Category Archives: wine

More carrots, or Beef and Carrot Daube, a fancy french pot roast

Yet again, I find myself besieged by car­rots. I some­how got a five pound bag of car­rots in my Boston Organ­ics box that I know I didn’t order, but there it was, and there it remained. I have slowly begun using them up, but I think I am going to have to add a car­rot count to my cur­rent recipes until all the orange pests are used up.

This time, I deter­mined to try some­thing else from Patri­cia Wells’ Veg­etable Har­vest. I admit that I am not a fan of her prose, though I can’t say why. But she’s friends with Susan Her­mann Loomis, whose books and recipes I love, so I’m sure Ms. Wells is sim­ply the sub­ject of some uncon­scious prej­u­dice on my part. And I’ll admit, Ms. Wells’ recipes are first-class– aside from the salad I made before, I’ve made a lemon tart from her Paris Cook­book and a riff on her Seven-Hour Leg of Lamb that were both excel­lent. So, in find­ing her recipe for Braised Beef with Car­rots, I fig­ured I was in good hands. The fol­low­ing is an adap­ta­tion of Ms. Wells’ recipe, so if you want the orig­i­nal pro­por­tions, feel free to email me.

Next, three pounds of car­rots, peeled.

Then, a half a stick of salted but­ter. Do not fear but­ter, for it is your fatty friend.

Next, a three pound beef roast. I bought chuck roast, because that was on sale. But you can buy any­thing you like, it’s a free coun­try. And maybe, if you buy enough beef, Matthew McConnaughey will come over and help you make dinner.

You’re also going to need 1 can of tomato paste (6 oz.), 3 cups of chicken broth, and 2 cups of red wine. I used a cheapo Zin­fan­del that isn’t too oaky. You will notice the car­rots have also been cut into coins.

Now we have the cook­ing part. While you’ve been chop­ping pesky car­rots, mut­ter­ing under your breath, “breed like rab­bits in my veg­etable bin, will you? Take that!” you’ve been heat­ing a lar­gish (5 or 6 quart) pan or dutch oven, and plopped in your but­ter. Then, put in your beef, and brown it.

See how there’s room around the meat? That pre­vents the meat from steam­ing, and lets it get nice and deeply fla­vored from the brown­ing. At this step you should also sea­son the meat. Aside from but­ter, your new fatty friend, you will now intro­duce your roast to Mr. Sel and Madame Paprika, or salt and pep­per to those of you who didn’t skip Con­tracts as a 1L to watch Blue’s Clues.

As you see, I have a handy-dandy “Salt Pig” that the Bet­ter Half and I bought, because it was cute and because we are gad­get freaks. But you can use a bowl, your hands, or even the box. Give the roast a good sprin­kling of salt, as well as a lib­eral pep­per­ing of pepper.

Is it brown yet? Not until it looks like this. It might take five min­utes or so to get to this point. Don’t rush it. Would you tell Michelan­gelo, “Hey, hurry up with that ceil­ing, the popes have changed twice since you started?” No? Then do not has­ten your stew. It will be tough, and you will be regretful.

So now you can dump in all the other ingre­di­ents, right? No. A piece of beef has more than one side. You must brown all the biggest sides (that’s at least two, if not four or five– the sides and the big end) to get the biggest fla­vor. If you want wimpy, sissy stew, unfit to serve to any cat­tle­man come a’callin, then fine, dump your ingre­di­ents in. Not I. I browned three other sides…

Mmm. Beef fat. I may or may not have licked that bit right there. I’m not telling. OK, now it’s finally time to put in the ingre­di­ents– first, the car­rots, 3 bay leaves, a good sized bunch of pars­ley, and 3 rose­mary sprigs.

Then all the liq­uids, until your braise looks like this.

Put the heat on medium low, cover it, and let it cook on a medium sim­mer for three hours. If you take it out before then, it will be cooked, but it will be tough. Let it cook the whole three hours, and it should be fall-apart ten­der at the end.

I found the fla­vor needed some­thing at the end, so after fish­ing out the herbs and toss­ing them, adding some more salt and pep­per, and check­ing to make sure the stew liq­uid didn’t need degreas­ing, I added two tbsps. of whole grain Maille mus­tard. Delicious.

Deli­cious served over white rice and with the other 2 cups of wine. I made it fancy and poured the wine into a glass, rather than using the oft-favored bendy straw method of consumption.

As with most stews, braises, daubes, what­ever you want to call them, this was even bet­ter the next day. If I were serv­ing it to com­pany, I would leave the whole roast, unsliced, out to cool, then put it in the fridge overnight. I would then reheat it, gen­tly, and carve right before serving.

Round things fry-fest, 2007–2008

On New Year’s Eve this (past?) year we took it easy. Our friend L. came over, and we had a lit­tle fes­ti­val of frying.

First, though, a toast, the first of sev­eral, to the new year, with some “Il” Pros­ecco and rasp­ber­ries. Fan­cied up cheap cham­pagne? That’s how we roll.

In the back­ground on the right, you may observe some Home­made Apple­sauce. Damn. I should make it all the time. Not only did I use up all my Boston Organ­ics apples, but it was so tasty and so much bet­ter (and less sug­ary) than the super­mar­ket thing.

Next was some­thing I didn’t get a pic­ture of, because we ate them so fast. Riff­ing on a fresh tuna patty recipe in Jamie Oliver’s “Jamie’s Italy,” I mixed together a can of tuna with 2 tbsp. chopped capers, the zest and juice of a lemon, the finely chopped nee­dles of two rose­mary sprigs, an egg, and enough gluten free bread­crumbs to make a stiff bat­ter. The first batch I flat­tened into pat­ties and baked in the oven at 400F. These were great, but the next batch, fried in olive oil, was even bet­ter. I served these with a squeeze of lemon. My only regret is that we didn’t make more.

Next was chicken pat­ties, adapted from Nigel Slater’s “The Kitchen Diaries.”

These were AWESOME, if I do say so myself. The recipe is wicked sim­ple… it’s just (bone­less, skin­less) chicken thighs, processed until ground with pancetta cubes, chopped fresh rose­mary, lemon zest, onion, and a lit­tle bit of olive oil and parme­san, enough to make the mix­ture moist but coher­ent. Then, I fried them in olive oil. The orig­i­nal recipe called for bak­ing them with a bit of chicken broth, which I did the first time, but really? They were bet­ter fried. (And what isn’t?)

Next? Spicy car­rot latkes.

These were very, very sim­ple. First, I asked the Bet­ter Half to peel and grate the car­rots in the food proces­sor. Then, I asked him to dress the grated car­rots with salt, pep­per, cumin, and cayenne. The hard part done, I then bound the car­rots with egg and chick­pea flour, and fried dol­lops of the car­rot mix in canola oil. I served these with a mayo that I’d doc­tored with soy sauce, lime juice, and fresh chopped cilantro.

And last, but not least, the tra­di­tional potato latke. I come from Irish and Nor­we­gian stock, so my love for the potato is exceeded only by my love for beef and cheese. And lemon zest. But that’s a story for another day.

Again, I imposed upon the Bet­ter Half to peel and grate the pota­toes and an onion. My Cuisi­nart got quite the work­out. Then, I asked him to gen­er­ously salt the pota­toes. They turned an ucky brown from the oxi­da­tion, but don’t worry, it doesn’t affect the fla­vor. I drained off the liq­uid the salt drew off the pota­toes, and then added an egg and rice flour, stir­ring to com­bine until it made a coher­ent bat­ter. I then fried them in canola oil until dark golden on both sides.

The final result?

Yum-delicious. And, the car­rots and pota­toes were also from the Boston Organ­ics box, so I got to use up some of my allotment.

I espe­cially rec­om­mend the non-meat meat­balls. As we were eat­ing them, I kept think­ing “Fried pro­tein pat­ties of all kinds make me happy. I need to do this more!” How­ever, we three were sooooo sleepy that we barely made it to mid­night. Those latkes were sinkers, not floaters. Maybe I should have served a salad on the side. But I think the apple­sauce should count, right?

Some favorite things

Steal­ing a page from inspired by Mrs. G’s blog posts of her favorite things, here are a few of my favorite things:

Ted­die Peanut But­ter, nat­ural super chunky. I grew up in the town where it’s made, and there is noth­ing like the odor of roast­ing nuts, waft­ing out of nowhere.

Dr. Bronner’s organic laven­der liq­uid soap. Never per­fumey, always herby and fresh. Vegan. Organic. Family-owned. And before my eye­sight got com­pletely shot, inter­st­ing read­ing in the shower.

Mole­sk­ine large ruled note­books. For jour­nalling, poems, draft blog posts when I’m on the road, notes from my doctor’s and ther­apy appoint­ments, ideas for photo series, inter­est­ing phrases I’ve heard oth­ers say, names of books, poets and authors to look up later, my life, in short. They are more expen­sive than a sim­ple note­book. But to me, they are worth it– the weight and feel of the paper, the spac­ing of the lines, the way it lies flat, the sub­stance of it in the hand– because they make me want to write. The large (not the extra large) size is not too big for a medium-sized purse, and still leav­ing room for a mass-market paperback.

Dinah Wash­ing­ton. Bil­lie Hol­i­day, Bessie Smith and Ella Fitzger­ald are all won­der­ful, too, but for bell-like clar­ity of tone and enun­ci­a­tion, breadth and vari­ety of cat­a­logue (includ­ing some won­der­ful raunchy love songs that you could never play on the radio) and emo­tional expres­sive­ness, Dinah can­not be beat, except maybe by Aretha.

Col­lege ruled com­po­si­tion note­books for larger projects. I keep one for my online life, and use it for: dia­gram­ming my site redesign, ideas for recur­rent posts, ideas for Real Men­tal posts, not­ing ideas for design and con­tent from other blogs, keep­ing track of trends and data from SiteMe­ter and Google Ana­lyt­ics and Word­Press Site Stats, and now for blog post ideas, though not usu­ally the drafts them­selves. I write “Done” on the top right cor­ner of pages when a par­tic­u­lar aspect of some­thing is done, and I use a red pen to check off tasks so that I can take a quick flip through to see where things stand.

Amore tomato paste, pesto, and anchovy paste in a tube. Fresh, and no half-used cans to open. Their whole line of prod­ucts is great, although I can’t speak to the gar­lic paste.

Sue Hubbell. My dad gave me A Book of Bees years ago. Aside from the mar­vel that is Hubbell’s abil­ity to express sci­en­tific and tech­ni­cal prin­ci­ples with Aha!-level sim­plic­ity, the snip­pets of her own life that worked their way into her account of being a bee­keeper in the Ozarks were addict­ing. She is unsen­ti­men­tal and clear-eyed, with­out ever being unkind to her­self or oth­ers. All her other books are also won­der­ful, but A Coun­try Year is another one I’d espe­cially recommend.

Bogle Petit Sirah. If I had to pick one “house red” to drink, regard­less of whether it matched my food (this is a BIG wine, but not tan­nic like Caber­net), this would be the one, Big, juicy, chewy tan­nins, and smooth. It’s $9.00 at my local Trader Joe’s, but tastes like it costs a lot more. Ray Isle at Food & Wine Mag­a­zine also likes their Old Vine Zin­fan­del, which comes at a sim­i­lar price point.

Changing tastes

I’m almost through the sec­ond week of lithium, and it’s been an inter­est­ing process. Last week, I was tak­ing 300 mg, and I thought I would die at one point. This week, I’ve been tak­ing it 300 mg twice a day, and try­ing to remem­ber to take it at sup­per. I missed one day– I just am not accus­tomed to tak­ing pills in the evening, since my trig­ger for remem­ber­ing my pills is my morn­ing shower. I did feel really irri­ta­ble the after­noon of the next day, which I sup­pose shows it’s doing some­thing. But really, I’ve been afflicted with far fewer side effects this week, in the sense of no real nau­sea, and only a lit­tle bit of dizzi­ness. My mood is yet to be great, but my fan­tas­ti­cal dreams are return­ing, and I am no longer hav­ing panic attacks– bet­ter still, the sui­ci­dal ideation has gone from active to pas­sive to “don’t be silly, what a mess you’d leave behind for some­one to have to clean up!” Yes, my adult child is stronger than my bipo­lar self once again. How funny that this is a good thing.

I’m more on my feed than I’ve been, but my appetite is still inter­mit­tent, and inter­est­ingly, my taste recep­tors are act­ing dif­fer­ently. I’ve never been a cof­fee addict, but I do have a cup most days, and I have rel­ished a freshly brewed cup at home on the week­ends. No more– cof­fee now tastes like muddy ashes. Like­wise with alco­hol– I had a sip of beer, and it tasted like the wet heaves, bile and all. Tan­nic red wines? Much too strong, and like wood­chips. A fruity red is ok, as is an unoaked white, but a sweeter white? Tastes like syrup. Hot tea tastes bet­ter to me now, and water is the most deli­cious thing in the world. So far, I haven’t noticed that my recep­tors for food have been affected, which is good given how much I savor good food. What a strange side effect, though, and what an inter­est­ing reminder of how intri­cate a con­struc­tion we frag­ile folks are. The mir­a­cle isn’t that we work well, it’s that we work at all.

Saturday October 13 in pictures

Gotta look snazzy when run­ning errands.

Work­ing away like it’s August, not October.

He also thinks it’s August.

Coolidge Cor­ner, Brookline.


The old SS Pierce build­ing in Coolidge Corner.


A lit­tle wine shop­ping at Trader Joe’s.


Ran­dom neces­si­ties: tuna, mango slices, eggs, salami.


Some of the booty from Brook­line Booksmith.


The very nice neigh­bor­hood around my SIL’s place.


More of the neighborhood.


Um, tak­ing my photo is NOT feed­ing me.


Sorry, dude. No food, just books.


Dude, I promise, I gave you both the same thing.


The Wild Turkeys of Brookline.


Some­one hit the tree again. Idiots. Like a big tree lean­ing over the street is a surprise.


Left­over brunch from the Win­ches­ter: break­fast bur­rito, blue­berry pan­cake, home­fries.
Not left­over: spicy Bloody Mary.

Home at last.