Saved by red beans and rice

To celebrate Mardi Gras, I decided to try and to make gumbo.

I failed.

It wasn’t the fault of the recipe, I just don’t think I’m hard-wired to stand in front of a stove for an hour stirring flour and oil to make a roux—there’s just no pleasure in that for me at all. So since I had the ingredients on hand, I decided instead to make red beans and rice. Now that’s a Louisiana dish I can understand.


At my house when I was a kid, we ate a lot of beans. Weekly, we’d have pinto bean night, bean salad night and red beans and rice night. The latter was my favorite, as mom slow cooked the beans with sausage, lots of spices and love.

Now, our Texas version of red beans and rice used pinto beans and kielbasa whereas the Louisiana version has little red beans or kidney beans alongside ham or andouille sausage. But no matter, after you cook the beans long enough the flavors come together in very similar ways.

Red beans and rice is traditionally served on Mondays in New Orleans. This goes back to when people had a hambone leftover from Sunday dinner, and Monday being washday, cooks needed a slow-simmering dish that didn’t call for a lot of fuss as they were cleaning clothes.

Of course, I’m fairly certain that anytime is a fine time for red beans and rice. And with just enough attention, after a few hours you are left with a flavorful, creamy dish that sticks to your bones and warms you to the core.



But the best thing is that you it practically makes itself, so you can busy yourself with other more important things, such as visiting with friends or reading a book, instead of being a slave to the skillet. And after a few hours, you can return to the pot and dinner will be served.

Red beans and rice

Ingredients:
16 oz. red beans, soaked
1 tablespoon of bacon grease (can substitute canola or olive oil if you prefer)
1 bell pepper, chopped
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
2 celery ribs, diced
6 cloves of garlic, minced
1/4 pound of andouille sausage, cubed
1/2 cup of parsley, minced
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon of dried thyme or 1 sprig fresh
1 teaspoon dried leaf oregano
1 teaspoon sweet paprika
1 tablespoon Worcestershire
Cayenne, salt and black pepper to taste
2 smoked ham hocks
8 cups of chicken broth or water
4 green onions, green part chopped (save the white for another use)
6 cups of cooked rice

Method:
After cleaning and sorting, soak your beans in water overnight.

In a large pot on medium heat, sauté in bacon grease the onion, celery and bell pepper for 10 minutes. Add the garlic and sausage to the pot and cook for two minutes. Add the rest of the ingredients to the pot except for the green onions.

Turn up the heat to high and bring to a boil. Let it boil for 20 minutes and then turn the heat to low, cover the pot, and let it simmer for 40 minutes.

After 40 minutes, take off the lid, stir the pot and continue to let it simmer for two hours. You might check back on it every once in a while to make sure there’s still enough liquid in the pot.

At this time, test your beans—they should be soft, but if not, continue to cook on low until they are.

When the beans are ready, with a wooden spoon smash a few of them against the side of the pot—this will make your beans extra creamy.

Pour the beans over rice, and garnish with the green onions. A few shakes of some Louisiana hot sauce such as Tabasco or Crystal is a good addition as well.

Serves six

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End of winter carrot and raisin salad

The end of February can be a very tiring time. You’re tired of wearing that long, black, down-filled coat that keeps you warm but makes you look like a stack of tires. You’re tired of the sun staying in the sky longer without generating any extra heat. And you’re tired of seeing at the farmer’s market only potatoes, winter squash and carrots. Fortunately, with the carrots you can make a sweet salad that holds a promise of warmer days to come: carrot and raisin salad.

I’m a late convert to carrot and raisin salad. When I was in college I had a friend who would go nuts whenever they put some out on the salad bar. She’d eat bowl after bowl and I’d just be horrified. Who wants to eats shredded carrots with raisins? It just seemed like a bad combination.

And then there were the endless church suppers where you could always find a big bowl of it in potluck purgatory alongside the green jiggling Jell-O and fruit salad made with tiny marshmallows. Nope, carrot and raisin salad just wasn’t for me.

But then, I grew up and my palate changed. I’ve started to enjoy raisins. And I’ve always loved carrots. So one day I decided to take the plunge and make a batch.

I looked at the recipe that Luby’s uses, which for many seemed to be the carrot and raisin gold standard. It called for copious amounts of mayonnaise, but I thought I’d lighten mine up with Greek-style yogurt. It also called for pineapple, but I had some fresh juicy oranges on-hand so I used orange juice instead. I added some ginger and cinnamon for spice and found myself with a sweet, crunchy salad that was both fresh and satisfying.

Carrot and raisin salad has been good company the past few weeks. I know that it’s something that people serve year round, but for me it’s become that bridge between late winter and early spring. And during these final tiring days of winter—bright, crisp carrot and raisin salad has proven itself to be delightful refreshment indeed.

What do you put in your carrot and raisin salad?

Carrot and raisin salad
Ingredients:
3 large carrots, shredded (2 cups)
1/4 cup Greek-style yogurt
1/2 cup raisins
2 tablespoons of orange juice (juice from ½ half of a large orange)
1/4 teaspoon ginger
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 tablespoon mayonnaise

Method:
Mix all ingredients together and refrigerate for two hours.
Serves four
Note: This recipe can be easily doubled or tripled. And if it seems to dry to you, feel free to add more yogurt or mayonnaise.

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Cornbread -- how sweet it is

A few weeks ago, I had a lovely lunch at Dovetail, an Upper West Side restaurant that serves what I would call creative comfort food. The meal was good but the one thing that stood out for me (besides the excellent company) was the bread they served—it was a small, sweet loaf made with cornmeal that was by far the highlight of the meal.

Now, I’ve long said that cornbread made with sugar is no longer bread—it’s cake. That isn’t to say that it’s not delicious, but don’t go serving it alongside a bowl of beans or a plate of greens because sweet cornbread is best saved for dessert. (And I'm not alone in this belief.)

That said, while it doesn’t have a role during the main course, sweet cornbread at the end of the meal can be a wonderful thing. And for some reason I’ve always felt like it’s healthier than your usual dessert, even though with all the sugar and butter involved, it’s certainly not as virtuous as eating, say, an apple.

But perhaps my feeling goes back to when I was young. Whenever my family went to Luby’s, I was never allowed to get dessert. But I was allowed to get a sweet corn muffin to eat at the end of the meal, which in my mind was just as good if not better than any other dessert I might have chosen.

Dovetail’s sweet cornbread was no different. It would have been out of place paired with chili, but since my main course included French toast, the sweet cornbread was just fine. And while I usually make my cornbread Texas style without sugar, there’s nothing wrong with having a sweet cornbread in your repertoire for either dessert or for pleasing your Yankee friends. Dovetail’s had a soft, creamy texture that definitely made me want to bake it at home, so I asked for the recipe and, surprisingly, they gave it to me.

When I looked at the recipe, I started to laugh. No wonder it was so good—in it was over a cup of sugar and a cup of butter. There weren’t any eggs, so it wasn’t quite cake but instead more like a very sweet cornmeal biscuit. The recipe also called for cheddar cheese, but the amount was so minute that in proportion to the other ingredients, its sharp tangy flavor was lost. Not to mention, this cornbread would be best topped with fruit and cream or slathered in lots of honey—and neither one of those applications are made better with cheese.

If you like sweet cornbread, you will love this. But even if you agree with me that there should never be sugar in cornbread, you might also enjoy this because, well, it’s not truly cornbread. Instead, think of it as cake or a sweet biscuit. I know I will. And when those springtime strawberries arrive in a few weeks, this cornbread will make a dandy shortbread.

Sweet cornbread, adapted from Dovetail
Ingredients:
3 cups all purpose flour
1 1/4 cup coarse cornmeal
1 1/4 cup sugar
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup cheddar cheese (optional)
2 sticks cold, cubed butter
1 cup buttermilk

Method:
Preheat oven to 400.

Mix all the dry ingredients. Work the butter into the flour mixture with your hands or a pastry blender until it resembles pea-sized crumbs. Add the buttermilk and stir until dough comes together.

Chill for one hour. Roll out into 3/4” thickness and cut out desired shapes.

Bake for 15 minutes or until lightly browned.

Notes: If you want to make this savory, I’d cut out most of the sugar, increase the amount of cheese and throw in some jalapenos. You can also make it prettier if you do a milk wash before baking.

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A more precise Texas chili recipe

I love to buy chiles, especially when I find ones that are soft and pliant, so fresh you can imagine they were drying in a Mexican field maybe just last week.

I have to be careful, however, when shopping because my storage space is very limited. And the other day when I opened my cabinet, out came tumbling three bags of chiles that hit me on the head. I then realized that I needed to make something that would use up a lot of my supply. Fortunately, there was a big football game and nothing pleases people watching winter sports more than a big bowl of spicy red chili.

Now, I’ve written about chili before and provided you with general guidelines on how I make my chili. I don’t use beans, I don’t use tomatoes but most importantly, I don’t use measurements. It works for me, but can be frustrating if you’ve never made chili and desire more strict instructions.

So for this batch, I decided to multi-task and wrote down what I was adding to the pot when I made my what I dubbed my seven-chile chili. Of course, there were a couple of mishaps—I added way too many ground cloves in the beginning and accidentally added cardamom instead of coriander during one spice addition. But the best thing about chili is that the longer it cooks, the flavors both deepen and blend into a complex dish where the sum of the bowl is greater than its parts.

People often ask if my chili is authentic Texas chili. I’ll say yes because I’m a Texan and it’s the chili I grew up eating. Though defining what authentic Texas chili is can be difficult. The term “chili” comes from chile con carne, which translates to peppers with meat. And that’s at heart what I make, with the addition of some spices and aromatics. But there have been some grumbles.

Some people have grumbled because there’s cinnamon and chocolate in my chili, though these flavors are commonly found in Mexican cuisine. Some people have grumbled because there aren’t tomatoes in my chili, though I don’t think that cowboys on the range had access to tomatoes all the time. And some people have grumbled because I don’t use Gebhardt’s Chili Powder, though I can’t buy that in New York and using fresh chiles will trump chili powder any day.



But no matter what people say, I love my chili and usually, those that eat it love it, too. So here is some of my chili with measurements. Enjoy!

Seven-chile chili
Ingredients:
6 anchos
2 pasilla
2 costeñas
2 guajillos
4 chiles de arbol
4 pieces of bacon
4 pounds of chuck roast, cut into 1/4 inch cubes
1 large onion diced
6 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 cup of brewed coffee
1 bottle of beer
2 cups of water
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp clove
1/2 tsp allspice
1 tsp coriander
1/2 tsp cayenne
1 tablespoon cumin
(For all spices, please feel free to add more to taste throughout cooking if you like.)

2 chipotles in adobo
Salt to taste
1/4 cup masa harina
1/3 Mexican hot chocolate tablet, grated

Method:
Heat the dried chiles (anchos, pasillas, costenos, guajillos and chiles de arbol) in a dry, cast-iron skillet on medium for a couple of minutes on each side. Turn off the heat and then add enough water to the skillet to cover the chiles, and let them soak for half an hour.

Meanwhile, in a large heavy pot, such as a Dutch oven, fry up your bacon. When done, remove from pan and crumble (Don’t worry if you opt to eat a slice—you deserve it!) and leave the bacon grease in the pot (it should be about 3) tablespoons. In the pot, cook your beef in the bacon grease on medium heat, a few minutes on each side until lightly browned. You will probably have to cook these in two batches.

Remove the browned beef from the pot, and add your onions. Cook on medium until clear. Add the garlic and cook for another minute. Put the beef back in the pot, and mix in the coffee, the beer, two cups of water, bacon crumbles and the dry spices. Turn the heat up to high.

Your soaking chiles should be soft by now. Drain them and discard the soaking water (it will be bitter) and place them in a blender along with the canned chipotle chiles and one cup of fresh water. Puree until nice and smooth and then add the chile puree to the chili pot.

When chili begins to boil, turn heat down to low and let simmer for five hours, stirring occasionally. Taste it once an hour, and if the flavors are too muted, feel free to add more of any of the spices. Also, it starts to get too dry, add more liquid (your choice!).

After five hours, take a Mexican hot chocolate disc, and finely grate 1/3 of it into the pot. Scoop out 1 cup of broth and add the masa harina. Mix it well and then reincorporate it back into the pot. Stir until chili is thickened.

Let the chili simmer for another half hour or so. When done, serve with cheddar, onions and tortillas.

Note: If you can't find all of these chiles, I would just use the more readily available anchos and chipotles. I'd use 6-8 anchos, following the same soaking and pureeing method, and two chipotles.

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