I just looked up from the computer to glance at the TV and check out the current stage of the Tour de France, which is actually in Spain today. As if that weren’t strange enough, smack in the middle of the shot I’m confronted by a structure shaped like a 90-foot wang. EXACTLY like a 90-foot wang. Thanks for that extended shot from the helicopter, Tour producers.
I will use the memory of this completely non-genitalia-related meal to erase Spain’s horrifyingly penile architecture from the valuable brain space it’s now occupying, space that’s in high demand for much-needed self-deprecation efforts and mental images of Golden Retriever puppies.
(Okay, one last dangle reference: This? Is the most hilarious ultrasound I’ve ever seen. Also the only one where I’ve ever been able to tell what it is, exactly, that I’m looking at. If this is what he’s like in utero God save his mother, because he’s going to be a fricking hellbeast. I say that out of love.)
Dinner tonight came from the authoresses of The Splendid Table or as I like to call them, “The PBS Ladies.” I know they’re from public radio, but my brain conflates all types of public media and flattens them into PBS. The PBS Ladies suggested that I pair their grilled tamarind-glazed pork chops with a napa cabbage slaw in pepita dressing; I decided to tack on the Thai cantaloupe salad because PBS needs to be shaken up once in a while. Live a little, PBS.
The weather was cooperative for grilling, the Fresh Direct cantaloupe actually smelled like fruit and I discovered another kind of slaw that I like, bringing the grand total to three or – more impressively – a 200% increase over my previous slaw-enjoyment total.
Unfortunately, I destroyed a perfectly good work shirt making the tamarind glaze. I know, I should know better than to do anything food-related without wearing a smock, but since Brian was manning the grill I figured my role was limited to the chopping of non-staining items. How was I to know that the FoPro had developed a mystery crack in an undisclosed yet apparently key location, causing it to shoot viscous, gluey, highly stain-worthy pure tamarind puree all over the counter, floor, back of the couch and my person? The answer, of course, is that I should have known because I am more stain-prone than a toddler in a white dress about to blow out the candles on a half-melted ice cream cake covered in grape jelly and tomato paste. Also she’s just learned to walk and has to lurch across a sandpit to get to the cake. And the sand is actually Oreo cookie crumbs. And she has polio.
If there is a food in the vicinity that can stain me it will find a way to do so no matter what contortions are required. And I am utterly helpless, even more so than the aforementioned toddler, because a grown-up could conceivably pluck her from danger before she plunges into the cake-jelly-tomato whereas I have to hope the hand of God will do so for me. Which it never does, because God hates me. I mean, we’re talking about a God who let a pigeon with an outsized colon shit on my hair on my way to a job interview. I appreciate your sense of humor, supreme deity, but sometimes enough is enough.
Anyway, the pork chop glaze had slightly less tamarind than it was meant to due to the quantity absorbed by my shirt. Also included: garlic, wine, fish sauce, ancho chiles and a hit of sugar. None of them stained me, though I’m sure it wasn’t for lack of trying.
I knew I’d have to face the FoPro again for the slaw dressing, so I thought I’d give myself a break before the next splatter-fest with some relatively stain-free cabbage chopping and carrot shredding; thankfully, no beets were needed for the slaw. Brian washed the tamarind-coated FoPro in preparation for the next phase before heading out to light up the grill.
The slaw dressing had an interesting base of orange juice and pepitas – pumpkin seeds, but calling them “pepitas” makes us sound so much foodier, n’est ce-pas?* – along with orange zest, cumin, coriander and olive oil. The FoPro also shot this at me, but it was much thicker than the tamarind glaze and was less amenable to seeping into a cotton/modal blend.**
After the initial whiz, the mixture seemed a little thick and pasty. Or a lot thick and pasty. And unappetizing. And so solid that there was no way it was going to coat anything other than that hole in the wall I’ve been meaning to spackle for the last three years. I squeezed a little more orange juice in, gave it another go and it turned into an actual liquid the not unpleasant avocado-y color of a 1978 Frigidaire. The pureed pepitas ended up creating a creamy texture that kept the mix from being a thin vinaigrette-style dressing while also allowing me to avoid the horror of mayonnaise. ¡Olé Pepitas!
*Unless you are a Spanish-speaker, in which case my telling you this is kinda like asking to eat “Chinese food” in China.
**I don’t know what modal is – I assume it doesn’t come from an animal, unless I’m just behind the times and am the last one to hear about the new hybrid modal goat – but it is fucking comfortable.
I could smell the sweet, charry smell of the pork wafting in through the back windows; it signaled that I was behind on my chopping and it was time to pick up the pace. I hacked up the melon, diced a jalapeño or two and made a chiffonade of Thai basil.
Question: How do you describe the process of chopping herbs into a chiffonade while being both grammatically correct and not sounding like a douchebag? Can it be a verb? “I chiffonaded the basil” sounds non-Dbaggy, but incorrect. Does it have to be a noun? “I prepared a chiffonade” sounds slightly more correct, but more Dbaggy. Do these two have an inversely proportional relationship? If so, on which side do I want to fall? (Note that I am willing to be grammatically incorrect with my usage of the word “chiffonade,” but may the God who obviously hates me strike me dead where I stand recline if I end a sentence with a preposition.)
Never mind anyway, easy question: I want to be on the non-douchebag side, since that’s, you know, the side devoid of douchebags. I chiffonaded the SHIT out of that basil and tossed the fruit, veg and herbs with lime juice and a few drops of fish sauce, finishing mere seconds before Brian came in laden with pork. Pork CHOPS. Don’t be nasty.
Total dinner-making time, just under an hour if you don’t count the ninety minutes I spent hunting down every tamarind stain on my shirt with a Tide-to-Go pen.*
*Lie. I’m WAY too unmotivated for that, and this shirt wasn’t so hot to begin with.
PBS is nothing if not a group of trustworthy moneygrubbers. (Come on, you know the fund drives irritate you even though you feel bad about it because you want to think of yourself as the kind of person who supports PBS.) This was a relatively simple meal compared to many other Smackdowns, but thanks to slightly off-kilter flavor combos and well-paired dishes it came across as much more than the sum of its ingredients.
The pork was juicy and deeply sweet from the tamarind, with a little ancho heat (and sweetness; dried anchos have a lovely fruity quality) and a sharp hit of fish sauce funk. The cabbage – as I’ve already mentioned, this was another slaw that won me over. The pepita dressing was citrusy and nutty and the pureed seeds brought an interesting textural quality to the vegetables; the olive oil added a mild peppery bite, and the other spices, small quantity notwithstanding, added a little depth of flavor without competing with the headlining pepitas.
Cantaloupe and jalapeños? SCORE. With the herbal, licorice-y note from the Thai basil and the sharp lime… I could eat a lot of it, and I did. There’s a recipe later in the book that’s basically this salad blended with some ice to make a chilled soup, and even though it will doubtlessly end in my being covered head-to-toe with melon puree I am all over that shit like fruit cocktail on my prom dress. (True.)
PBS ladies, I’m totally donating during your next funding drive, and I’ll feel really good about myself until I remember that you actually work for public radio.
ONE YEAR AGO: Restaurant Recreations: Le Croque Madame
[tags]food, cooking, NPR, splendid table, pork, cabbage, cantaloupe, tamarind, grilling, pepitas, pumpkin seeds, ancho, chiles, orange[/tags]
Ummmm, so by the way I love you. And I know that there is no internet way to say that without sounding TOTALLY CREEPY. Reading your blog is like hanging out with my best friend except this time she likes food.
In other words, AWESOME! I want to have this for dinner tomorrow, sans broken Cuisinart type object.
I did a tamarind glaze for wild turkey breasts back over Memorial Day; good stuff! Except I was simmering the marinade down for a sauce…and forgot and simmered it too long…and that shit gets about the consistency of bathroom caulk except it’s that kinda purply-brown-black, and will fucking RUIN a saucepan. Stickier than duct tape, I swear.
But I’m with ya on the NPR ladies. Those sistahs can COOK.
Kaitlyn, you don’t sound creepy. Sounding creepy is going up to someone and saying, “you got a purdy mouf”…
Tamarind glaze is da bom.
You and I should have a stain-off. I’m pretty sure I’m more of a stain magnet than you could ever be, despite your claim to fame. For example, I had to change my outfit FOUR TIMES during our brief 4th of July party, because I spilled globs of an number of things within minutes of changing into each of the said outfits. Spectacular, huh?
I just bought tamarind paste the other day, but haven’t used it. This pork seems like as good a choice as any. Thanks.
Would you expect Heather to give birth to anything other than a superstud?
When I was in college, I was so prone to spilling food on myself that my friends referred to anyone spilling food on herself as “pulling a Rachel”. What’s worse is that all of these years later I STILL neglect to change my clothes/put on an apron when cooking messy things.
I LOVE that pepita/pumpkinseed dressing. I’m putting a mental bookmark on this baby.
Hi. I have had the same problem with the word “chiffonade” on more than one occasion, so your struggle nudged me to look it up (because I am not in the midst of trying to cook, spray-painting myself and trying to blog). As it turns out, chiffonade has to be a noun.
Naturally you do not want to sound like a dork, or a high brow snob, unless you are seeking those effects for either sarcasm or the overwhelming need to feel superior…. Presuming that you just wanted to say what you did, how about “I sliced the basil into a chiffonade.”
kaitlyn, i love you to, in a platonic online way. i’m sure that in real life we would be total BFFs.
kay, whoa, i can only imagine reducing tamarind too far. i think it turns into industrial-grade epoxy at that point.
fuzzy, how i knew brian and i would get back together (we’d been HS sweethearts): he was driving me back to my apartment after a day out. i was leaning my head against his seat, half falling over, because i was tired. his hand brushed it and he, also overtired, said “you have soft head.”
kristie, pork and tamarind have a natural affinity. it’s great in a glaze for ribs, too.
i will go head-to-head in a stain off any day. but i will have a head start, because i don’t think i own a shirt that doesn’t already have a stain on it somewhere.
rachel, the pepita-orange combo was REALLY good. warning: you will eat too much cabbage, and the resulting . . . explusions of gas may wake your partner and or/pets in the middle of the night.
michele, dammit. who says chiffonade has to be a noun? some stupid dictionary compiled by stupid people who don’t care whether or not i sound douchey.
i will use it as a verb, and proudly so.
Modal is a synthetic fiber made from wood pulp, like rayon.
I tend to disagree with you on the usage of chiffonade as a verb and its ability to impact your image. Think, if you use it correctly, but manage to incorporate your usual colorful point of view and unique, hmmmmm, verbiage, you will accomplish several feats-
1. You will firmly impress your readers that you understand the language and its proper usage;
2. The occasional slightly correct, proper sentence will not dilute the other text, but in contrast, enhance the effect–sweet and sour, hot and salty etc.
3. You can overcome any obstacle in your path and still accomplish your goal which will–
give you a ROCK STAR status. What more could you want? Me, I would skip the status and settle for a castle in France…..
I take it all back– Merriman Online defined chiffonade as a noun. Period. The end. However, http://foodgeeks.com/encyclopedia/39/chiffonade/
defined it as a verb. What do you know. The language evolves.
michele, i think my readers are well aware of my understanding and subsequent disregard for the proper usage of the english language. punctuation can go screw itself, too.
also: i thought i was already a rock star, and as you correctly point out, none of this is helping me get that apartment on the puglian coast in italy.
“Rock star” just about gets it…do you want to be more like Pink or Joan Jett?
brian, i’d like to be freddie mercury, but he’s (1) male and (2) dead, so i have to give this a little more thought.
Chiffonade! Classy!
Love the pepita dressing – I would never think to blitz those things. Cleverness.