Do not try this at home

As much as I wish there were always good news from the Blushing kitchen, there have to be misses. While a beautiful, award winning, fanciful food blog was the goal here, the food does not always cooperate. You know, there are duds. Which is so disappointing because I don't cook or bake anything that I am not so looking forward to eating. But these were just unfortunate culinary incidents. Accidents, even.

Oh, Martha Stewart Living's recipe for Pears Roasted in Salt with Caramel Sauce which wasted my gorgeous, hard to come by, French butter pears. The skins became darkened and bitter. The salt was overwhelming and the caramel sauce made neither sauce nor caramel. I had to resort to an old Gourmet caramel which is very lovely but could not go toe to toe with these petrified, hideous pears. Having done this twice with good sense as a guide where I knew there were method issues, I will not be recreating the disaster a third time.

And then, a begrudgingly tasty but pointless recipe for Milk Braised and Roasted Shallots from Patricia Wells which required a pile of unpeeled shallots to be braised gently in milk and then roasted in a casserole for 35 minutes. This left tiny slivers of tasty shallot inside but seemingly endless layers of tough skin to be discarded in order to get to this miserly bite of roasted shallot. It was, in these time, when no one can tolerate such a thing, a gross waste of fine ingredients which were carefully selected, organic, and delicious all on their own. Fine idea, perhaps the same idea will work better once the shallots are unpeeled and roasted over lower heat. Here is a picture, to prove they were irreperably hideous from every angle as well as inside and out.

It happens. I mean this happens, even with a Wells recipe:

I mean, seriously. Would you want to eat this? No wonder it wasn't photographed for her book...

Maui Sweet and Mrs. Lewis

The Gift of Southern Cooking by Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock, is, I imagine, nearly as much of a gift as if I had been there at Mrs. Lewis' side and been able to learn from her directly the recipes she carried through too short a life in the kitchen. She left Virginia and went on to become the chef at Gage and Tollner in Brooklyn, all the while incorporating those first Southern nuances of home into her dishes for a venerable old steakhouse in a city which might not have been entirely familiar with her style. Surely, it speaks volumes of her depth of understanding of food and her remarkable talent as both chef and writer that her extraordinary books endure, as comforting as home and always as modern as each new year in which I open them. The passage of time has nothing on these recipes, though occasionally the season at hand or availability make it more difficult to recreate the dishes so deservedly precious to Mrs. Lewis and now, her readers.

It was on another trip through her books that I came across a recipe of hers that has made me curious since the first time I was lucky enough to read The Gift of Southern Cooking: Braised Spring Vidalia Onions. The sort of onions one needs to get this glorious dish off the ground are just not front and center for us in the north at this time of year, nor easily attained at any other.
Probably it would be best to be growing them behind the house and rip from the new spring earth the early green and white vidalia's in the morning. I imagine I would wipe them as clean as I could and lay them in the big blue basket at the center of the table for a couple of hours so I might have them to look at and be able to smell the spring ground in the house for a moment or two.

Sweet onions here at the moment are enormous Maui's and in terms of growth and size are, past, far past, the point described in that recipe I adore. Why, I weighed an average supermarket Maui and it was one and half pounds. Consequently, some other course of action needed developed for us dreaming-Southern part-time Northerner's. I enjoyed this little dish so much it almost helped me to forget Mrs. Lewis' young, "golf-ball" sized vidalia's which will have to wait for another spring day, in another place. In the meantime, I am enjoying the softball sized Maui's and toasting her in what I most certainly hope is a great warm southern kitchen in heaven, with platters full of biscuits and strawberry jam and a big blue basket in the center of the table.

Braised Full-Grown Sweet Onions
adapted from The Gift of Southern Cooking, Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock
North Salem, 2008

4 lbs sweet onions

1/2 cup butter

1 cup chicken stock

2 tbls. fresh thyme leaves

1 tsp sea salt, more to taste

1/2 tsp white pepper, more to taste

Trim the onions and slice across the whole onion in 3/4 inch widths to make thick discs.

Heat a wide covered skillet with high sides over low heat. Add butter and heat until completely melted, do not brown. Add the onions and toss to coat as well as you can in the butter. Season lightly with salt and pepper. The skillet will be very full, (don't be afraid, once the water cooks out the onions will be much smaller and softer). Add the chicken stock and cover the skillet. Turn the heat to low, tossing the onions occasionally, 15 or 20 minutes, until all are tender. The onions will not remain in discs.

Take the cover from the skillet and turn the heat up to medium-low, allow the liquids to reduce until the onions are just glazed. Reseason and serve.

You will know my name

This is a delicious roast which, while it is a tough photography candidate, reaches into my heart and calms things in the place where I am always anxious. I don't remember it from childhood, I have hardly known it long as an adult. Truly only long enough to be inseparably devoted to it, however long that is. About three years ago, I began tinkering with "pot roast" recipes. While I have never arrived at an affection for the term "pot roast" (which is always sounding a little down at the heel, a little disrespected, a little wrong-side-of-the butcher-counter), I have deep affection for this roast and it's complex, haunting pan sauce.

As I was writing this post to you, I was thinking this truly grand Sunday-dinner-worthy roast deserved a more elegant name. After all, it is no step-child of my kitchen. On the contrary, this will be one of the recipes scribbled in my own hand to my children in a cookbook passed to them, the way my most precious family recipes have been passed to me. Without further adieu, I give you the sweepingly vague but nonetheless more regal now: Braised Roast.

Braised Roast
Serves 4

I prefer to serve this roast with spaetzle (shown here) or a potato and celery root puree which is far easier to coax on to a fork. Always have plenty of crusty bread as well.

I have, in the past, used whatever other lovely vegetables were on hand: Chanterelle mushrooms quartered, parsips sliced, and so on...

While I do not instruct you to do so, as it is really the taste of the chef and dependent on the accompanying dishes, you may wish to reduce the pan sauce to concentrate the flavors and thicken the pan sauces slightly. If you wish to do so: One half hour before you will serve, ladle a few cups of the pan juices into a saucepan and over a medium high stove heat, allow it to simmer until it is reduced by half. Add 1 tablespoon butter and return the sauce to the roast pot.

1 (3 to 4 pound) beef chuck roast
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 can crushed tomatoes
1 cup red wine (Cabernet or Barbera) plus two tablespoons
1 cup beef stock
1/2 cup good dark coffee
2 tablespoons tomato paste stirred until dissolved in two tablespoons red wine listed above
2 yellow onion, halved
4 garlic cloves, chopped
3 carrots, sliced
1 cup mushrooms, stems removed and sliced in half
2 sprigs fresh rosemary
1 teaspoon thyme
3 bay leaves

Season all sides of the beef liberally with salt and pepper. In a large, high-sided saute pan, heat 2 tablespoons of the oil over moderately high heat. Brown the meat on all sides. Transfer the meat to a crock pot or dutch oven. Pour in the can of tomatoes, red wine, beef stock, coffee and the tomato paste dissolved in red wine. Scatter the vegetables and herbs around the pot roast, season with salt and pepper. Cover the pot and set heat to low: In the Crock Pot on an 8 hour setting and basting when you remember to do so. Or in a dutch oven, braise over low heat about for 3 hours, basting every 30 minutes with the pan juices, until the beef is fork tender in either case.

Slice the pot roast and arrange on platter surrounded by the vegetables. Serve with some of the pan juices spooned over the top of the roast and the remainder in a gravy bowl with a ladle.

A Utensil Void: Individual Cake Chisel Knives

Photo: The offending cake bricks only hours before being used to shore up the foundation of the house in Florida.

Southern Cakes. A book by Nancie McDermott. A highly questionable and occasionally indefensible supposed reference text on many cakes one will recognize and several I have never heard of (but, I have never had dessert in the Ozarks). Also, a moderately effective source of kindling material. And, a means of stumping the Hostess with regard to acquiring a utensil with which one can consume the Mississippi Mud Cake small enough to be placed by each plate and where said mini-chisel or hand saw is properly located around the plate.

This past Sunday night, an evening which saw a lovely dinner for four, began with gorgeres, moved on to Barefoot Contessa's brisket (absurdly delicious), potato souffle, braised cabbage, and ended, confusingly, with this Mississippi Mud Pie. We tried this dessert about one hour out of the oven when I sliced it and it was a fine layered chocolate, marshmallow, and fudgy bar cake : I wouldn't get rich if I slapped a pretentious label on it and hocked it at Neiman's at Christmas, but it wouldn't bankrupt the bake sale that is my life either. Fast forward a few hours while it awaited its fate on the tiered dessert tray and find it hardened into a brick with chocolate marshmallow topping.

Of course, I did not know this change occurred until I put the tines of the Grand Baroque into the corner and had to restrain myself from kicking off my kitten heels, climbing up into my chair with the carving knife and fork, and hacking away at my little square with all the force and intent of Vlad the Impaler. Lordy! I exclaimed to myself. I should get the guests another utensil. But, what? WHAT? This criminal of a dessert laughed in the face of steak knives (as if I could hear myself liltingly explaining the presence of the second knife at the setting, "That's the dessert carving knife! Fun, don't you think?!")! After dinner, I scurried off to the computer to access my bookmarked Grand Baroque tab at Replacements.com and answer the question regards what happens when dessert needs to be carved by each guest.

Huh.

Nothing. Nothing to assist me with this crazy cake. You are on your own with this one, Pals. You could get a carving set for each place setting which can alternately be used for the dessert moose carving on other evenings. Or, get small handsaws and saw horses for each guest, make a festive table of unfinished cedar planks, and have large buckets of nails as centerpieces. Conversely, pitch the book into the fire because the recipe for Huguenot Torte is also an insult to all we came to know of the dessert by the same name in Charleston, the city of its birth, and instead serve Chocolate Mousse with a spoon.

The ol' book by it's cover lesson, again

As you may have guessed, I collect a great many things, among them cookbooks. I have a criteria for choosing these books: I prefer them to be illustrated, I like to be reassured by reviews in various food publications and/or blogs, and I like them to be specific: Ingredients in a list. Accurate amounts. Painfully clear method.

I know the other type, written by chefs for chefs. They will expect you to be able to make marchand de vin sauce to add to a recipe, for example. They use phrases such as, "add some stock." Leaving me annoyed an muttering aloud, "Could you be a tad more specific?" or spending hours hunting the most reliable and delicious recipe for marchand de vin because I did not go to school for mother sauces, okay? Liberal arts, and I am not ashamed of it. For a cook who learned my kitchen skills from Mom, Grandma, and endless reference tools, these generalizations are daunting, never mind my great attachment to formulas which makes things infallible and safe.

Consequently, I have looked over Larousse Gastronomique a half dozen times and decided we would agree to disagree: A book meant for another sort of cook. A cook destined to own more Patricia Wells than Larousse. Then my Mom gave me the boxed set for Christmas and I nervously opened the text in front her, certain what I would find but turning out to be thoroughly incorrect: The updated edition has general amounts for the most part, as well as some defined method and cooking times. I was thrilled that all of these long-trusted recipes were finally within reach. I am pleased to share one with you now: Fabulous. Just a whisper of smoky saltiness. Not like any deep winter wine-drenched roast I have ever known. I wish I had tried sooner.




Find the recipe and photo tutorial below. But be forewarned: This is beef, braised in dark red wine, this is not sexy to look at but it is on the palate.

Daube of Beef a la Bearnaise
Serves 6
Adapted from Larousse Gastronomique

2 pounds boneless chuck beef roast
1/2 pound uncured bacon
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons fresh thyme leaves
3 bay leaves
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
3 carrots, sliced on bias in 1" cubes
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 bottle good red wine
1/4 cup brandy or cognac
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 pound pancetta (or Bayonne or serrano ham)
2-3 cups beef stock

For optional buerre manie to thicken the sauce:
2 tablespoons softened butter
2 tablespoons flour

Cut the beef into 2 inch cubes. Do not trim the fat, include it in the cubes. Season the beef cubes liberally on all sides with kosher salt, pepper, and thyme. Roll each seasoned cube in a piece of bacon just large enough to wrap around once. Place the rolled beef cubes in casserole dish large and deep enough to fit all the rolls in one layer and and allow at least 1 inch marinade above the level of the rolls.

On top of the beef rolls spread the carrots, onions, and minced garlic evenly, Lay the 3 bay leaves scattered on top. Pour the bottle of wine over the meat, then the brandy. Give the liquid portion on top a gentle stir just to combine the brandy and wine, leaving the vegetables and and beef untouched below. Allow to marinate at room temperature 2 hours.

Line the bottom of your braising dutch oven or slow cooker with the pancetta or ham.
Set it near the stove. Remove the rolls from the liquid on to paper towels and pat dry. Dredge the rolls in flour and in a large saute pan over medium-high heat add olive oil and butter and heat until butter is melted and bubbling. Sear each roll to brown on all sides. You will have at least two batches. Transfer the browned rolls to the braising vessel lined with ham until all the rolls are in.

Strain the marinade to separate liquid from vegetables. Place vegetables in the pan from which the rolls have just removed and saute the vegetables until lightly browned. Transfer them to the braising vessel to lay on top of the beef and bacon rolls.

To the marinade, add 2 cups stock, stir to combine, and pour over the vegetables and beef. If it does not cover all the contents, add more stock until it just covers all.

If using a dutch oven, preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Place the pot over medium heat and bring to a boil. Turn it down to a simmer for one half hour. Transfer the pot to the oven and cook for at 5 hours or until the beef separates easily to the tines of a fork. Remove from heat, skim off any fat on top using a baster or a separator (this step is imperative). If you choose to thicken the sauce make a buerre manie of 2 tablespoons softened butter evenly combined with 2 tablespoons flour, combine with a fork. Strain or ladle most of the sauce into a saucepan and set over medium heat. Before it boils, add the butter/flour mixture to the sauce pan and stir to dissolve. Allow the sauce to come just to a boil for one minute, then remove from the heat. Stir for one more mixture then add back to the beef in the braiser. Stir gently to combine. Taste and adjust seasoning. Serve. Lovely with buttered egg noodles or potato and parsnip puree.

Photo tutorial:


You will need a two pound boneless chuck steak and about 1/2 pound streaky bacon. I prefer to use pre-sliced, if you are of a mind to cut your own slab accordingly, by all means...


Cut the chuck into 2" cubes and season liberally with kosher salt, freshly ground pepper, and fresh or dried thyme leaves.


Wrap each seasoned beef cube in a slice of bacon just long enough to go around once. I did not find I needed to secure with toothpicks though you may to decide to do so. Place the rolls in a single layer in a dish for marinating which will also allow enough room for additional marinade.


Cover the meat evenly with the onions, carrots, garlic, and bay.


Pour the red wine and brandy on top, stir the liquid portion gently just to combine the two. Allow to marinate at room temperature for 2 hours.


After 2 hours, remove the rolls from the marinade to paper towels and pat dry. Dredge each roll in flour.


Brown on all sided in a large saute pan in butter and olive oil set over medium high heat. Transfer the rolls to the dutch oven or slow cooker lined in ham, you will have at least two layers. Set aside. Place the saute pan back on the heat.


Meanwhile, strain the marinade liquid from the vegetables.


Place vegetables in saute pan and saute over medium high heat until lightly browned at the edges. Add the vegetables to the dutch oven on top of the meat.


Add the beef stock to the marinade and stir to combine. Pour over the vegetables and meat in the dutch oven or slow cooker. If it does not cover all the contents, add more stock until the liquid just covers all.

If using a dutch oven, preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Place the pot over medium heat and bring to a boil. Turn it down to a simmer for one half hour. Transfer the pot to the oven and cook for at 5 hours or until the beef separates easily to the tines of a fork.


Ladle or strain most of the liquid from the beef and vegetables and allow fat to settle on top of the gravy, remove the fat in a a separator as above or with a baster. If you prefer a thin sauce, add the gravy back to the meat. If you wish to thicken the sauce, place the gravy into a saucepan set over medium heat and warm gently. Now follow the steps for buerre manie:


In a small bowl, combine 2 tablespoons softened butter and 2 tablespoons flour.
Add this to the gravy in the saucepan and stir to dissolve completely. Allow it to come to a boil and boil for only one minute, remove from the heat. It will look like this now:

Stir off the heat for one more minute then add back to the meat and vegetables. Stir gently to combine. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed. Serve.

Now, your work is through.

Moroccan Chicken, without much Moroccan

Firstly, some housekeeping: Do not forget to enter the Garden & Gun giveaway at Blushing Hostess Entertains or the Old Bay giveaway here at Blushing Hostess Cooks. Both are worth a second to leave your name.

Perhaps the most ringing endorsement of this dish is the photo I did not show you: The two year old hand that reached on to the plate to swipe a piece of chicken as I was taking this picture. That shot is in her baby book, and privately dear to me. This chicken will be very dear also as it is officially the fourth thing my Daughter eats.

This recipe appeared in Bon Appetit's Fast, Easy, Fresh column recently and it is two of three: easy enough and fresh. One hour to put it on the table though, in a working household, though, is unfortunately not fast. And while the magazine is referring, maybe, to 25 minutes of active time in their assessment, I differ in opinion: At the very least, you need to keep an eye on the simmer rate and turn the chicken occasionally.

They call it braised. I venture to guess some cooks will disagree as it is forced which is indeed the very antithesis of a braise.

Now, calling it Moroccan is a rough approximation. Likely, to be more genuine, had you preserved a couple of lemons two weeks before and used as many fresh warm spices as you could here, it would have smacked of more authenticity. Preserved lemons are just washed, cut and jarred lemons covered in kosher salt and allowed to sit in the fridge for two weeks at least. Do a few at once and you are in better stead. As it is, the dish is merely continental - not that there's anything wrong with that.

Try it if you have a hour; hoping you are happily surprised that your children love it.

Moroccan Chicken with Green Olives and Lemon
Adapted from this Bon Appetit recipe
4 servings

2 lemons
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large red onion, halved, thinly sliced
2 garlic cloves, pressed
1 tablespoon paprika
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
2 cups low-salt chicken broth
1 4 1/2-pound chicken, cut into 8 pieces, skin removed
1/2 cup green olives
Accompaniment: Toasted garlic bread croutons and a huge spinach salad.

Cut 1 lemon into 8 wedges. Squeeze enough juice from second lemon to measure 2 tablespoons; set wedges and juice aside. Heat oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and sprinkle with salt and pepper; saute until golden brown, about 8 minutes. Add the next 5 ingredients; stir 1 minute. Add broth and bring to a boil.

Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper; add to skillet. Add lemon wedges. Cover, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer until chicken is cooked through, turning halfway through, 25 to 30 minutes. Transfer chicken to a cutting board and debone, place on your platter in some pretty fashion.

Add olives and 2 tablespoons lemon juice to skillet. Increase heat to high and boil uncovered to thicken slightly, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Pour over chicken.

Happy New Year! Now for bit more luck

First for a bit housekeeping, please note that Blushing Hostess will not recap the year that was -out there, or here on the page. The Hostess is not a fan of u-turns. It was what it was, was it not?

Let's move on.

Secondly, though we will spend this New Year in the north, we are not without the southern traditions imparted us over our time in the Carolina's, North Padre, and Florida. It is with a nod to all that the South is that I fondly remember the first time I was served Hoppin' John, just after New Years: I had just relocated to Charleston from New York and after hearing this, a kindly gentlemen brought a small bowl to the table Josh at which we sat at Poogan's: "For good luck." he said, and quietly stepped away. Hoppin' John, was the name of the black-eyed pea dish he placed before me. In Low Country and some say, Gullah, tradition, Hoppin John, a dish of black-eyed peas braised with a little onion, some water, and a ham hock, is traditionally served on New Years to ensure luck in the coming year. While the dish we had that day was delicious, my subsequent attempts to recreate it ranged from disappointing to unpalatable. It was past time to arrive at a recipe of my own which, while non-traditional, still meets the general requirement and tastes - you know - more like something delectable with our traditional New Year's Day pork roast than, say, grout. I'm very pleased with this result, finally. There is still time to get to the store before New Year's supper. Make it a good one, a lucky one, ya'll...

Hoppin' John
Serves 4

2 tablespoons butter
1 medium onion, minced
1/4 lb. smoked kielbasa, in 1/2" dice
4 cups canned black eyed peas, drained and rinsed
Water to cover beans by about 1 inch, 6 cups or so
1 smoked ham hock or ham bone
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

In a deep, heavy bottomed pot, set over medium-low heat, melt the butter. Add the onion and cook 10 minutes or until translucent. Do not brown. Add the kielbasa, cook 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the black-eyed peas and hock or bone, then the water to cover by 1" or so. Allow the pan to come to boil, then turn it down to a bare simmer until the liquid is reduced to the consistency of a sauce. Taste and add seasoning if you like. Serve immediately removing the bone or hock or refrigerate up to a day with the bone or hock still in the Hoppin' John, reheat with this also, and remove just before serving.

Spring's last breath

Spring is through. I always wish I could push back the doors on that season. I am never sorry to see winter collapsing into the ground before me, always relieved to know a new start is on the way. Is it ever hard to see your new start heading south, huh? All of a sudden, we are in full-bore vegetable crop maintenance, bargaining with the Gods of good green growth to end the eight kinds of pestilence we have already fought since the planting started, and wishing like hell we could hang on to everything about spring: The smell of young, newly cut grass. The nip in the air as you tuck your jacket close to your neck in the evening, knowing full well it may be the last time for a while that you will be in need of a coat. And lingering on the bridle paths of our precious North Salem just taking in the lush haziness of the beginning of another perfect New York summer.

Before it slips through my fingers once again, I need to retreat with you back to this past March when I wrote about the frustration of having no young Vidalia onions in our northern stores, and the disappointment I found in not being able to recreate the recipe for braised spring Vidalia in The Gift of Southern Cooking.

This is to advise you I found the onions, unbelieveably, in the last breath of spring at the local farmer's market. When I saw them, I was pleased and a little sad. I knew I would only get to do this once this year as the onions came an went in a late spring breeze. It had better be an onion dish to end all onion dishes. That, and it is Miss Edna's recipe after all, I do not want to fail her even now so long after she has departed.

I should tell you now what I should have before. The truth is, I don't really dig onions as a dish (creamed pearl onions having done me in at age five). You will get no argument from me on the importance of the onion in bases and for flavor. If I was to come to like them at all, I knew this had to be left to a simple but masterful cook who really understood the ingredient in order to make it great. I have never been disappointed in Miss Edna's leadership. Alas, only in the complete lack of of ability to get my hands on her ingredient list at times.

You are hoping for my recipe card, maybe? The best advice I can give is to buy the book. It will last you longer, serve you better, and touch you deeply more often than any other book on your cooking shelf.

When you do get it, you might like to scribble in the margin of the recipe that a touch more butter and 1 tablespoon (give or take) finely minced fresh sage make the dish transcendent. What a fool I've been. I love onion dishes. I would eat these every day. Twice.

Tostones hors d'oeuvres as winter bears down

We are awaiting a real winter storm. This could be snow day territory. But I realize that just because sledding with my toddler in a winter that threatens but never really gets underway is at the forefront of my plans, you might have a holiday party on your mind. And it is my sworn duty to help you and to get you to the best party possible, taking into account corrections to my own party work here which I will make the next time.

Tostones. I loved this idea when I saw a photo of this concept in Martha Stewart Hors d'oeuvres. The book does not mention, as it should, that this nibble is even more laborious and slow than most as tostones must be blanch-fried, pressed, then fried again. The pork must be slow cooked or braised. And when all that is behind you, the assembly is no walk in the park.

I loved these little bites but in the future will use one tostone on the bottom rather than create mini-sandwiches as the tostones are very dry. In researching this post, I notice all sorts of short cuts have been applied to the original ML recipe, consequently, you have options to speed this up if you wish. While I made the jerk sauce I used you can certainly buy it or your favorite barbecue sauce. I leave it to your taste to decide if you prefer pulled pork (as I do), chicken, (which ML Hors d'oeuvres called for) or beef (as featured in Gourmet) and whether to use jerk sauce or a traditional gently spicy BBQ sauce. Whatever combination you choose, be sure to trial run these as a too-sweet sauce would cause the flavor to be cloyingly sweet with the chutney.

Pulled Jerk Pork on Tostones with Mango Chutney
80 pieces, $26.00 or $.33 a piece
8 hours, 2.5 hours active

6 lb. pork shoulder ($10.00)
Kosher salt and frehly ground black pepper
2 cups jerk sauce, purchased or homemade ($4.00)
Tostones, below ($9.00)
1 8 ounce jar Major Grey's Mango Chutney ($3.00)

For the tostones:

8 large unripe barely ripe (yellow-green) plantains ($6.00)
about 4 cups canola or peanut oil for frying ($3.00)
Kosher salt

With a sharp small knife cut ends from each plantain and cut a lengthwise slit through skin. Peel off skin gently. Cut plantains crosswise into 3/4" slices. In a 12-inch nonstick skillet heat 1/2 inch oil over moderate heat until just hot enough to sizzle when a plantain is added. Fry plantains in batches without crowding, until tender and just beginning to turn golden, 2 to 3 minutes on each side. With tongs. transfer plantains paper towels to drain.

Remove skillet from heat and reserve oil. With the bottom of a heavy saucepan or a wide solid metal spatula flatten plantains to 1/4 inch thick (about 3 inches in diameter). Into a bowl of warm salted water dip flattened plantains, 1 at a time, and drain them well on paper towels.

Heat reserved oil over moderate heat until hot but not smoking and fry flattened plantains in batches, without crowding, until golden, about 3 minutes. With tongs transfer tostones as fried to paper towels to drain and season with salt.

These will keep in an airtight container, refrigerated overnight. Take them from the fridge, place in a single layer on a baking sheet and reheat at 200 degrees for ten minutes or until warm.

For the pork:

Season the pork liberally with salt and pepper. In the basin of a slow cooker place the pork shoulder and pour over the jerk or barbecue sauce. Following your cooker's instruction per pound and cook roast until meat easily pull away from the bone. Remove the meat to a bowl and place cooking liquid in a separator. When settled, pour off and discard the clear part/ fat. Place remaining liquid in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Simmer until reduced to one third the original amount. Remove from the heat and set aside.

Pull the pork from the bone while also discarding large fat deposits. With a knife, dice as finely as possible. Pour the reduced sauce over the meat and stir gently to combine. Set aside.

This will keep two days, refrigerated, in an air tight container. Remove from the fridge a half hour before assembling.

To assemble:

On top of each tostone, place a small spoonful of pulled pork followed by a 1/2 teaspoon Major Grey's Mango Chutney. Serve immediately.



Dori assembling the tostones sandwiches just before the party began.

So rich and satisfying

Brussels sprouts. Maybe you are already groaning. I was in that club until recently. It is not that I hate Brussels sprouts. I am a practical girl who has learned a lot from our animal company on the planet: It never pays to hate any food, because you never know when you will really need a meal. If the fates align to truly teach one a lesson in never becoming too particular, look out, because whatever you hate will be the last food remaining in nuclear winter. Besides vegetables of all manner are a necessity to good long lives.

I had Edna Lewis' help in developing a cooking means for making every vegetable delicious which I discovered in making her spring onions and applied to all things not tied down since. Now, there is not a vegetable I cook that I am not thrilled to eat if I am using her method. Not only that, I reheat the leftovers and snack on them, they are that good. It might sound suspicious, but all the greatest inventions once did. Go ahead out and crank up that car of yours and bring home stacks of veggies to braise. What a new and wonderful veggie-loving world it will be.

Braised Brussels Sprouts, Loosely
Serves 4


1 pound Brussels sprouts, trilled of outter leaves and tough stem bottom removed
Good water to cover, I use bottled
1/4 cup butter
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon thyme
Kosher salt and pepper to taste

Place all ingredients in a medium-heavy bottomed sauce pan over medium heat. Bring to a boil and turn down to a simmer. Allow to simmer until just about all the the liquid has evaporated and only enough remains to be a sauce. Transfer to a warm bowl, serve. Reheats beautifully in a gentle oven of 200 degrees for 12 minutes or so.