Pan-Fried Brunch Potatoes! Wooooot

As I sit here on this lovely, too-bright Sunday morning, hydrating heavily, slowly and stupidly beginning to contemplate the point at which I will have to venture outside once more, I'm listening to the whine and crackle of sautéing onions, potatoes, peppers and broc. That's right, I'm making my pan-fried breakfast potatoes. Hells yes.

RLK's mom is in town and she invited a bunch of us to Hotel Quincy (Bagpipes: If you're reading this -- not a real hotel) for brunch. Being my parents' child I'm unable to go without bringing something so I am making these potatoes. They're time consuming, but pretty easy and low maintenance.

I think I used about 6 or 7 good-sized red potatoes -- fingerlings would be ideal but couldn't find 'em -- and threw them into boiling water for about 20 minutes while I showered and dressed. The key is to cook them only about 90% of the way; you want them to finish on the stove with the spices and accoutrement. Once they finished (you can insert a knife and remove it easily) I began to sauté onion (1 large), broccoli (1 stalk), minced garlic (generous dollop), red pepper (1/2) and cilantro stems in butter. Health conscious kid I am, I normally use olive oil for sautéing, but here the potatoes only really shine as they absorb and cook with bitter. Ok, I used half-and-half butter/smart balance or whatever.

As the onions began to sweat and turn translucent, I added my first round of spices -- salt, pepper, paprika and basil, then the potatoes. A few minutes later, another round of spices. Now this is CRITICAL -- potatoes, starchy little fellers that they are, DEVOUR salt. They need TONS of salt. You'll be continuing to add salt (and the other spices) throughout the process; you'll actually probably say aloud, "Damn. This is alot of salt." TRUST ME.

From here on out and for about 30 to 45 more minutes, I continue to cook on medium low heat, adding more spices as I see fit (lots and lots of paprika, more than anything other than salt) and butter. you've got to continue adding butter to keep the potatoes moist and prevent drying, and stir every, say, five minutes. I think all told, I use about a quarter to a third of a stick of butter, not really that much when you consider the quantities with which we're working here.

The beauty of this is it's all vamping on a theme, so if I want spicy I can add chili powder or even ground chipotle peppers; if I want a bit more decadence I throw on grated parmesan (didn't this time since RLK is very intolerant of lactose). These potatoes are a real staple of my cooking; although it takes about an hour and a half or even more I spend most of that sitting on my couch typing to you, my faithful readers (hahahaha). Plus the outcome looks and tastes like a tough dish and it just isn't. Score!

Final Effect:

This Waffle Person Thinks Like I Do

My cravings are rarely for "sweet;" I nearly always crave savory. Plus, I generally feel gross after overindulging my sweet tooth. It follows, then, that for my POWER BREAKFASTS I make eggs and toast or only-subtly-sweetened oatmeal. And when I eat out for breakfast or brunch, I ALWAYS order something eggy -- omelets, frittatas, scrambles, what have you.

This doesn't change the fact that the most beautiful or creative items on many a brunch menu are the waffles drenched in butter and syrup. I always order the damn eggs, I ALWAYS do -- and then I ALWAYS stare in unbridled and unashamed jealousy at the person to my left gasping in ecstasy (almost made an egg pun; wouldn't have made sense) at the gorgeous waffle-y stack before her.

GOD.

Anyways, RLK sent me this page in full knowledge of how much I would enjoy it: http://www.waffleizer.com/

Check it out. The way this person feels about waffles inspires me; we should all be so lucky as to feel this blind passion toward something in our lives. It makes me believe that I too could one day overcome my predilections and predispositions toward the savory and attempt the sweet.

(Also, can we all agree that waffle fries are the best form of fried potato? NEW POLL!!!)

The Majestic Bison: With Avocado and Chipotle Mayo

Today (after a two week, work-induced hiatus) I want to talk about one of the decisions I habitually make which has allowed me to enjoy a healthier -- but still extremely fulfilling -- diet. What makes a diet fulfilling? For me, it's the ability to satisfy cravings, occasionally overindulge, experience new flavors and revel in good comfort food while still finishing a meal and feeling like I fit in my own skin.

So, one choice I make which has helped create a Healthy Hungry Sam is the choice to make substitutions. On of my favorite substitutions: Bison for Beef.

Bison is a lean, low cholesterol, lower calorie version of it's more domesticated cousin. It is, of course, another red meat (and thus to be enjoyed at a rate 20% lower than once before =) but a more virtuous variety, both healthier for me and generally for the planet (because bison tend to be grass-fed and raised using best environmental practices). I've now had bison a few times and prepped it a few different ways, but where it really shines is as a canvas for a spicy, intensely flavored burger.

Using about 90% lean bison ($5.99 at Whole Foods; seen cheaper at Wegmans), I made a pair of 1/4 lb. patties, mixing in a steak spice rub I make and keep on the spice rack (salt, paprika, pepper, cayenne, rosemary, garlic). These I threw on the Foreman, grilling until medium rare. I sliced a firm, just barely ripe avocado into thick, half-inch-thick coins and whisked a few generous pinches into a scoop of low fat mayo. If my estimates seem imprecise, it's because they are; I rarely measure. For "buns," I used some whole wheat bread, toasted.

As a side, I made my own sweet potato "fries" by slicing one up, tossing it with some olive oil, brown sugar, cinnamon, cumin and chipotle and baking at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes. Excellent choice. The final effect:

Mmmm. I know a healthful substitution has gone well when I finish and feel stuffed but comfortable. I plowed through two burgers and a helping and a half of potatoes, trying to savor the burgers of my labor but with each gulp just kind of thinking about the next bite. Pretty damn spicy -- I recommend enjoying with milk.

Marinating in Yogurt: A First Attempt

I used to be a pretty chubby kid, mostly because I viewed eating, as so much else, as a form of competition in which you won by eating more than anyone else. As I learned portion control (and found tennis, track, rugby, cycling and the gym) I slimmed off and now I compete by cooking tastier, cheaper, or more beautifully than I ever have before. That said, I have my moments in which I want to pig out and the end result of this recipe created just that sort of moment. I had one bite of this garam masala and yogurt marinated chicken and immediately set aside leftovers for lunch -- otherwise, they wouldn't be there tomorrow.

Spurred on by low price-per-pound chicken and a half-dose of boredom I decided to try marinating in greek yogurt. For those unaware, greek yogurt is a denser, more proteinaceous version of the regular type, one in which excess liquid and whey have been pressed or drained off -- it's pretty healthy too, hence its recent availability in stores. I'm not exactly a health nut, but I try to maximize protein in my daily diet so I keep the stuff on hand.

I've not marinated in yogurt before, and though I've heard the process lends itself to keeping meat moist and still imbuing intended flavors, I was still wary. I've had some bad experiences with marinating in general and have in the last several years become much enamored of using rubs as an alternative.

But, my hesitations aside, I mixed the yogurt with finely diced onion, minced garlic, lemon juice and salt and pepper, these being the combinations I recall from eating similar dishes in restaurants. A quick online search suggested garam masala (a pungent mixture of Indian spices) and ginger as a great way to flavor the marinade; I could have gone more Mediterranean and used cucumber and dill, but I was feeling more Asian today. It took ten minutes to prep; I threw everything in a bag, mixed it up and put it in the fridge. Six hours of wandering around D.C. in 50 degree weather and five minutes on the Foreman grill later, and I was sold on yogurt marinades.

Wow. The yogurt created a thin crust on the outside of each thigh and made the interior nearly creamy. The lemon and garlic was evident in every bite and made my mouth water for the next. Interesting, the spices I chose were pretty much indiscernible; either I used too little or I used precisely the right amount and they melded perfectly into the greater complex of flavors. I am literally sad looking at this empty blue plate.

Last week's recipe was NOTHING to this. THIS is what I want to do with chicken from now on; I can't wait until I can grill this recipe over charcoal. Now my mouth is watering again...

PS: I need to get a better way to take this pictures. This Blackberry bullshit is awful.

Wine-Braised Saffron Fennel Chicken

So, I frequently choose recipes by buying the meat that's on sale, deciding generally the way in which I want to cook the meat, then Googling the ingredients I have. I prefer certain Food Network chefs, anything from Tastespotting, and much from Epicurious, and roll with what I find.

Tonight, having thawed some chicken thighs and knowing I wanted to braise them, I just typed "chicken" and "braised" into the Tastespotting search bar and found Wine-Braised Chicken with Shallots. I stopped at Whole Foods on the way home from work, completely forgot the pancetta and decided I'd use onion instead of shallots. I already had most of my ingredients at home (a later post will describe what I consider to be a well-stocked kitchen); the herbs and fennel were all I needed and of the latter I purchased way too much. This all added up to some key changes to the recipe.

Out of habit I prepped everything (chopping the veggies takes some time) before beginning to cook. I wasn't under the clock and prefer a leisurely experience - also, though I find braising rather easy I think giving the process all of my attention probably contributed in the past.

Braising is a two-part cooking technique in which the chef dry sears in high heat then finishes slowly and gently in a spiced or flavored liquid at relatively low heat. I feel the process, which I only discovered several months ago, helps a chef to avoid all the potential pitfalls of cooking meat (particularly chicken) such as dryness, toughness, and flavorlessness, while simultaneously allowing the maximum creativity in spicing and bringing out the most delicate character of the meat. As sinew and fibers break down, the meat pulls away in gorgeous, neat slivers, tender to the touch and tongue, and positively imbued with the intended flavors.

Working with my wonderful dutch oven, I seared the chicken (having seasoned it with salt and pepper), sauteed the vegetables, added the wine and broth and tied my herbs into a small linen packet. Now, for this recipe, I decided to focus on bringing out the fennel by using a citrusy sauvignon blanc, reducing the thyme, including the stalks of the fennel bulb in my herb sachet, and in a moment of inspiration added saffron threads.

Finally, because I consider lemon to be fennel's best friend, I added long strips of peel (no pith!) to the mixture just before sending it covered into the oven. I braised for about 45 minutes at 300 degrees. Finally, I removed the chicken and the spices and simmered to reduce the sauce down to a few, savory cups. I served the chicken over rice with the sauce and vegetables on top.

VERDICT: I'm going to consider this dish quite good, not incredible. The flavor was excellent: the whole dish, top to bottom, had a citrusy, tangy flavor; the fennel scent infused the entire dish and the chopped bulb itself was mouth-watering. The chicken flaked away from the bone in long slivers, each juicy bite pregnant with intensity and zest. In a broader sense, I also consider the dish a win because it was so cheap. Even with my hearty appetite, I'm going to get 3 or 4 meals out of the leftovers, and the skinless bone-in chicken (the most expensive ingredient) was very reasonable at only a buck fifty a pound.

Some things I would change (DELTA!): I would have used some egg noodles instead of rice, I might have pulled the chicken off the bone during the last step to make it easier to eat, and I might have added some potato or another starch in order to help thicken the sauce. I'm not going to call this a "go-to" recipe, but it was an excellent use of the ingredients and that's my priority.

The final effect:

The Categorical Imperatives of Salad

I generally feel a little lame ordering a salad at restaurants -- after all, one of the reasons to eat out is to benefit from the wisdom and verve of a real chef. Salads are often the menu items which involve the least skill or forethought, and so I compensate by ordering Cobb salads, stacked with bacon, chicken, egg, etc. Somehow, it helps.

Photo: Flickr CC/Nemo's great uncle

But tonight, as I chowed down a Cobb at Trio on 17^th and Q NW (Washington, DC), this flexibility as to what constitutes a salad ate at me even as I ate at it (HUMOR!). So what IS a salad? What makes a salad a salad and not something else? What are the necessary conditions of salad-ness?

After much thought and some debate with Liz, I contend that four key factors lie at the firmament of any salad:

1. A salad is a stand-alone food – it does not inherently require a complementary food outside itself;
2. A salad is composed of a semi-random mixture or “tossing” of multiple distinct ingredients, each of which exists as a legitimate food unto itself;
3. The ingredients of a salad are themselves fully cooked or prepared prior to inclusion into the salad;
4. A salad must have a dressing, sauce, or relish which complements and connects disparate ingredients.

NOTE: The above are all, of course, reliant upon the general intent of the salad creator and each can be perverted for the creation of pseudo-salads, such as fruit salad which (with few exceptions) has no unifying dressing.

These attributes, I feel, constitute a sort of set of Kantian categorical imperatives; properties necessary to the nature of the proposition (in this case, a salad). They exclude some related foods, such as mixed nuts, dips and stews while effectively including salads ranging from traditional vegetable salads (leafy-greens-based or otherwise) to chicken, potato, pasta, tuna, and even Waldorf salads.

The key, however, as mentioned above, is intent. What makes a salad a dish and not just a pile of random foods is that a Creator-figure (e.g. chef) intentionally chose the elements and combined them in a pleasing way. Whether working from a recipe or improvising on a theme, human creative energy is a necessary condition for a true salad.

I know that this and other descriptors are controversial, and some people seek to modify salads in such a way that they cease to be salads. One common example of this is the situation in which people take a perfectly well-designed, intentional salad and ask that it be served without dressing. These are no longer salads; they are crimes against salads – aberrations of the lowest sort. This denies the plan of the Salad Creators and the salad's intended deliciousness.

As a final note, I'll add that the dressing factor (Key Factor Four) was a tough call. Traditional fruit salad is considered by many a salad and excluding it was no easy decision. But I feel strongly that fruit salad, while delicious, is far more reliant upon the inherent tastiness of the fruit than upon the techniques, talents, and recipes of the chef.

Oh, and the Cobb at Trio was pretty good.

Lawson's: A Simple Idea Done Well

Yesterday, a couple of friends and I visited Lawson's, a soup, salad, sandwich, and sushi joint in Dupont Circle. (If the latter offering seems somewhat out of place, that's because it kind of is.)

RLK, LPG and I were in the mood for something new. Having all worked in the Dupont Circle neighborhood for about five months, we'd found a few consistent and excellent options in that neck of the woods and had been lazily enjoying these standbys without much thought to branching out. With a great effort, we overcame our sloth and ventured a few blocks further than our regular restaurant radius, to some success.

Though pretty crowded at noon, Lawson's has three or four distinct ordering counters and two registers spaced out down the axis of the interior, the effect of which is efficient crowd management. Drinks and pre-made stuff in a cooler along the back wall, ordering and assembly stations along the front, place your order, get a number, etc etc. Not really breaking new ground, but you've got to appreciate it when a basic model is just executed well.

Actually, that's pretty much the theme of the place. The menu is generous without venturing too far into wild creativity and includes the basic deli meats, clubs, and BLTs; the salad ingredients were again the basics but everything looked fresh and appetizing. A pair of soups (MD crab and a split pea) graced the menu and appeared to rotate daily. I didn't get a good look at the sushi, but all seemed well in the land of Americanized Japanese food. The prices were all about $5-7, perhaps some of the cheapest eats in the area.

I ordered Lawson's version of the best sandwich I've ever had -- a California Turkey Club. In my hometown there's a ridiculous little deli which is pretty much never open for business, but if you're lucky enough to catch them and smart enough to order a California Turkey Club, you'll find the toasted rye stacked high with a basic turkey club PLUS avocado and brie. Damn. Well, Lawson's used the more mundane swiss rather

than brie but the club was tasty, the bacon offered a good crunch and flavor, the sprouts and avocado were fresh and the turkey thick-sliced from a roasted breast resting on a cutting board. Add in the price (about $7) and I declared sandwich victory.

RLK seemed to enjoy her jerk chicken salad, noting that they grilled up the chicken then and there (in contrast to several other Dupont salad joints which just toss in pre-cooked cold meat). LPG, however, is unlikely to return; her tuna melt had bacon and she doesn't do non-swiming animals. I ate it, it was tasty. I declared sandwich victory x2.

Lawson's

Service - 4/5 (great)

Price - 4/5 (great)

Options - 3/5 (fine/average)

Tastiness - 3/5 (fine/average)

How likely I am to return - 5/5 (XTREME!!1!11)