Salmon and Potato Casserole

There's a nickname I call my mother-in-law behind her back.  Secretly, to my husband, I often shake my head and cluck my tongue at the one thing she does that I simply will never be able to do.


I've christened her the 'Casserole Queen'.  No matter how many years I could spend trying to make my hot dishes as perfect as hers, I simply don't have the "low and slow" cooking skill.  To my gain, my husband received a good dousing of his family's grace and generosity, which he bestows upon my cooking to such a degree every week that I feel like a direct descendant of Escoffier.  However, my mild paranoia suspects that in the back of his mind, there just has comparison going on.  Does my perfect execution of Coquilles St. Jacques measure up to his mama's 'Granny Special'?  Heck, I've had both, and have no problem admitting that 'Granny's Special' knocks the socks off my scallops dish!  That, my friends, is the difference between tasty classic cuisine, and tasty family food that was shared within cozy kitchens, among much laughter and love.


I'm jealous of my mother-in-law's ability to judge a meal's readiness just by a cute little squinch of the nose, a quick glance to the heavens, a gentle whiff of the kitchen's mouthwatering aroma- only after the ritualistic habit is the decision made if dinner is either ready, or still a few minutes out.  Sure, a lot of us home cooks do that: but how many of us are always right?  Perhaps just as noteworthy is her ability to stave of the hungry ones who pace in and out of her kitchen, intentionally exacerbating glazed-over stares of starvation whilst mumbling about low blood sugar.  The Casserole Queen has many superpowers, among them the ability to not give in to the best puppy-eyes displays of manipulative family members.


Today's dish comes from a recipe collection scraped together by my hubby's cousin.  Entitled 'Recipes for a Cure', the cookbook was produced as a fundraising effort for diabetic research; Cousin's daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 (juvenile) diabetes three years ago.  Many of hubby's relatives (on both sides!) contributed to the book, and this week I felt like celebrating the spirit of family following a near-three week vacation that brought us together with his parents, an aunt, and the family matriarch.

I've tweaked the recipe from the original by just a wee bit- sorry mama!- both to reflect cooking for two people, as well as my dietary restrictions.


SALMON & POTATO CASSEROLE


Servings: 3-4


- 1 tablespoon butter
- 1/2 cup fresh crimini mushrooms, roughly chopped
- 1/3 cup red onion, roughly chopped
- 3/4 cup sour cream
- 1/3 cup beef broth
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon parsley
- Salt and pepper, to taste


- 1 very large russet potato, in 1/8" slices
- 1/2 large yellow onion
- 1 to 1 1/2 cups smoked salmon: drained, flaked
- 1/2 cup frozen corn
- Flour
- Salt and pepper, to taste
- Paprika


In a medium skillet, melt butter over medium-low heat.  Add mushrooms and stir until they begin to sweat their juices, about 7 minutes.  Add onions and stir until translucent, 5-8 minutes.  Add garlic powder, parsley, salt, and pepper; stir well.  Add sour cream and broth.  Stir thoroughly and allow to lightly simmer at least 10 minutes.


Meanwhile, grease the crock of a 3-1/2 quart slow cooker.  Layer bottom with an even layer of potatoes, sprinkle lightly with flour and parika, and top with an sparse even layer of onion.  Continue until two full layers have been built.  Top second layer of onion with an even layer of the salmon that's been flaked and mixed with the corn.  Top with additional layer of potato/onion; continue layering until all salmon is used up, making sure to retain enough potato to form a final top layer.  Evenly pour the mushroom sauce over the last top layer of potato, spooning the solid ingredients evenly over the casserole.  Cook on the 'Low' setting for 6-8 hours.  Serve hot with warm dinner rolls.

Classic French Onion Soup, Deconstructed

You'd never know it now, but I was a terribly picky eater as a kid.  If a food was green (with the exception of canned green beans), I refused to let it anywhere near my mouth.  My parents' own eating habits coalesced nicely with my culinary aversions, so there was little drama during snack or meal times.


That being said, I knew good food when I tasted it. My tastebuds were ravaged on a weekly basis by the likes of Hamburger Helper, Little Ceasar's pizza, and McDonald's kid's meals.  Despite the usual household diet, I could still pick up intricate, delicate flavors whenever we dined at quality restaurants.  One such flavor profile was that of a French Onion soup served at a now-defunct restaurant in east Orlando.  Marino's was a comfortable sit-down place owned by a rather large European family. I wasn't exactly an avid anthropologist at five years old, but my guess is that they were from Italy.  Other hints as to their possible origin were manifested by cool accents and raven hair- oh, and a menu replete with pasta dishes.  My go-to selection for our monthly visits?  Lasagna, from the children's menu.


I had a plan, though.  My mother always ordered their fabulous French Onion soup.  This ain't Campbells' one-dimensional, over-salted monstrosity.  You could practically see the cow used for the broth.  From the wisps of steam, you could hear the onions sing of their sweet flavor.  The toasted slice of French bread made for a happy little raft, languidly floating atop a sea of deliciousness.  I routinely managed to coerce Mom into sharing the soup with me every time, and secretly looked forward to consuming the rich concoction more than the entree or dessert.


I've heard the so-called food experts on television say that French Onion soup is outdated, that it was an over-hyped dish whose heyday was over in the 80's.  This leads me to believe that, 1) they're more concerned with popular trends than they are with the timeless integrity of good food, or 2) they've embarrassed because they've never made an edible pot of the stuff, so they're gonna pick on the poor little soup to make themselves feel better.  


I was a naughty girl last week.  Although I buy the vast majority of my animal protein from a local butcher, I can't help but poke around the meat case at the supermarket.  To my surprise, the grocery store had a few packages of fresh beef soup bones.  Unsure of how I'd utilize them, I nonetheless snatched up a package in unbridled delight.  Someday, I hope to experience a tenth of that kind of happiness at the prospect of receiving jewelry or flowers.  Until that time comes, I'll continue experiencing misguided ecstasy when stumbling across difficult-to-find ingredients.  (Footnote: I'm in Alaska, so yes indeed, soup bones can be a rarity.)


Two days later, cooking book in hand, I slouched over the Dutch oven, patiently prodding the beef bones with a wooden spoon.  I should have been more irate at my  ignorance, but I didn't mind too much that I had a fraction of the meat needed to produce a decent quantity of stock.  All in all, I only gleaned about a pint of liquid during the process, but the stock was absolute ambrosia.  Worth every penny and every second of my time, period.  The ensuing marriage of the aforementioned stock with a glut of caramelized onions induced a deluge of flavor that brought back memories of a happier, simpler time.  Isn't that the whole point of home cooking?


The next use of the soup was inspired by the bread-and-cheese component of the standard French Onion soup serving style.  Although I'm sure it's been done a million times before and is thus undeserving of a cutesy moniker, I couldn't resist.  Hence I stumbled across my new lunchtime favorite: French Onion Soup, Deconstructed!

ZESTY ZAFTIG'S FRENCH ONION SOUP: DECONSTRUCTED
Yield: Two lunch-sized servings


- 1.5 pounds beef soup bones
- 1/4 cup dry red wine
- Water
- 1/4 white or yellow onion, segments removed from layers
- Salt, to taste
- Olive oil

- Red onion (half of jumbo, or 1 small), quartered and sliced
- 1-2 tablespoons butter
- 1 clove garlic, smashed
- 1 sprig of fresh parsley
- 1 bay leaf
- 1 spash of dry red wine
- Salt, to taste
- Tabasco and/or Worcestershire sauce (optional)


- Bread, 4 slices
- 2 tablespoons butter, softened
- Swiss cheese (quality deli-style slices, NOT the processed variety)


For the beef stock:
Heat oil in Dutch oven or large pot.  Add bones and onion, searing each side of the meat/bones until deep brown.  Using a slotted spoon, remove the bones and onion, transferring them to a bowl.  Add the red wine to the pot, stirring until it's thickened.  Meanwhile, fill a tea kettle with water and place over high heat to bring to a boil.  Put the beef bones and onion back into the pot, reduce heat to medium-low, and allow the meat/bones to sweat for 15-20 minutes.  Stir as needed to prevent burning.  Add enough water to halfway cover the bones.  Lightly simmer partially uncovered for 25-40 minutes, or until all of the liquid has turned to a very deep brown.  Strain into bowl or fat separator, allow to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate overnight.  Remove solidified fat from top of liquid.

For the soup:
Melt butter in Dutch oven or large pot over medium-low heat.  Add onion, stir well to incorporate with butter.  Cover pot and cook for 20-35 minutes, stirring frequently.  Heat beef stock on stove or in microwave.  When some (but not all) of the onions have gone carmelized and gone limp, add the spash of wine, quickly stirring it into the onions.  Add the hot beef stock, salt, garlic, bay leaf, parsley (and sauces, if using); stir well.  Allow to simmer on medium-low heat for 20 minutes.  If the liquid is too thin, cook longer to allow to reduce.  If the liquid is too thick, add boiling water until it reaches the desired consistency.

For the sandwich:
Butter two pieces of bread, placing butter side-down onto hot skillet.  Top with Swiss cheese.  Top cheese with second piece of buttered bread.  Cook until bread is golden brown.  For presentation, trim the crusts and cut sandwich into wedges.    

Seafood Chowder

Having grown up in a warm mecca for retired "snowbirds", my definition of seafood chowder was shaped by the flavors of New England.  As a result, my first attempt at the decadent soup borrows heavily from the balanced palate of coastal Northeastern cuisine: salty pancetta playing off of the sweetness of the scallops, the mirepoix coyly flirting with the cream base.

ZESTY ZAFTIG'S SEAFOOD CHOWDER
Servings: 6

2 ounces pancetta, chopped  
1/4 cup carrot, brunoised
1/4 cup celery, brunoised
1 small yellow onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup seafood stock (or clam juice)
1 pound Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cubed         
1 cup half-and-half
2/3 cup heavy cream
1 can baby clams, with juice
9 ounces bay scallops
1/2 pound whitefish (cod, halibut, etc.)
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1 bay leaf
Salt and pepper, to taste


In a Dutch oven or pot with tight-fitting lid, cook the pancetta on medium-high heat until it begins to crisp up.  Reduce heat to medium-low and add butter, onion, celery, and carrot.  Stir well and cover, cook for 5-7 minutes until the vegetables soften.  Add seafood stock/clam juice and potatoes.  Cover with lid and allow to simmer for 10-15 minutes.  Add half-and-half and seasonings; simmer for an additional 5 minutes.  Add scallops, whitefish, and baby clams.  Simmer until seafood is cooked and flavors incorporate, about ten minutes.

Biscuits and Gravy

What is a Sunday brunch without biscuits and gravy?  The creamy mess is the ultimate decadent, satisfying breakfast soul food.  It's jambalaya's cousin, four times removed: there's a million different ways to make it, and no generally accepted "right way".

If you're reading this in hopes of finding a full recipe, you're out of luck.  The technique and ingredients for the gravy are simple: butter and flour for roux, a lot of milk, half-pound of cooked sausage (I prefer Jimmy Dean 'Original'), and lightly seasoned with onion powder, Tabasco sauce, and black pepper.  More than once during wintertime, I've been so impatient to let the gravy cool and thicken, I've stood in my pajamas outside in below-zero temperatures, holding the pot of molten goodness and begging it to hurry up doin' its thing so I could eat it.  

Delicious.

Deviled Eggs

Simple deviled eggs.  Hard-boiled eggs, mayonnaise, prepared yellow mustard, salt, black pepper, Tabasco sauce, onion powder, garlic powder, and Hungarian sweet paprika.

Chicken Fried Steak

There are some foods that are worth the calories.  Chicken fried steak, my friends, is one of those dishes.


As if the 'standard' method of preparing it wasn't unhealthy enough, the backwoods West Virginia technique is so laden with fat, it could give a triathlon athlete a heart attack with a mere three bites.  My mother, who was well known as a non-cook, started hardening my arteries long before I knew better.  I can recall eating her chicken fried steak only a handful of times, which was probably best in the long run.  Instead of vegetable oil, she would fry up an entire pound of bacon, retaining the grease.  Into the hot, rendered pork fat went the breaded cube steak, cooked beyond the most generous definition of 'well done', subsequently blackening parts of breading.  Not quite enough flour was sprinkled onto the mess, creating a "gravy" that didn't even having enough thickener to create lumps.  The fried bacon- all sixteen ounces- was added back into the pan just long enough to warm up before the steaks were portioned onto the dining plates.  Mind you, every one of those greasy calories was intended for only three eaters.  It's a mystery how I managed to be consistently underweight for the duration of my childhood.


Much to the horror of my acquaintances here in the Pacific Northwest, I served them Mom's very non-Kosher monstrosity during lavish dinner parties that boasted otherwise sophisticated dishes.  Most diners were polite, leading me to believe that the dish was acceptable, but a well-meaning friend's vocal disgust for the quality of the entrée made me reexamine it.  As a result, I developed a traditional recipe that, although still rich, hits all the right notes.  This recipe will bring the roadside diner flavors right into your own kitchen!

Zaftig's chicken fried steak, served with smashed potatoes.

CHICKEN FRIED STEAK with 'HIGH HEAT' GRAVY


2 cube steaks, 1/3 pound each, 1/2" thick at thickest point
3/4 cup flour, divided

Garlic powder

Chili powder

Seasoned salt

Black pepper

Onion powder

1/2 cup oil
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup beef broth or stock
2 tablespoons cream


Season both sides of the steaks with seasoned salt, garlic powder, and onion powder.  Lightly season one side with chili powder and black pepper.  Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large skillet.  Dredge the steaks through flour, shaking off any excess.  Dredge through beaten egg, and dredge again through flour.  Test oil in pan by dropping a small pinch of flour into the pan; when it sizzles, add the steaks.  Cook until both sides are golden brown, flipping only once.  When cooked, remove from pan and place on wire rack.


For the gravy: Remove all but 4-5 tablespoons of grease and drippings from the pan.  On high heat, sprinkle in 2 tablespoons of flour.  Cook for about one minute, stirring frequently.  Stir in the beef broth and cream; season to taste with black pepper and onion powder.  Allow to thicken over high heat, stirring as needed, approximately 3 minutes.


TECHNIQUE NOTES:

Cube steak dredged and ready to fry!

• Season the meat, not the flour.  Seasoning flour only provides flavor in the outermost layers, but putting spices directly onto the steak permeates both the meat and the breading.
• Many cookbooks, specifically those targeting the "average housewife", warn against cooking gravies (or even a basic roux) on a high heat setting.  As long as you can give the stove your complete attention, gravy can be thickened in just a couple of minutes.
• If you're trying to cut fat, some low-fat items may be substituted, such as using skim milk in place of cream.  However, never bread with just egg whites: the breading will burn very quickly, so always use whole beaten eggs.

Chicken Pot Pie

Growing up, I never once tasted savory pies.  My first experience with chicken pot pie was around the age of twenty.  It was one of those 99-cent, salt-laden, mass-produced monstrosities from the supermarket, unceremoniously heated in the microwave.  I tasted enough potential to submit my observations to memory.  Soon thereafter, I heard of and attempted to make a shepherd's pie.  It was just barely edible, thus narrowly avoiding being labeled a "cooking failure".


Today, I found myself in a culinary conundrum.  My pantry and refrigerator were in dire need of re-stocking; we were completely out of milk, oil, bread, eggs, and other essentials.  Further investigation showed that we were dangerously low on flour and eggs.  What's a girl to do?


Well, there was that half-and-half, along with some cream, that were on the verge of turning.  And what about the last chicken breast in the deep freezer, nestled right next to the frozen peas and corn?  I had enough flour to make half of a pie crust- just barely the right quantity to cover a hot dish.  Yet another meal was about to be born from the neglected inventory of the Zaftig's stores.  If I do say so myself, it was a delicious outcome to an otherwise bleak supplies situation.


CHICKEN POT PIE
Servings: 2-3


For the pie crust:
5/8 cup flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
1/4 cup lard
2-3 tablespoons water


For the filling:
1 large boneless, skinless chicken breast half, cubed
1/4 cup chopped carrot
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/8 cup chopped red bell pepper
1/3 cup frozen peas
1/3 cup frozen corn
4 tablespoons butter, divided
1/8 cup flour
2/3 cup chicken stock
1/4 cup cream or half-and-half
1/3 cup Campbell's cream of celery (or 2 tbs celery softened in 1 tsp butter and mixed with 1/3 cup of sour cream)
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/4 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1 drop Tabasco sauce
1 teaspoon salt
1-2 teaspoons black pepper


1 large skillet with high sides
1 medium skillet
1 pie pan
1 whisk or pastry blender
1 spatula


Prepare the pie crust first.  Place mixing bowl in freezer for at least ten minutes, and put measured lard into freezer for 3-4 minutes to chill.  Remove bowl from freezer and pour in the flour, salt, and pepper.  Whisk together to incorporate.  Using a fork or whisk, cut in the chilled lard, breaking up the lard until the flour/fat are the size of peas.  Slowly pour in the cold water, gently folding it into the mixture.  The dough will be loosely formed.  When it is moist enough to barely hold shape in a single large ball, place in the middle of a large sheet of plastic wrap, wrapping tightly.  Place in fridge for thirty minutes while you prepare the pot pie filling.


Pre-heat the oven to 400F.  Heat one tablespoon of butter in the large skillet over medium heat.  Add the carrot, onion, and bell pepper; saute 4-5 minutes.  Add chicken to lightly brown and season with onion powder and garlic powder.  Meanwhile, make a blond roux in the medium skillet with the remaining butter and flour.  Season with salt and pepper.  Add the chicken stock, whisking continually.  Add the dairy and cream of celery.  When the mixture has thickened, add it to the skillet with the chicken and vegetables.  Season with paprika and Tabasco sauce.  Stir to thoroughly combine ingredients, reducing heat to low.


Remove the pie crust from the refrigerator.  Between two loose pieces of plastic wrap, flatten the dough with a rolling pin, to about 1/8" thick.  Pour the chicken mixture into a pie pan or square 8" casserole dish.  Loosely top filling with pie crust, cutting three 1" slits in the top near the center.  Bake in oven for 30 minutes.  Remove from oven and allow to cool and rest for 10 minutes prior to serving.