On the Menu: Tomato-Oregano Chicken and Four Bean Salad

Those who know me well know that I no longer have a real excuse to be remiss in regaling you all with my food adventures. The last six weeks have seen many -- Maryland Blue Crabs slathered in Old Bay spice; four separate takes on Shrimp, Grits, and Andouille stew; and the bounty of my home state, Maine -- is it weird to eat a total of 6 different types of shellfish and crustacean on about 10 occasions during a 4-day trip home?

This evening's post, however, is a bit more instructional. Perhaps you all were not yet bored with stories of my wild excitement at trying new foods and dishes, but I was becoming tired of sharing them. After all, I don't want to wear anyone out with my over-exuberant energy and passion for comestibles.

As a change of pace, then, tonight's post is...USEFUL. [Cue gasps from the studio audience.] We will be making Tomato-Oregano Baked Chicken and Four-Bean Salad. There will be a recipe, instructions, photos, and of course, Hungry Sam commentary.

On that note, it must be weird to cook in front of an audience. I digress.

Before we begin, allow me to say this: Everyone can make this dish. I know most of my readers, and I know some of you have poor chef-images (does that pun work?). have the urge to throw your hands up and forget about it. But really -- although some dishes are legitimate challenges, and although improvising, balancing complex mixtures of spices, and certain techniques require practice, these and many similar dishes are within your reach.

Where there's an appetite, there's a way.

Tomato-Oregano Baked Chicken and Four Bean Salad

Closely follows a recipe from Everyday Food magazine. I love this publication -- if you're a beginner, it provides easy recipes and lots of helpful background and knowledge; if you're a health nut, all recipes have per serving health facts; and if you're experienced, it provides inspiration.

The utensils/implements you will need:

-A good knife (For the love of God, do yourself a favor. Go out, and buy ONE good knife. Find a sale and get a decent Calphalon blade -- good Ohio steel -- or something, preferably a santoku or a simple paring knife. It won't break the bank.)

-A frying pan (9" or 12" will work, depending on the quantities with which you're working. Better if it's an oven-safe pan, because then you won't need...)

-An oven-safe pan or dutch oven

-A cutting board

-Tongs

-A largish stock pot, the sort of thing in which you'd make pasta

-A colander

-A bowl

-Something to prevent first degree burns when removing pans from the oven, like an oven mitt.

If you're not sure what any of these items are, click the links or Google them. If you don't own these things and want to, I guarantee you can get them all on the cheap online or at Target. Just please, please don't skimp on the knife. One good knife is all I ask. I only own four and I do better than fine.

Next, the list of ingredients you will need (in the order you will need them):

TIP: If you shop intelligently, this should be an inexpensive meal and many of the ingredients are staples that will keep in your cupboard for ages.

Chicken:

-5 or 6 bone-in, skin on chicken thighs (There's a temptation to go with a healthier cut. Don't, in this case -- the recipe just wont work. You'll be able to cut fat later in the preparation. This is also close to the cheapest cut; I buy the family pack and freeze the extra.)

-Olive oil (you should have this in your kitchen, always.)

-Salt and Pepper

-1 Yellow or Vidalia onion (I love Vidalias; they're super sweet and don't make me cry.)

-1 T. Garlic (I keep minced in the fridge)

-1 29-oz (large) can of diced tomatoes (Another thing I tend to keep on hand.)

-4 or 5 sprigs fresh oregano (Sometimes you can substitute for dried. Don't do it in this case.)

Salad:

- 1 lb. green beans

-4 T. cider vinegar (you could get away with red wine vinegar but I wouldn't use balsamic or white) and (the capital "T" means tablespoon; the lowercase "t" means teaspoon)

-4 T. olive oil

-1 T. finely chopped fresh oregano

-2 shallots (They're like onions but way better and cooler. If you want to be lame, you can use a wicked small yellow onion instead.)

-4 T. grainy mustard. If you want feel tempted to use the cheap yellow stuff instead, don't. Also, throw that crap away.

-3 cans of your favorite beans. I used 1 dark red kidney beans, 1 garbanzo beans (chickpeas) and 1 butter beans (my favorite)

-Salt and Pepper

Finally, the skills you will need:

-Literally, an ounce of patience. Lots of people think they're lousy chefs because they stop paying attention and take a nap. This leads to failure and possible oven fires. Just pay attention.

-A self-preservation instinct. As in, can you avoid cutting your fingers off? If not, stop reading. I don't want to be responsible for accidental amputation.

Last tip: Wash dishes and put things away as you go. I am not a super punctilious person when it comes to neatness; it honestly just makes your life easier and your cooking more efficient.

Here we go.

1. Preheat your oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. TIP: Never put anything in the oven while it's preheating. The oven preheats by applying LOTS of heat fast; things will burn.

2. Turn on a burner and set it to medium heat. Place your frying pan on the burner and add about a T. of olive oil.

3. "Season" (add salt and pepper, a reasonably small amount) to both sides of your chicken. Place your chicken thighs skin-down in the pan and cook until the skin gets golden and a bit crispy-looking, about 7 minutes. TIP: Watch out for spatter. Hot oil spatters, burns, and hurts. Think about long sleeves, an apron, and perhaps wearing something you don't mind get covered in oil.

4. During this time, slice your onion nice and thinly, open your can of tomatoes, and get out your garlic. No reason not to use down time wisely.

5. Flip the thighs, and cook for about a minute.

6. Remove the thighs from the pan and put on a plate. I put a paper towel underneath to absorb excess oil and fat. Pour out excess oil in pan, and BE CAREFUL.

7. Throw your onion into the pan and cook until it's soft -- it will become semi-translucent. Then, add your garlic and cook until fragrant.

8. Add the tomatoes and bring to boil. Assuming your frying pan is oven-safe, gently place the chicken back in the pan, skin side up, nestling the thighs into the sauce and distribute the washed fresh oregano springs around the chicken. If you need to transfer pans, go for it. Put the pan in the oven (which will definitely be preheated by now) and set a time for 25-30 minutes. TIP: Set a timer. Really.

9. Now the salad. Put the stock pot, 1/3-1/2 full of salted water, on a burner set to high and bring it to a boil. Trim the ends off the green beans and cut them in half. Open your canned beans and rinse them off in the colander, then transfer them to a bowl.

10. Once the water is boiling, toss in your beans and cook for 3 minutes. What you're doing is called "blanching" and it's a great way to make beans and a few other types of veggies a little sweeter and way crispier. After 3 minutes, drain in the colander and rinse them with cold water to bring the temp down.

11. Finely chop some fresh oregano (you'll have bought enough if you purchased a little package), about 3 or 4 sprigs worth of leaves ought to do. Finely slice your shallots. In a bowl or measuring glass (pyrex measuring glass is my go-to) mix together the vinegar, oil, mustard, oregano, shallots, and add a little salt and pepper. TIP: Taste it -- if it's bland, that means there's not enough salt. In this case try adding a scootch more vinegar and mustard.

12. Combine the dressing mixture, the canned beans, and the green beans; toss well.

13. Your chicken should be done. Remove it from the oven and let it cool.

14. Now send pictures to your loved ones to make them jealous of how awesome you clearly are. This step is vital.

15. Oh yeah, EAT.

As you eat it, think about the flavors and ingredients. Does the meal taste like something else you've eaten before? How? What were the ingredients or spices which made the earlier experience different? What's your favorite part about this meal? What would improve it? By asking yourself these questions, you can teach yourself how to improvise by combining the successes of various meals and drawing on that knowledge later.

There you have it: An easy, inexpensive, and reasonably healthy meal. As to the last point, although I've improvised a little, Everyday Food notes that each thigh with some of the sauce comes to 217 calories, 7.9 g fat (1.4 g sat fat), 19.3 g protein, 20.7 g carbs, 2.4 g fiber. The bean salad is tougher to estimate, given how I've altered the recipe, but it's beans and such -- high in protein and fiber. The only fat in the salad is the olive oil, which is heart-healthy monounsaturated fats and low in sat fat. Ok, there's some sodium in there too.

B'Teavon! Bon Appetite!

My Kind of Environmentalists

Contrary to my expectations, not every U.S. environmentalist is focused on the ongoing crisis in the Gulf of Mexico. Other priorities abound, from climate change and energy policy issues to conservation, and many tree/ozone layer/spotted owl/vulnerable population-huggers (or whatever) are still working hard on these issues.

Among these professionals is a subset which Hungry Sam salutes: those suggesting that we combat the rising tide of invasive species by eating the offenders into extinction.

The lionfish is a predatory species native to the western Pacific, likely first introduced into the Atlantic by human hands about 25 years ago. Since then, it has spread throughout the U.S. eastern seaboard and decimated populations of native fish. Says Brent Seaver, Washington chef and Blue Ocean Institute fellow: "It's taking over ecosystems from Trinidad and Tobago all the way up to Maine. Our solution is just to eat it."

While I've never prepared lionfish, the Washington Post article on this burgeoning effort has some helpful hints. The article notes that lionfish tastes like a cross between snapper and grouper, which, if I'm not mistaken, means it's a relatively mild white-fleshed fish. Techniques described in the article range from curing the fish in lemon and salt as a garnish to sauteing fillets in brown butter and a little vinegar. Given a fillet of lionfish, I might try pan searing it in butter, salt and pepper, and finishing it with lemon. The final (and delicious looking) recipe given is one for Lionfish Romesco Stew.

I'll try to get my hands on some and report back.

Crab Cakes: A Quest Ended before it Began

Today I am going to Annapolis, driving deep into uncharted Mary-land to see what's up in what I've heard is a pretty cool place.

Under any, ANY, other circumstances, I would during this trip stop at various locations, taste-testing crab cakes, looking for the ultimate in near-DC crab cake perfection.

Too bad I found it already. That is to say, several weeks ago, and then again last night, I was the fortunate recipient, one of a Chosen Few, to enjoy crab cakes the likes of which my poor New England imagination could not quite grasp. They were just one dish of several -- but clearly the brazen highlight -- of the meal so graciously served to me aboard the U.S.S. Sequoia, the erstwhile Presidential yacht, by its President and owner, Gary Silversmith. And if the notion of a cruise aboard a floating, sailing Presidential historical landmark doesn't excite you as it does me (and it does!), these crab cakes should.

But allow me to be precise: there is nothing cake-y about these treats -- in fact, the restaurant from whence they come, Jerry's Seafood in Bowie, MD, calls them "crab bombs." The ingredients, if I'm not mistaken, are: Epic lumps of crab meat, butter, mayo and Old Bay seasoning. I could be wrong, but I'm not. The bombs fall to pieces as you take fork to them (it took a couple tries to get one that looked fully cohesive -- attempts that constituted real hardship, to be sure). The meat is almost creamy, so tender and smooth as to melt in your mouth, with the requisite and exceptional kick provided by the traditional Old Bay (or homegrown equivalent).

These are just TOO GOOD. It's as though the Patriots had won the Super Bowl in 2007 in addition to winning every other game that season -- I would have needed to just stop watching football, because, let's face it: nothing else could possibly compare.

Fortunately for my exploration of Mid-Atlantic cuisine, I have a stronger heart and a firmer will when it comes to crab cakes. We're going to MD. I'll try not to compare everything I eat to crab bombs -- I'll try.

Interlude: Lobster, and Make Mine a Moxie

Why yes, that is the best-looking lobster roll ever. Good eye, good eye. Since you asked, I'll also tell you it is the best-tasting lobster roll I've ever had. Here's another picture (please excuse the bizarre lighting):

Now, I won't pretend to have had them all, but as a Mainer born and bred, weaned on claw meat and tested on hard-shells, I know a thing or two about a good lobster roll. I'm sure there are many opinions; apparently the oldest form is lumps of meat on a toasted hotdog bun with melted butter and maybe some lettuce.

As you can see, I think we have flexibility, but the guiding principle is simple: the more meat and the bigger the chunks, the better. See, some places (never in Maine; there'd be a lynch mob of tourist regulars) attempt to give you something resembling a lobster puree in mayo on some bread. This is an abomination.

What my family has found in Anania's Variety Store lobster rolls is close to perfection. They're enormous; for the price of one beer in D.C. you'll get a whole lobster's worth of meat, barely chopped, with just a touch of mayo and a twist of lemon -- as close to pure, unadulterated lobster as I think I can handle (this is actually a small!). I love the addition of tomato (mostly for texture), the fresh sub bun, and salt and pepper, too. On top of that, Anania's adds the truly sweet meat that is a bit harder to find for the unschooled: the leg meat on the interior of the body and inside the arms. The pieces are smaller, but the flavor is bounds more intense than that found in the tail or claw. Far and away the best all-purpose lobster roll I've ever had. The chips are kettle cooked sea salt and cracked pepper, sharp and spicy.

Now for the drink: Moxie. Moxie is my favorite soda. It is a type of root beer, one made from the gentian root, and America's oldest, dating from 1884. Back then, it was marketed thusly:

Moxie and has proved itself to be the only harmless nerve food known that can recover brain and nervous exhaustion; loss of manhood, imbecility, and helplessness. It has recovered paralysis, softening of the brain, locomotor ataxia, and insanity when caused by nervous exhaustion. It gives a durable solid strength, makes you eat voraciously; takes away the tired, sleepy, listless feeling like magic, removes fatigue from mental and physical overwork at once, will not interfere with action of vegetable medicines.

As I seek to avoid "loss of manhood, imbecility, and helplessness" while simultaneously encouraging voracious eating, this is clearly the dirnk for me. While found now primarily in Maine and a few other locales in New England, it was once an extremely popular national beverage, touted as "Magic" by spokesmen such as Ted Williams. Some find it too bitter, but they're wrong. Trust Hungry Sam on this one.

Next time, I'll ACTUALLY finish my rundown of the best meals of the last month (which included this, but this one really deserve its own post).

A Mad-Cap Catch Up! (Part I)

Well, for better or worse (mostly better; good company and warm weather have been the primary culprits) it has been a tad longer 'twixt posts than you, my legions of loyal readers, might have hoped. To get back up to speed, I will put up a two-part post running headlong through some of the most delicious and interesting dishes Hungry Sam has had the good fortune to purchase, craft, or stumble across in the time since we were together.

Circa Bistro Steak Frites at Circa at Dupont, Connecticut and Q St NW

I confess, I don't frequently eat steak. I am a carnivore, and often pretend to be a dinosaur as I tear into a turkey leg or chicken breast. However, I do generally try to limit the amount of beef in my diet. The reasons are several and of shifting priority, but between health, moral, and budgetary concerns, maybe I'll just say that steak is a treat.

A treat for when my parents are in town, as they were at the end of April. We went to Circa at Dupont, which though noisy, crowded, and employing a truly awful DJ or whatever, had filled their menu with a stupendous and wondrous array of options. I opted for a steak slathered in a black-pepper reduction (fresh-ground pepper in red wine simmered to thicken and sweeten), and in the true glory of a perfect just-past-rare steak, it seized every taste bud, the flavor seeming to curl little flavor-tendrils over and through my entire mouth. (The fries were meh.)

As always occurs at family dinners, we all tried each other's food. Literally everything was excellent; JHK's Greek pizza, my Mom's crimini mushroom ravioli and my little brother's cheese platter were particularly worth recording.

Mekhleme (Iraqi beef hash) at Busboys and Poets, 14th and V NW

Ok, so the Mekhleme wasn't anything to make me dance and sing. It's not that I have a multitude of Iraqi breakfast dishes with which to compare it; the hash was just a little blander than I'm used to for ground meat, tomato-based recipes. However, it was reasonably well executed and the poached eggs (enormous in the picture, I know) were excellent. I note this, because I CANNOT, for the life of me, figure out how to correctly and handily poach eggs without some sort of as-seen-on-TV tool. It's something with swirling boiling water...whatever.

Also, let's face it. Busboys and Poets is friggin' AWESOME. The decor is superb, the bookshop is cool (I almost finished a graphic novelization of the autobiography of Malcolm X after the meal), we didn't have to wait a moment as the U St location is enormous, and literally every other thing I ate then or since (I've returned thrice) is superb and well-above par. Definitely food to make Hungry Sam sing and dance. I've a bunch of pics of other dishes here, but I want to highlight one in particular: the Sweet Fuji Apple and Gorgonzola with Fig Spread on Walnut Raisin Bread.

I know. WOAH.

This, my friends, this, is the place to be. Though a tad sweet for my breakfasting tastes, the sharp tang of the creamy gorgonzola with the sweet crunch of the fujis paired impeccably with the wonderful texture of the sweet, dense bread. Also, this is a wicked good picture:

God. I am salivating just looking at it. Visit me and one will be yours.

Tower of Ironman Pale Ale at Pratt Street Ale House, Baltimore

I have searched, to no avail, for a Gritty McDuff's-style beer pub which sells primarily its own brews and wide selection of them. We found one, but it took us travelling northaways to Baltimore. Here, before the first Red Sox vs. Orioles game of the season:

It's called a tower. We got a total of 6 pints out of it. It was very good, strong beer. I will return here, to this wondrous place, on Sunday (the day after my birthday WOO!) when the Sox again face the orange-birds, or whatever.

Well, dear friends, once more into the breach of food frivolity we venture. Part the second of this update to arrive shortly and forthwith.

Falafel: Wicked Good

Allow me to talk to you about falafel.

Photo: Flickr CC/yummyporky

No, I’m not just doing it so Liz adds me to a list of Israeli resources she is compiling. Though that would be sweet as well.

I’m doing it because falafel is wicked good. I will elaborate.

As a lover of food, I form, at times, vivid, powerful memories of standout meals –whether exceptionally good or superbly bad. What’s interesting about falafel is that I think I’ve experienced falafel meals that have fallen into both categories. Truly excellent falafel is a thing of beauty, a fast-food delicacy the likes of which lifts my soul to soaring heights – and bad falafel is worse than ovoid bricks.

Before I dive into my feelings for falafel, I should note that this is one dish I’ve never before prepared myself. Maybe it’s fear, a gripping fear of disillusionment that I could never create falafel that brings tears to mine own eyes. Maybe I feel part of the magic is building a sandwich in a shop or at a stand. Maybe it’s laziness. Could go any which way. Regardless, I am drawing upon my several and varied experiences with the dish in this discussion.

First: What is Falafel?

Falafel is a fried ball of chickpeas or fava beans with spices. It is frequently served in a pita pocket and topped with various salads, relishes, pickles, and sauces, including (but CERTAINLY not limited to) hummus and tahini (sesame seed paste). These toppings are frequently presented buffet style such that you receive your falafel and pita at the counter and it is up to you to stuff as much as possible in alongside. Many consider the toppings so essential to the experience that falafel as a term may also refer to the falafel balls, pita, and toppings in totality.

Falafel is a traditional and well-loved Middle-Eastern dish. It is so well-loved, such an emotional trigger for so many that Lebanon recently sued Israel over it. Yes. Really.

(At least they're just suing...)

What Hungry Sam likes in Falafel:

• A crisp exterior;
• A moist – but fully cooked – interior;
• A proper balance of spices such that the toppings are a complement but not completely necessary to the enjoyment of the falafel balls;
• Fresh Pita;
• Basic toppings – cucumber-and-tomato salad, tahini, hummus, red peppers, baba gannouj, dill pickles;
• Exotic toppings – pickled beets, spicy sesame sauce, leeks.

What Hungry Sam really, really dislikes in falafel (or, all the stuff that can go wrong with a Falafel Sandwich);

• Non-coherent falafel balls;
• Over-spiced falafel balls;
• Under-spiced, bland falafel balls;
• Poorly shaped falafel balls – I feel the closer to perfectly spheroid the harder they are to bite into;
• Dry falafel balls (actually the worst thing that can happen to a falafel sandwich. Ugh.);
• Dry/crumbling Pita – without the ability to truly stuff the pocket, how can you enjoy the whole experience?
• Insufficient variety or quality of toppings.

As you can see from these lists, a lot can go wrong and much must go right for me to be truly enjoying my falafel. I will now briefly tell of the three best falafel experiences of my life. In descending order:

3. Silly's Restaurant, Portland, ME

Silly's, a bizarre, "crunchy," avante-garde sort of restaurant back home breaks my mold a little by serving their falafels in a (truly enormous) wrap, pre-dressed and replete with a number of my key toppings. This rebellious attitude toward falafel (an attitude, I should note, which carries over to the rest of their menu items, like "hobo pie," which is a taco mountain made entirely from scratch) is validated with the excellence of the falafel balls themselves. In a town known better for crustaceans, Silly's is shining star of suberb falafel -- and pretty much everything else. Worth a visit. Worth a lfietime. (Maine joke.)

2. One night at Amsterdam Falafel in Adams Morgan, DC with Kate and Rachel

It's not that the falafel is perfect, but it is the best approximation of the Platonic Ideal of falafel shops that I've found in America (Maoz comes close) -- the falafel balls are well formed and spiced and the options for toppings are quite broad. Also, eating them outside on some folding chairs , talking to the drunken bongo player behind us and looking at the ridiculous people wandering Adams Morgan at 11 PM on a Sat night with my friends greatly enhanced the evening.

1. That Little Shop in Tsfat, Israel at the Top of the Stone Steps

Woah. What a flashbulb memory. This was now two years ago, and the perfection of the first full, complex bite of crispy, moist, and flavorful falafel with french fries, cucumber-and-tomato salad, hummus and tahini remains powerful. I cannot give this memory full justice. The ancient, hewn stone steps and walls, the crisp smell of fresh, Middle Eastern breeze, and Tsfat's fusion of old rabbinic life and new artist colony vibe only drew me further into this amazing snack.

Incredible.

Cilantro: A Chef's Gateway Herb

I love Cilantro. Cilantro, the popular name for the leaves and stem of the plant that also gives us the coriander spice, is an herb I can nearly never over-buy. However ridiculously large the bunches in which Cilantro is sold, I can always find a use for epic quantities thereof.

It is, in many ways, a wonderful gateway herb (of the legal variety); it's easy for beginning chefs to understand how to use cilantro when so many other spices require a more developed skill. Cilantro imbues whatever it touches with a strong flavor that manages to not be overpowering; it's difficult to overuse insofar as few dishes become completely unpalatable if you dump the whole cutting board's worth in on accident. It strengthens mild, mayo-based dressings (as for chicken, potato and noodle salads), adds complexity to spicy stews and chilis, and complements perfectly tangy sauces and marinades.

Some people love Cilantro as much as (or awkwardly more than) I do: see here.

Others really can’t stand it. I always sort of figured there was something wrong with these people who could not enjoy the wonder of the leaves of coriandrum sativum. I’m right, as it were – some individuals are genetically predisposed to dislike cilantro.

Though this genetic (I’m going to call it a) disorder is not fully understood understood, an article in today’s New York Times describes one theory behind “cilantrophobia.” Apparently the substances “flavor chemists” have identified as those that lend cilantro its aroma are chemically similar to lipid (fat) molecules called aldeyhdes, also found in many soaps and lotions. Taste and smell, evolutionarily speaking, developed as an additional way to find food and mates as well as avoid poisonous substances. So, when an individual with a certain genetic predisposition connects an aroma or flavor more powerfully with, say, industrial cleaning agents, those sensations evoke a powerful and negative emotional response. Hence: www.IHateCilantro.blogspot.com.

There is, however, hope. Neuroscientist Dr. Jay Gottfried, points out that this is all flavor pattern recognition – if you can make new associations and patterns for cilantro, you have a chance of redemption. He himself once disliked cilantro, but, in his own words, “’I love food, and I ate all kinds of things, and I kept encountering it. My brain must have developed new patterns for cilantro flavor from those experiences, which included pleasure from the other flavors and the sharing with friends and family.’”

So I basically have two conclusions at the end of the day:

1. I should have been a flavor chemist

2. I need to do serious vetting before I marry anyone who might prevent my children from loving cilantro as much as I do. Does that count as eugenics? Awwww…