirring it.  Add salt and pepper to taste.

• Add the rice to the greens, stir through to coat with oil, and then add the liquid and the vinegar.  Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, cover and let cook for 20 minutes over a very low flame.

• When the 20 minutes are up, quickly chop up some fresh herbs – honestly, any will do – about 2 Tbsp. worth, and stir into the cooked rice and greens mixture.  Quickly replace the lid and remove from heat, allowing to sit undisturbed for the next 10 minutes.  Now would be a good chance to hit the bong.

• That’s it, you’re all done.  It might need a little more salt, but probably not.

The variation for making with pearled barley goes like this:

1 heaping cup of vegetables diced into 1/2 inch cubes (root veggies are perfect)
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 onion, chopped small
2 cloves garlic, minced fine
1 C. pearled barley
3 cups of stock or water
1 tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. honey
pepper
fresh herbs to taste (rosemary in particular)

• In a medium pot, saute the onion in olive oil until softish, about 3 minutes.  Add the garlic and stir through just to warm.  Add the pearled barley, salt, pepper and honey.

• Add the stock and bring to a boil, lower to a simmer, cover, and let cook for 15 minutes.

• After 15 minutes are up, add the cup of veggies, quickly stir, bring back to a simmer, cover, and then allow to cook undisturbed for 30 more minutes.

• After the 30 minutes are up, quickly stir in the chopped fresh herbs, re-cover, remove from heat and let sit for 10 minutes before eating.  There might be a little liquid still in the bottom before you set the pot aside for 10 minutes, but the barley will continue to absorb as it sits.  Pearl barley is also a little chewy, so don’t overcook it thinking that it’s not done.  It probably is.

I’ve been seeing a company called Bram Cookware around the interwebs lately, and today on Apartment Therapy again so I decided I’d point ya’ll toward the recent object of my desire: the totally unneeded and voluptuous 9 quart Bean Pot:

I never thought I’d be so mesmerized by a clay pot, but there it is.  The finish, I should note, is not a glaze but an effect of hand-burnishing the surface with river rocks.  The more I learn about this pot the more I understand what kind of douchebag would have it in their kitchen, but I can’t stop loving it.  I feel like Patrick Bateman.

Anyway, Bram cookware is priced fair for what it is — the bean pot, for example, is about $100 — particularly when considering that a Le Creuset is going to run you more.  The downside is that Bramware is clay and unlike the Le Creuset can be fatally damaged by irresponsible cooking, and I think we can all imagine that moment where we drop it on the floor and gasp as a thousand pieces of clay and hundred dollar bills blip off into oblivion.

It’s wrong to be thinking about something like “investment cookware” at a time when I’ve switched to the cheap mascara, but a girl can dream¹.  You, on the other hand, might be a little more flush.  Bean pot, anyone?

¹ Dad – don’t even think about getting me one of these. I’m serious. I know you can’t afford it and I won’t be delighted, I’ll be pissed off and I swear to god I’ll put you in a home.