Normal Entree Progression

     Tam and I enjoyed pork barbecue Friday night, the kind that consists of pork and a few vegetable cooked down in a smoky, tomato-based sauce with hints of sweet and spicy.  You ladle it onto buns, maybe add a little more sauce, and there you go.

     That's not the notable part.  What's worth writing about is why, and what else works that way.

     The reason we had barbecue is that we had a pork roast last Sunday, a Boston Butt (still $3.99 a pound) marinated overnight in vinegar, soy sauce, Worcestershire and spices, then roasted for at least an hour per pound in a covered pan on the grill.  I'd added an apple, carrots, celery, a potato, a red onion, diced multicolored bell peppers, a can of mild green chilies, a big fresh tomato (diced) and a bottle of shakshuka tomato sauce.  In parts of the Middle East/Mediterranean, they poach eggs in that sauce, and it's delicious, but the sauce is kind of like supercharged marinara but sweeter and hotter, a spice profile that works in a lot of contexts.

     There were, of course, leftovers.  It was a three-pound roast.  I sliced the meat, bagged it in a gallon freezer bag, and laid it flat in the freezer for later.  Friday night, I put the bag in the microwave to defrost while I squeezed a couple of chorizo sausages out of their casings, fried and drained them, then poured most of a bottle of dark, smoky barbecue sauce over it and let it simmer.  I added the thawed pork roast leftovers and snipped it up small with kitchen shears and a potato masher, adding some gumbo file to thicken it (a little bit of that stuff works really well!).  The end result passed nicely as barbecue.

     Leftover pork roast can end up as pasta sauce, Hoppin' John or "chili" (red stew) starter, too.  If there's more sauce and vegetables than meat, you can poach eggs in it, and incline the spices Italian (Eggs Pomodoro!) or Middle Eastern (a version of Shakshuka you'd better not mention in its hometowns).

     Other main dishes work the same way.  Tam and I don't make much of a dent in a rotisserie chicken -- a leg or two and a wing for her, some breast meat for me.  But afterward, it's a simple job to get the rest of the meat off the bones, skin and all, and freeze it for chicken soup or stew later.  Meat loaf (I occasionally buy one from the butcher counter, oven-ready) can be cooked on the covered grill in the summer (why heat up the kitchen?*), and the leftovers become hot or cold sandwiches, or the meat in spaghetti or red stew.  A beef roast without tomatoes becomes soup or stew later; with tomatoes, it works as well as the pork roast in various tomato-based dishes.

     Looking back, I really started doing this consistently during the pandemic, but with the prices for meat never having come back down, it makes sense to continue, and the end result is pretty tasty, too.
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* Having got the charcoal grill down to an easy process -- most starts take one match, and I'm only using lump charcoal, hardwood kindling and no accelerant, after a long, gradual learning process -- I have realized the old notion of a "summer kitchen" is absolutely brilliant.  Why heat up the house when you can cook outdoors?

Hoppin' John, Skippin' Jenny

     I started with some pretty good Hoppin' John -- ham, mild Italian sausage, green peppers, onion, canned diced mild chilis, a box of crushed tomatoes blackeyed peas and a little this and that.  We had it last week and I froze the leftovers in two batches.

     Then I picked up some pickled mild banana pepper rings, sliced pickled hot cherry pepper, pickled red onions and spicy pickled okra, plus the usual green Castelvetrano olvies and black Kalamata olives.  Handy stuff to have.

     Tonight, Tam brought home bulk sweet Italian sausage (it's not sweet-sweet, just a different herb profile than the mild).  I browned it in olive oil with a little gumbo filé (I should have held that back for later, to help thicken the broth), Cajun seasoning and smoked paprika, added pickled peppers and onions as it was about done and drained it, then added a little more of the onions and pepper, plus five big okra cut into rounds, along with a few of each kind of olives, a small can of tomato sauce, a big can of fire-roasted green chilis and half a can of pinto beans.  Meanwhile, I defrosted the half-batch of Hoppin' John and added it, plus some dried chives, cilantro, a little oregano, some dried garlic and a big bay leaf.  Plus a little more Cajun seasoning after it came up to a boil and I had a taste.  I let it simmer a bit before serving.

     Reheated Hoppin' John is Skippin' Jenny, and this pot skipped as nicely as you please!  This combination is rich in pantothenic acid and other B-complex vitamins, which may be why I have picked up a craving for it: it's one of the building blocks for all the things that help our joints work.  Or, whatever, maybe I just like the flavor.

Hoppin' Turkey?

     It's Rich Person's Hoppin' John, with a lot of meat and a whole array of vegetables, and it's what I had for supper Saturday.

     There's a strip of bacon in there, and a couple of mild Italian sausages squeezed out of the casing, but also a pound of ground turkey, because they had it at the grocery and why not?  That got Cajun seasoning and some curry powder sprinkled on it while it all browned and the fat was drained off.

Shown right before adding the bay leaves and covering it to simmer.

     Then  it was step by step: diced carrots, slices of celery, some dice red, orange, yellow and green bell pepper (at least two pepper's worth; the grocer sells it sliced), followed by red onion; each addition was sauteed in the center of the cookpot before being stirred in and pushed to the side.  Then a couple of cans of mild Hatch chilies, some sliced organic (low salt but flavorful) Kalamata olives and a couple of big hot/sweet pickled okra, followed by a box (the equivalent of a large can) of crushed tomatoes and a can of blackeyed peas with about half the liquid.  All that got to simmer with three bay leaves, some dried garlic flakes, a little more Cajun seasoning and some this and that.

     It was almost too good.  I ate a bowl and a half and would have had more, if I had even less self-control.

     There was plenty left to freeze in three meal-sized bags for later.

Saturday Dinner

      I'd made Hoppin' John early in the week, a big pot of blackeyed peas, ham, red, yellow and green bell peppers, a big onion, canned crushed tomatoes, sliced fresh carrots, diced fresh mushrooms, canned chilies and a couple of piparra peppers.  The store was out of Cajun seasoning and so was I, so I bought some berebere, which is the next best thing and sometimes better.  Simmered for an hour and a half, the dish was a nice treat on a cold evening.  And there was plenty left; I divided the remainder into a couple of freezer bags for later.

     Leftover Hoppin' John is Skippin' Jenny, and she skips all the happier with a little this and that added to the pan.  Last night, I squeezed a big chorizo sausage out of its casing and browned it, then sauteed sliced celery and a leek, and poured in a small can of tomato sauce.  With one of the batches of Hoppin' John thawed and stirred in, it cooked up nicely. Tam and I enjoyed it as the snow fell...and fell, and fell.  It's still falling.  There's about half a foot right now.

     Life goes on.  The Federal government is busy chipping away at the Bill of Rights, but you've still got to eat supper.

Whining

     I woke up with a cataclysmic headache, grumped and stumbled my way through the dishes I put off last night, and, having taken an OTC analgesic, I'm sitting in anticipation of eventual relief.

     Why'd I put off the dishes?  There hangs a tale.  Last night, I heated up some Hoppin' John for supper;* I'd planned to add a little canned corn, but I'd used it up and not restocked.  A big can of fire-roasted chilis, simmered in beef broth, was awaiting the defrosted gallon-sized freezer bag of leftovers.  --A bag that slipped in my hands between microwave and stove, and spilled about a quarter of the contents on the stovetop, my legs, my sandals and the floor.  This mess became a short-term emergency, as I tried to clean it up without tracking the mess any further and Tam corralled the cats: bag contents into the big stewpot, bag in the sink, a long reach to the paper towel and a very slow process of cleaning up without stepping in it.  There were Words.  Dinner was delayed.

     We watched an episode of Murderbot (the bot in question is not murderous, per se, but...well, it's a long story and Martha Wells tells it better than I could hope to) and had little ice cream cups as a treat, after which Tam took out the kitchen trash and remarked, "It's about to pour down rain out there."

     It seemed to me that was important, but I couldn't remember why.  I cleaned up the dishes and put the leftover Hoppin' John into a marked freezer bag, to freeze now and discard later.  Outside, the skies broke and it started to rain.  Looking out the back window after putting the bag into the lowest drawer of the freezer, I noticed...the uncovered grill, left from roasting hot dogs and corn on the cob the previous night!

     Yeah, that would be why the rain mattered.  I dashed out and got the cover (a large heavy-duty trash bag) over the grill as the rain proceeded to come down in sheets and bucket-loads, soaking me to the skin.

     Despite the heat, I was thoroughly chilled.  And pretty well over my limit of excursions and alarums for the evening.  Back indoors, I dried off, changed into my nightgown and went to bed, leaving the dishes for later, a problem for Future Bobbi.
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* I typed "dinner," which was the big evening meal in my childhood home, then went back and changed it to "supper."  For many people, "dinner" is the midday meal.  And yes, we called it "Sunday dinner," the nice meal with rolls, salad, mashed potatoes, a side vegetable and some centerpiece meat enjoyed on the second-best china after church.  But the rest of the week, dinner was what you had before TV-watching and bedtime.  (If you were wondering, the best china -- and "the good silver" -- was only for Thanksgiving and Easter, possibly Christmas.  As an adult, I have one set of "china."  I was determined to not have any once-a-year frippery; so instead, I have what's left of the square pink Melmac everyday dinnerware of my childhood, stacked in a cabinet and never used.)  

Unrepeatable

     I probably won't be able to repeat it, but I certainly will if the chance occurs.

     For Christmas dinner, I made a ham -- steamed it, in fact, which came out much better than it had any right to.  It was a big ham; Tam and I had a nice meal and I froze the leftovers in three batches.

     The corner grocery store always has "fresh" (rehydrated) blackeyed peas for New Year's, and I made a nice pot of Hoppin' John for New Year's Eve, using one of the bags of frozen ham, with onions, peppers, canned chilis and both fresh and canned tomatoes.  Good stuff, and there I was, with a couple of bags of leftovers.*

     New Year's Day, we had corned beef and cabbage (and potatoes, carrots, celery and onions), slow-roasted in a covered pan on the closed grill.  The corned beef was tender and flavorful, and there was enough left to freeze for later.

     Friday, I picked up a chorizo sausage, and Saturday, I squeezed it out of the casing, cooked it and drained it before pushing it to the sides of the big stewpot and sautéing a little red onion and mixed peppers.  I took several thickish slices of corned beef, diced them and mixed them in.  Then I added most of a can of some wild stuff: Heyday Canning Company's Enchilda Black Beans, plus a small can of tomato sauce.  I'd been thawing a freezer bag of the Hoppin' John, and I stirred it in, covered the pot and let it simmer with a bay leaf. (Heyday offers an interesting variety of canned soups and spiced beans.)

     That's three kinds of meat, two kinds of beans, red and white onion, chilis, multicolored peppers, tomatoes and seasonings.  Chorizo, honey ham and corned beef; without leftovers, this would take hours and you'd end up with enough for an army, or at least an Elks Lodge.  It was a thick stew, savory and complex, exactly right for a cold evening.

     It's so much different stuff that I can't really say "try this," but if you get the chance, you should, or whatever similar thing appeals to you.
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* Gallon-size freezer bags make this appealing: stand them up, fill them about one-third full or a little more, squeeze out the air and close them up before laying them flat and letting the contents spread out in a thin layer that will freeze quickly and reheat easily.  If you're feeding more people, use bigger bags; they make them up to at least two and a half gallons!

Leftover Ham

     Last night, one bag of leftover ham contributed to some of the best Hoppin' John I have made in some time.  With a double handful of assorted cherry tomatoes chopped up, half a red onion, diced, and multicolor bell peppers from the grocery ready-to-go cooler, two small cans of Hatch chilis, a box/large can of finely chopped tomatoes and a mostly-drained can of blackeyed peas, the ham thawed in the microwave while I sauteed the fresh vegetables with some Cajun spice mix, and once it all came together, ten minutes simmering with a bay leaf was all it took.

Steamed Ham?

     Why not?  I bought a ham for Christmas, a big spiral-cut ham, intending to bake it in the grill.  Events led me to cook it this weekend instead of waiting until Christmas and the weather was cold and blustery, so I got out my biggest stewpot, set up the rack, and started the ham cooking over a half-inch of water.

     I added a little hot honey, garlic and ginger to the glaze, figuring it was mostly going to melt off and add to the steaming liquid.  The ham was precooked -- spiral-cut ones often are -- so it only needed two and a half hours.  I added potatoes, carrots, celery and onion for the last hour, and sliced mushrooms for the last half hour, and added water as needed.

     The meat thermometer showed it had reached the necessary temperature at the end of the cooking time.  About half the slices fell right off the bone when I went to lift it out.

     It was good, flavorful and tender.  The vegetables turned out well, too, not overly sweet but touched with ham flavor.  Tam and I enjoyed it.

     Cleanup was slow: a ten-pound ham is a lot of meat.  I saved a slice for breakfast and still ended up with three gallon-sized freezer bags of meat, each enough for Hoppin' John or bean soup, plus a bag of meat and vegetables that can be reheated for supper.

     It's not a conventional way to cook a ham, but it worked out.

Automat Soup

     Last night, after wrestling with the dryer for a lot longer than I realized,* I found myself hungry and with limited time and resources to do anything about it.  There were a couple of sandwich-sized slices of deli ham in the fridge, but I'd had a ham and egg sandwich for breakfast....

     There was a microwavable rice-and-beans pouch in the cupboard, good brown rice and black-eyed peas, and the maker called it "Hoppin' John" on the label.  Why not give it a try?  I snipped up the ham while the rice and beans were nuking, and mixed it all together in a bowl with a dash of Cajun-style seasoning.  Not bad, but it needed something.  I gave it a generous shake of dried onion flakes and a dash of hot water, but it was still not quite right.  A big dollop of Heinz Chili Sauce (just revved-up catsup) did the trick.  That was when it hit me: I'd just reinvented Automat soup.

     See, Automats -- coin-operated cafeterias, where you paid for each item as you went, unlocking little windowed compartments, a nickel in the slot for a sandwich, a nickel for a slice of pie, and so on -- generally had free hot water, condiments and crackers.  For the price of a cup of coffee, you'd end up with an empty mug, a spoon and fixings for rough tomato soup: ketchup, hot water, salt, pepper and saltines.  Dinner!  (You could pull the same trick at a regular cafeteria, too, though it was best done when they were too busy to notice.)

     Good ol' "red lead" didn't make the greatest tomato soup in the world, and it doesn't make prize-winning Hoppin' John, either.  But it wasn't bad, it was quick to make and the price was right.  Tam had already gone to off to sleep by then, so I can't give you a second opinion.
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* The dryer works now, though it runs a bit rough.  And a test run smelled slightly of burned hair.  I vacuumed the dryer out while I had it open (so much lint!), but there's always some you miss and it inevitably ends up in the wrong place.  We'll have to keep an eye on it.

Roasting Rack

      No, it's not a metaphor for the Presidential primary.*  It's my Perfect Pot.  Some time back, they had one of their (frequent) sales, and I still had a discount coupon.  So I decided I'd better get one.  Mine's even a screamin' wasabi green color that they don't have available right now.  It's been just as useful as you might think a large, heavy-walled, non-stick stewpot would be, ideal for simmering Hoppin' John, beef stew or pasta sauce supercharged with fresh vegetables and extra meat.  But it's got one feature I have rarely used: a drop-in roasting rack, coated in the same ceramic non-stick as the inside of the pot, that stands about an inch above the bottom on three small, silicone-cushioned feet.

      Our corner grocery had nice-looking beef pot roast at an appealing price.  It's good stuff but a little fatty.  I can work with that, pouring the broth off into my grease separator in batches and adding it back in, but it's a lot of bother and the end result is still a bit greasier than I'd prefer.  So I decided to try the rack.

      I put coarse salt, pepper and a touch of garlic powder† on the roast, and browned all sides in a little olive oil in the pan first; then I lifted it out, set the rack in place, and set the roast on it, pouring a little black coffee into the pot.  That's an old trick; it tenderizes the meat and adds some depth to the flavor.  I put the lid on and let it get to simmering while I got ready to add vegetables; after thirty minutes, I lifted the lid, had a look, and added beef broth, keeping the level lower than the top of the rack.

      I washed a couple of potatoes and cut each one into six big chunks.  Those in, I cleaned up a double handful of the short "baby carrots" (they're not) sold in bags, added them, and took my time preparing three big stalk of celery, cut in sections an inch or so long.  I finished with a white onion, sectioned in fairly large pieces.  The onion went in about an hour after I'd put the roast in the rack.

      The pot kept simmering.  I looked at it every half-hour or so and added broth if the level seemed low (not easy to see.  The pot was pretty full).  At the two-hour mark, I added four ears of corn, still on the cob.  At two and a half hours, the corn was cooked, potatoes were soft and the meat thermometer said the beef was done.

      Sliced, it was reasonably tender and not overcooked.  With the roast out, I poured the broth into the grease separator -- the pot's got a good-sized spout, like an old cast-iron pan -- and the vegetables were flavorful, well-steamed and not greasy.  A little of the separated broth over the meat and vegetables, corn on the side and there's dinner -- and the leftover meat, vegetables and broth made a nice stew the next day.
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* Would that it were, though.  Candidates don't get anything like the third degree I'd like to see all of them face.  Instead, it's a battle to see who can thump out the bassiest appeal to the partisan base. This runs a real risk of building so hermetic an echo chamber that the post-primary campaign never broadens out and the November results arrive as either foregone anticlimax or a terrible shock.  They shouldn't take the outcome for granted.  Winner or loser, I want 'em to worry more about ways to appeal to everyone with genuinely good ideas than trying to blow on the spinning dice.  Yeah, "Welcome to Hell.  Would you like ice water?  Tough."
 
† This is a compromise.  If I try to keep fresh garlic around, it's either dried out or gone funky when I when I need it, and it's hard to work with without getting the kind of garlicky fingers that mean no petting the cats until scrubbed and scrubbed: that whole allium family is not good for cats. Garlic powder keeps a long time and is easy to handle, but it's harsher than fresh garlic.

Leftovers: Hoppin' John, Pork Roast

      Last week, I was a bit burned out, so I got lazy about supper:

      Monday was basic Hoppin' John: diced ham, some Andouille sausage, white onion, one red and one green bell pepper diced, a can of mild green chilis, crushed tomatoes and a mostly-drained can of black-eyed peas.  The meat gets browned with a little Cajun seasoning and pushed to the sides of the pan, the onion and peppers are sauteed, and then you add the chilis, tomatoes and black-eyed peas, along with a couple of bay leaves and perhaps some basil, and let the whole thing simmer for half an hour or so.  Serve it plain, over rice or with crackers.

      The leftovers split into a pair of one-gallon freezer bags.

      Tuesday, I was dreading a big meal effort and reviewing what I had available.  I sauteed fresh carrots and celery from the fridge while one of the bags of Hoppin' John was thawing in the microwave, added a small can of corn to the pot, and that made a pretty good meal.

      Wednesday, I made something different.  Thursday is "trash night," emptying all the wastebaskets and cleaning out the fridge for the Friday trash pickup.  We order out for dinner. 

      Friday was a cold and mostly-dark day.  Chili would be nice.  I picked up three-quarters of a pound of ground beef on the way home along with a couple of cups of the supermarket's own "pico de gallo:" diced red onion, tomato, jalapeno pepper, cilantro* and garlic.  It may sound crazy, but the stuff is an excellent addition to chili.  I browned the ground beef with plenty of chili powder (and drained it) while the other bag of Hoppin' John was defrosting, sauteed the pico de gallo, and put the whole thing together in the pan with a little more chili powder (and a couple of bay leaves again -- if you're not using them in your chili, you're missing out).  I added another small can of green chilis for luck, and it was excellent chili, or at least "red stew."

      For the weekend, I'd picked up a nice pork roast.  Saturday, I marinated it for several hours in balsamic vinegar (and a little white vinegar to increase the acidity), soy sauce, ginger, garlic, a dash of Worcestershire sauce and a little this and that.  That gets poured off, and I browned it and roasted it with diced apple, turnips, potatoes, carrots, celery and onion.  After everything was pretty well roasted, I added a small can of chicken broth and let it simmer for three hours.  That made a nice evening meal and left a bag of leftovers.  I cut up the meat, mostly so it would freeze well.

      Sunday, I defrosted the pork roast leftovers while I sauteed some diced fresh mushrooms with celery, then added a small can of plain tomato sauce and some Italian-mix seasoning and extra basil.  The pork roast turned into a tasty stew.

      Two main dishes, five days of suppers and nearly all of it was eaten.  If you're really sneaky, you can interleave them on alternate days.  The big roasts with their long cooking time are weekend fare -- but if you slice the meat, they freeze well for later.
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* The thing to know about cilantro is that our response to it is genetic: either it tastes unpleasantly soapy to you or it tastes good, and there's no changing that.  So check before adding it to a dish!

Violet Broth

      In recent years, I have tried a lot of variations on the basic New Year's Day meal.  Up here in the North, corned beef and cabbage are essential.

      This year, I was a little more conventional, simmering the corned beef in a pot of water on the stove.  I did add a chopped turnip and an apple early on, and followed with carrots, celery, red onion and some mostly-purple potatoes.  With twenty minutes to go, I added wedges of purple cabbage.  (I also simmered black-eyed peas in a separate pan, to hedge my bets.  They got smoked paprika, onion, garlic, bay leaves, fresh-ground pepper and truffle salt.)

      The end result was tasty -- and the broth was violet!  I had looked for purple carrots, just for fun; our corner grocer often has them, mixed with white, yellow and orange ones.  But between the cabbage, onions and potatoes, there was plenty of color.

      In the days before the holiday, I realized it was entirely possible to fuse the Northern and Southern traditions, by making Hoppin' John with cubes of tender corned beef instead of ham and serving it over rice fried with shredded cabbage.  I think it would work, and then you'd have everything, all in one dish.

Saturday Brunch

      After watching the Saturday morning cartoons and some serious catching-up on dishes (Thursday take-out, Friday "hopped-up chili" made with leftover Hoppin' John, three-quarters of a pound of ground chuck, a red onion, a can of chilis, a can of diced tomatoes, chili powder and this and that; it's neither one thing nor the other* but it's darned good), I settled down to turning out a bit of brunch in the big wok:

      Two "Irish Banger" sausages, squeezed from their casing, browned, crumbled and set aside.
      Two strips of applewood bacon, likewise; they needed to get used up before it was too late.
      About two cups of diced potatoes.  I found the remainder of a bag of multicolored fingerling potatoes, so we had red, white and purple-blue potatoes.  They got well-browned in the sausage and bacon fat.
      A half-dozen smallish green onions and three cherry tomatoes, chopped and sprinkled with "Italian blend" seasoning,

      Once the potatoes were nearly done, I poured the drained sausage over them, added all of the tomatoes and half of the onions, and tossed it around over medium heat until it was well warmed through before pushing it to the sides of the pan and scrambling a couple of eggs in the open space over high heat.  Once they were mostly done, I mixed it all back together, then added the rest of the onion and the crumbled bacon, and kept stirring it over medium-high heat until it was as dry as I wanted it.  All it needed then was a piparra pepper snipped over it and a little hot sauce.  (Tam and I have become fond of the little, skinny mild-hot peppers.)

* * *
      Recent reading reminded me that I had never read It Can't Happen Here.  I have set about remedying that lack and so far (which is not very), I am finding it readable and a bit dated; but it's a period of time you can still see from here if you climb up high enough and squint (late interwar years, well into the Great Depression and with the thunder of big guns almost audible).  It's almost-but-not-quite resonant with today, enough so that the differences can be jarring.
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* What?  You object to a few blackeyed peas, bell pepper and so on in your chili?  I'll fight over it!  Or maybe just call it "red stew" instead.  While I will readily admit to a weakness for complexity in my soups and stews, grocery prices are high and if I can stretch a meal over two days, better believe I will.

Hoppin' John, Three-By-Three

      We had Hoppin' John last night, with three different kinds of meat, three kinds of peppers and three additional fresh vegetables.

      It starts with a large "Irish banger" sausage, a hot Italian sausage and a small ham steak.  Squeeze the sausage out of the casings, brown and crumble, adding cubed ham shortly before it is done. A little Cajun seasoning would not be out of line.  Then drain the fat and push the meat to the perimeter of the pan.*

      Next, add a small onion (I used a nice red onion), diced, and while it cooks, dice a carrot or two and a couple of stalks of celery, and add them.  Stir that around and dice a large green pepper. and add it.  Cook until the vegetables get colorful and slightly translucent.

      At that point, stir everything together and add a small can of green chilis, a 14 oz can of crushed or diced tomatoes (liquid and all), and a can of blackeyed peas, partially drained.  The trick here is to drain the beans into the empty tomato can, stir the beans into the pan, and then add enough bean liquid to get a stew-like consistency, or thinner if you prefer.  I had used "no salt added" tomatoes, which gets around worries about the beans being too salty.

      Season with Cajun seasoning, parsley flakes, basil, a little cilantro if you like it,† a little garlic powder (you could use fresh garlic, starting way back with the onion) and a bay leaf or two.  I snipped in short sections of pickled piparra peppers.  Give it another stir, cover and let it simmer over low heat for at least ten minutes.  Up to a half-hour, it just gets better, but keep an eye on it.

      I had mine over white rice; Tam ate hers plain.  I don't know how authentic is it but it's tasty and warm on a cold evening.
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* I use a big stew pot.  A wok would do if you have a lid for it, or a deep skillet with a lid.  I suspect this stuff would be even better cooked in cast-iron over a wood or lump-charcoal fire. 
 
† Do not experiment with cilantro -- it tastes strongly soapy to some people.  This is genetic; it's not an acquired taste.  Either you like it or it's awful, and that's not going to change.  So check first.

Bean And Mushroom Soup With Ham?

      Why not?

      I was going to reheat leftovers last night; I had some nice chili left from earlier in the week and some  rice with green pigeon peas and andouille sausage from even earlier, and I was going to thaw them out and put them together, along with some gourmet-type mushrooms that needed eating.  Thursday night is "trash night" and we usually have takeout, delivery or simple leftovers.

      But in the freezer, I found not two but four unlabelled freezer bags of somewhat doubtful provenance, all plausibly chili or the rice mix.  I wasn't sure what was recent and what was, perhaps, lingering from much earlier.  I try to clear the freezer weekly, but at least two of the four were a mystery, and I didn't know which two.  I had not bothered to label or date any of them.  Oops.

      After a moment of panic -- I didn't have any meat thawed and it was getting late to wrangle a pizza (Bazebeaux gets busy fast, what with Bebop and WB Pizza having closed) -- I improvised.

      Any more, I always keep at least one big ham steak in the freezer.  They're a prime ingredient for Hoppin' John, which I will happily eat weekly (Tam's good for about every other week) and they keep well.  Being somewhere between a half and three-quarters of an inch thick and vacuum-sealed in plastic, they thaw enough in a few minutes under warm water to cut into cubes.  Rather than make something we have often, and needing to use up those mushrooms -- oyster and maitake -- I went digging through the pantry and happened on a can of Westbrae Natural Organic Chili Beans, No Salt.*  Despite the name, it's just a can of good-quality assorted beans, no seasoning -- and they're serious about the "no salt" part.  That's important if you're starting with a big slab of ham: it's got plenty of salt for the dish.

      I opened, rinsed and diced the mostly thawed ham, and peppered it in the pan.  While it cooked, I chopped up and added a few baby carrots, most of a yellow onion and three stalks of celery (I saved back some raw onion and celery to add at the table; this is one of my favorite parts of home-made bean soup).  Once the vegetables were well along, I washed, cut up and added the mushrooms and cooked them a bit. (They cook quickly).  Then I added the can of beans, liquid and all, with parsley and a dash of garlic, covered and simmered for ten minutes.  A little water cooks out of the rinsed ham, fresh vegetables and mushrooms, and between that and the beans, that's all you need.  It makes a fine stock.

      The mushrooms (and there were rather a lot) added a wonderful depth and complexity to the flavor.  They beans did not overwhelm the other ingredients but complimented them.  Tam added some hot sauce to hers and I sprinkled raw onion and celery on mine, which adds flavor and crunch.  With or without the extras, the dish was flavorful and quick to make. More "ham, mushrooms and beans" than "bean soup," it hit the right notes for a slightly chilly evening.
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* The link is an example; it would take a much larger household than mine to rate buying them by the case! OTOH, canned beans are often highly salted, so a salt-free version is good to find.

They Made A Pan For Me?

     A start-up that calls themselves Our Place has pretty much made my ideal pan.*  It's early days yet; I only got the Always Pan Wednesday.  But at this point, I'm pretty much sold; the only remaining question is durability, and time will tell.

     So far, it is everything the manufacturer promises. Kind of a cross between a small Dutch oven and a frying pan, it's not oven-safe but other than that, it'll do most anything you need it to.

     I was checking out the website a few months ago, and they were running a sale that took the price from "Should I risk it?" down to "Gonna have to try this."  The lead time was nearly three months but they were getting rave reviews.  And it's nice-looking.

     It ought to hold up well: the deep pan and high, domed lid are sturdy, simple aluminum castings, the included strainer/steamer is stainless steel, and the long handle and knob on the lid are some kind of high-temperature plastic that feels a little like Delrin.  There's an included wooden spatula that parks neatly on a short peg on the handle, with the business end hanging just inside the pan through a gap in the pan and lid -- and the gap lets steam exit when the spatula is removed, or you can rotate the lid slightly and close it off.  And the pan has pouring spouts copied from Grandma's cast-iron skillet and every bit as handy.  But wait -- there's more!

     The non-stick lining was promised as some kind of next-level ceramic, dishwasher-safe and slicker than, well, any other pan you've got.  I've had ceramic non-stick pans, but they were fussy to care for and not as good as the modern Teflon replacements.

     This one is not fussy and almost preposterously slick. 

It is much deeper than it looks in this photo, too.

     See that?  Nice picture of a pan, hey?  --I just cooked bacon and eggs in that pan, drained off the grease and wiped it out.  It hasn't been washed yet.  If it didn't have high sides, I'd be hard-pressed to corral a fried egg to flip it.

     I made Hoppin' John last night -- fried ham chunks, with a lot of fresh onion and a little celery and carrots (plus fresh mushrooms, because I am just that kind of heathen), and once that's all translucent and sizzling, you drain the grease, and add canned chilies, crushed tomatoes and blackeyed peas.  It's not the most pan-friendly of entrees, and to make matters worse, a small amount of leftovers sat in the pan while Tam and I watched two episodes of the second season of Homecoming.†

     The pan wiped clean as a whistle.  Even a little sauce spattered down the side and on the outside of the lid (the inside of it is nonstick, too) came away clean.  A little soapy water and a rinse and it's ready to go.

     I'm liking this pan.  Looks like just the thing for grilled cheese sandwiches or fancy pork chops and vegetables or just about anything else I might cook for dinner.
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* They make some other housewares, too -- plates, bowls and glasses with a functional, pleasantly-shaped and no-frills design esthetic that I find appealing and that could fit in just about anywhere.
 
† Also highly recommended.  You have to watch the (marvelous) first season to know what's going on.  The narrative structure, cinematography and editing remain unusual and engaging, and the music is a wonder.  It's based on a podcast drama -- and the podcast is well worth listening to.

"Accidental" Dinner

     There was a nice smoked ham steak in the fridge.  Not a lot in the way of vegetables -- some canned stuff, plus half a red bell pepper, fresh carrots and radishes.  I was due for a trip to the grocery, but my work day ran late.

     I didn't want to make Hoppin' John again -- besides, I didn't have any onion or blackeyed peas.  Maybe fry up the ham steak and make succotash with canned corn and cannellini beans?  I thought about that on the way home but it seemed a bit...thin.

     In the kitchen, I looked at the available ingredients, and cubed up the ham with a little garlic powder and a teaspoon of onion powder, then chopped up a half-dozen baby carrots and a couple of big radishes, following with the bell pepper, diced, once the rest was well-cooked.  Adding a can of the white beans, about half drained, and then the corn, well-drained, resulted in a nice-looking mixture.  I put in three bay leaves, some sage, parsley, celery seed, basil and some black pepper, covered it and let it simmer for ten minutes.

     The result was a thick and flavorful stew, a few steps away from ham and beans.  We ate it with some garlic naan left over from chili the night before,* which worked very nicely.
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* The Indian bread is hardly cornbread but pairs well with chili -- and keeps better than any cornbread you can buy.  Think of it as a puffy flour tortilla.

It's One Of My Favorite Meals

     Hoppin' John.  It's a classic, though without a nailed-down list of ingredients -- meat (usually ham), black-eyed peas (or other legumes), tomatoes and...?  And whatever.  Usually some kind of heat -- hot sauce, hot pepper, what have you.  (Black-eyed peas turn out to be eaten by just about everybody, everywhere, in everything from desserts to curries to fritters!)

     The version I have been making suits the two of us at Roseholme Cottage.  You need a big stewpot; it makes a lot.  The most recent version started with a hot Italian sausage, squeezed out of its casing and mashed into bits as it cooked.  While that has started to cook, I cut a big (a pound or more) bone-in, center-cut ham steak into roughly 3/8" cubes -- a generous spoon-size.

     The ham goes in as the sausage nears (but is not quite) done, and cooks a bit while I chop up some baby carrots and a good-sized onion  -- pick your favorite; I had a nice yellow one.  Push the meat to the sides of the pan and saute the vegetables in the center.

     As they cook, dice a medium fresh tomato (or a handful of cherry tomatoes) and add it, skin, seeds, pulp and and all.  Chop up two or three stalks of celery and put them in, too.

     It is only then that you can start to think about adding peppers.  Canned chilies are good, and I used a small can of them.  I had a large Poblano, which have a fairly delicate flavor, lost if overcooked.  Diced it, then stirred the canned chilies, other vegetables and meat, pushed all that to the sides of the pan, and gave the Poblano a quick saute before stirring it in.

     Finally time for the beans!  First, a 14.5 oz can of diced or crushed tomatoes, then a can of black-eyed peas the same size, liquid and all.  Pour them right in.  A little basil and a touch of garlic goes well -- or you can raid the spice rack for whatever else seems good. 

     Get it all stirred in and bubbling, add a couple of bay leaves for luck then reduce heat to a simmer and see what else you'd like.  Tam and I have taken to keeping hot pickled okra* in the fridge -- it's a nice snack.  Some of that sliced into coins goes well in the Hoppin' John, too.  I had a few Shishito peppers, left, too; I washed them, sliced one into short sections and added it to the pot, leaving the others to add whole a few minutes before serving.  Their flavor is even more elusive than the Poblano -- you want them just barely cooked to bright-green to retain it.

     Ten minutes to simmer (adding the last peppers at five) and it was ready.  Usually served over rice, but we had a little rye bread to use up, so we toasted a couple of slices each and had them on the side.  A nice meal, with plenty left over for the day after tomorrow.  Be sure to provide hot sauce or pepper flakes at the table for those who want more heat!
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* Southerners will be aghast, but our corner market stocks "Brooklyn Whatever" brand and their pickled okra is among the best I have had.  Their website appears defunct and they haven't updated their Facebook page since October, but I'm hoping it's just an oversight.

Doctor, Brunch, Nap, Drugstore, Grocery

     It's the darned "nap" part I don't like.  I had a good sleep last night, woke up fine and went to the doctor.  Then Tam and I walked over to a nice place for brunch -- and darned if I wasn't worn out once we got back home.  I thought I'd just relax a bit but I was out like a light within minutes of laying down.

     Tam decided I wasn't going to wake up any time soon and made a run to the big-box store, a jumped-up five and dime.  I woke up about the time she returned, just in time to make a run to the drugstore for some new prescriptions.

     I am hopeful one of them will help with this sleepiness.  Tests suggested it might: my thyroid's about half-asleep at the switch, despite being yelled at by other parts of the endocrine system.  Been there before, got better, and now it's back.  There are drugs for that.

     Got ambitious and made a big pot of Hoppin' John for dinner -- with an Irish Banger sausage, a big ham steak cut up in cubes (I haven't seen real "seasoning ham" for years now; I need to get over to the fancy butcher and find out if they've got it), some nice mirepoix (celery, onion and carrots, cut up and ready to go -- tolja I was sleepy), fresh mushrooms, canned crushed tomatoes, canned green chilies and a can of blackeyed peas.  Cooked up the meat (sausage first), added vegetables and mushrooms, and once that was done enough, added the canned stuff and a little this and that in the way of spices.  Ten minutes of simmering and it's about as good a quick home-made dinner as you could hope for.  I had mine over rice; Tam didn't.  Hot sauce to individual taste.

     Starting the new drugs tomorrow morning.  It'd be nice to be able to stay awake.

Another Week

     And plenty of rain.  We've been fortunate this winter; had it been cold enough for our spells of rain to have been snow instead, it would have been pretty deep by now.  There have been a few bad winters in my life, and I'm not a fan.

*  *  *

     I wasn't a fan of the can of blackeyed peas I opened up last night, either.  They were....dry.  Something had gone wrong.  When I discovered this, I was a half-dozen green onions, half a bell pepper, half of a leftover cooked pork roast and a can of diced tomatoes into cooking a dish of Hoppin' John.  This made it a little vexing, and I may have uttered a few words one really should not say.

     At Roseholme Cottage, we keep canned beans on the shelf as part of the rotating stock of staples and while I would have preferred blackeyed peas (possibly my favorite bean), black beans made a fine dish, served over rice with some hot sauce, just thing for a rainy, chilly evening.  The dish is flexible, though Wikipedia tells me that using black beans makes it "Hoppin Juan!"  Good by whatever name; like oxtail stew or colcannon, this is another of those combinations that shows up all over, under different names, and everyone claims it for their own.  They're all probably right.