Good-By-Products

   If "queazy" and "squeamish" are words that describe you, then first I will laugh because those are cute words, and next I will tell you to skip this post. (There are no recipes below, so please don't feel obligated to stay.) I can hear Jes shuddering in that pukish way she does when she wants someone to stop talking. But I won't desist, because I am fascinated by these things which show just how far we've gone from traditional cooking methods.
   And I really do emphasize "traditional," because in our modern [*cough* American] society, we're so sure that the way things are are better than the way things were—that is to say, we're progressing. Now, I know this is a blog and I can go in any direction from this sort of set-up, but we are here to talk about food, so let me get to my point: we (as a nation) have convinced ourselves that "fillers" and "by-products" don't belong in hotdogs.

The Oxymoron
 
   I will defend the hotdog because Jes  likes  loves dachshunds. Yes, there will be a lot of wordplay here. Let me start off by saying I'm not just talking about Sabrett's claim to fame, but any dish which the late-20th-century generations tend to deem unappealing. But for simplicity's sake, hotdogs are, in fact, the perfect scapegoats.
   Hotdogs are sausages, and sausages are disgusting when, in modern thought, you dissect what exactly goes into them. First we'll start with the outer layer, because I'm sure you're all wary that this is traditionally intestines. International sausage markets abound in these "natural casings," but many hotdogs come "skinless." These are cooked in a casing to keep their shape (probably not intestines but something more synthetic), and the casing is removed before they're packaged and distributed. And that's actually one big difference between an American hotdog and a European sausage: pre-cooking.
   Sausage-making is firstly a preservation technique, and second, it is about efficiency. As much as both of these pique my interest, I don't think I could get into DIY-sausage, though I know a few people who could and at least one who was in the business. But the natural casing isn't the only thing what makes this an efficient process. Just beneath that surface lay yummy treats that you would probably discard otherwise. They are, simply put, salted by-products.
   Now, before we rush into the gory details, let me bring you back to the concept of an all-beef hotdog. Hebrew National, Jes's number-one choice. Reading through the Old Testament now, we can see some big reasons why those exist (Lev. 3.14-17). But a hotdog, a sausage, is by-products. It is a food item which makes use of the leftovers of a cut of meat, or an entire animal, depending upon how specific you get. If you're going to make a hotdog without by-products, not only are you now competing with the demand for meat, but I'd like to know where those by-products are ending up, because they've still got some nutritional value to them.
   I'll eat all-beef hotdogs, about as regularly as I'd choose to eat real hotdogs, but if I wanted meat instead of by-product, I'd choose a steak or a rib or a drumstick. Or, you know, a burger. Unfortunately, it's all about experience, because once that food enters your gut, your body can't tell the difference.

In Gradients

   The powers that be are friends of the American people. The Federal Trade Commission enforces the numerous laws, the Code of Federal Regulations governs manufacturing processes, and the USDA Food Standards systematize labeling policies. An ingredients list must comply with these policies which help consumers know what exactly is in the food they are buying without compromising company recipes. An extreme simplification of the distinction between "meat" and "by-products" on a label, in most cases, is 1 word or 2. BEEF? meat. BEEF FAT? by-product.
   Now, using "BEEF FAT" as an example, let's look at what exactly is considered "meat." Meat is muscle, and all that this implies. Not all muscle is meat, but...well, actually, not all meat is muscle, either. Like the conversations about fruits and nuts (vs. vegetables and seeds, respectively), we're traversing between two institutions right now. Food regulations often refer to "meat" as "skeletal tissue." This means that, in most cases, meat is muscle joined to bone; such meat is also the attached bone itself, the tendons and nerves which may exist in between, attached blood vessels and particularly fat, etc. Non-skeletal tissue which is considered "meat" includes heart, tongue, and cheek, and excludes lips, snout, ears, brain, and particularly "significant portions of bone."

   Beef fat, when attached to a cut of beef, is considered meat. This is mainly why you'll see cuts of meat with differing percentages of their fat content, since fat runs throughout muscle. Whilst they are together, such beef fat needs not be called out. It's when fat is trimmed off that it is now considered a by-product. Bones are treated similarly, because T-bone steaks and pork ribs and chicken drummettes would be insulted to be sold as including by-products.
   Bones cross the line when the percentage of bone-to-meat is so great. I don't know how great; there are literal volumes expressing these guidelines. But I'm reminded of one ingredient in Slim Jims which had always puzzled me and now has been clarified: "mechanically separated chicken." Doesn't that just make you wonder if Slim Jims—which can be considered sausages—are safe? Will there be bits of metal in your next bite? Let me clear the confusion by saying, the whole regulation behind the mechanical separation of meat [from bone] limits the amount of bone bits (< 3%) allowable, as measured by the resulting product's calcium content (< 0.75%).
   It's also helpful, and interesting, to note that "mechanically separated beef" is considered inedible and unsafe for human consumption, because if the bone in question happens to be the skull, separation by automated means is not trustworthy enough to ensure that contamination from BSE (mad cow disease) is avoided. Keep that in mind the next time you order ox tongue.

   The heart, though an organ, consists of muscular tissue. It is, therefore, considered meat; however, it must be clearly labeled and cannot simply be called out as BEEF, etc. Chicken hearts tend to be the most popular among these.
   Most other organs filter toxins or secrete enzymes or hormones, such as the kidney, pancreas and brain (these are considered animal by-products). Lungs are also muscular, but in America they are considered unsafe for human consumption. This ban is decades strong and has gained much opposition (particularly from Scottish people), but the reasoning behind it is simply the likelihood of contaminants, whether we are talking air pollution (ammonia inhalation) or butchering practices (referring to "fluid upheaval").

De-Livered

   "Foie gras" literally means "liver fat." The French standard is a highly controversial method of force-feeding ducks and geese in order to grow their livers, up to 1,000% in most cases. Livers have a natural ability to store fat, so these animals are fed a slurry of corn and fat in steadily increasing amounts until the day the axe comes down. As horrendous as it sounds, much care actually goes into ensuring the fowl don't die of natural causes, or rather, natural responses to unnatural circumstances.
   Outside of France, such "quality" is likely not kept, and there are even some 100%-natural methods. For instance, in this part of America, we all know about the migratory flights of ducks and geese. Before embarking on such extensive journeys, they will consume more food—similar to hibernating animals—in order to store up fat. (Fat in the body is an energy reserve, which is tapped into when the body needs it most. I presume this is why exercising burns fat.) Well, utilizing this truth, some companies simply time slaughter when the livers are naturally at their largest. While significantly smaller than force-fed fowl, the means are certainly less controversial.

Jerm's Foie Gras

   My brother is a gastronome. He will try anything once, if it is rated high enough to be enjoyed. My mother, on the other hand, will try anything if you do not tell her what it is. She occasionally treats her palate to chicken livers, and she may have actually tried the above-pictured. I, however, being wary of an organ which is purposed in absorbing toxins in the body, did not indulge myself at the time. Though, if you are reading this, Jerm, I might now reconsider—if only to try it.

   Our mom would not eat beef liver, simply because of how unappetizing it looks due to its sheer size as a whole. Chicken livers? much more tamable in that regard.

   I recall, quite vividly, an episode of Doug where Patti Mayonnaise was throwing a dinner party. On the menu? liver and onions. This was easily Doug's least favorite meal, but since he had a crush on Patti, the entirety of the episode looked at Doug conquering his fear and ultimately realizing that it wasn't so bad. Of course, when it came time to attend the party, Doug discovered that liver and onions wasn't really on the docket. Patti admitted it was a joke all along, because she knew how much he hated it. Ah, the things we'll do for love.

Mincemeat

   My mother also used to eat lamb kidneys in her youth. She blames the "that looks good" syndrome, specifically where a child is tempted by a parent's food. (I've stolen many bananas with this excuse.) Her father used to cook them, and one way or another she used to eat them; though she wouldn't return to them nowadays.

   Personally, I've never knowingly eaten any organ—whether a blood-filtering kidney or a sachet of giblets. There is an "ew factor" involved which many in my generation tend to consider, so I can relate to people who shiver to think of these things. But, I'm left to wonder how it is that older generations, or even simply other cultures, have come to appreciate such foods.

   Chicken feet—I remember the first time I'd seen the package and thought, "How do you eat those?" Tripe—the curious "white meat" in the beef section. Pickled pigs' feet—well, it can't taste bad if it's a pickle. Spam—short for "spoiled ham"? Headcheese—100% non-dairy, 100% unappetizing.

   Just about the only unknown conglomerate I would eat is bologna. Jes hates it, mostly because of the obviously processed texture, but I have no qualms with it, nor even olive-loaf. When my uncle clued me in that bologna is made from the meat of a male bovine, I laughed as the epiphany struck me. How had I never seen it? If it's baloney, it's full of bull.

Other sources:

http://www.fsis.usda.gov/wps/portal/fsis/topics/food-safety-education/get-answers/food-safety-fact-sheets/food-labeling/meat-and-poultry-labeling-terms/meat-and-poultry-labeling-terms

http://agricultured.org/meat-by-products/

Of Nuts and Seeds

   I must admit: we haven't done much in the kitchen lately. Thanksgiving lived up to its name as we drove across country—admiring creation and receiving traveling mercies, meeting our two nephews and spending time with the families attached to them, and even collecting a couple of ounces of raw Utah salt. Jes keeps wanting to grind it up by pestle and mortar, while I'm convinced that would be a waste of its current texture.
   Being three-thousand miles from home for a holiday ordinarily means we were treated to our meal. Also considering, our temporary stay (Ruth) was not expecting us! so the use of her kitchen could not be planned for.
   Christmas, by comparison, was spent very near to home. For starters, it is the first year that I've actually celebrated Christmas Eve, also called Candlelight. Following the church service, we were invited to a meal which we were wholly unexpecting, with a line of appetizers that outlasted our presence! Our Portuguese hostess truly brought Mediterranean style into her hospitality that competed with any mezza display of memories past. I am convinced that coffee table never saw so much love.
   Like Thanksgiving, this year's Christmas was more than a single day. It was, as it always has been, a season, a spirit. On Black Friday, we were on top of a mountain as our nephew cut down his first Christmas tree. Two days after our return home, we were decorating a friend's plastic variety in pleasant company. A week later, the mood finally hit me to prepare something homey, yet basic. The first time I'd made these was, notably, for car snacks on our Christmas road trip 3 years ago; they're tasty, healthy and easy to make. They are roasted chestnuts.

A Few Christmas Nuts

   Chestnuts are like potatoes. I meant that as an inside joke, but the longer I think about it, the more I see the resemblance. However, let's first follow the intentional line of thought, because it's storytime. If you recall that post on "potato," chestnuts will always make Jes and I think of one in particular. His name is Charlie, and if you need to ask why, you are much too analytical.
   When Jes first moved out here, I found a whole chestnut on the ground and gave it to her. Mind you, a whole chestnut looks very much like a sea urchin, and this one was bright green. We called "him" Charlie, because he bit our fingers. So, in a nut shell (ba-dum), that is the story of Charlie the Chestnut, who lives on in our hearts—and fittingly, in a small chest in our bedroom.
   Now, chestnuts are like actual potatoes in that they are full of starch, which is why we bake them. I say bake, because roasting implies the addition of oil and/or seasoning. Fresh chestnuts are also more than half water. This means that they can really hold their heat, and if you were to put them in the oven without performing some precautionary measures, they can explode.

December 14, 2015 - Roasted Chestnuts

   One or two stabs with a knife will score the chestnut's shell, which is enough to relieve pressure when they're cooking. I'm sure it doesn't matter, but I chose the flat side of them to cut. The good thing about this recipe is that quantity is very flexible. You could roast one chestnut, I guess if you weren't sure whether you'd like them or not.
   Lay them out on a baking sheet with the cut side up and put them in the oven at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. They'll steam themselves, as long as you've made the cut, and you won't need to watch them.

December 14, 2015 - Roasted Chestnuts

   When they're ready, their cuts will open like the end of a pomegranate. They'll require a moment to cool (like a potato), but afterward, getting to the meat has several methods, none greater or more intuitive than with the aid of a nutcracker. As I have never once used such on all of the chestnuts that I've eaten, I will instead describe the painstaking method of utilizing one's fingernails.
   Using those cut marks as your first grip, peeling a single chestnut may take several minutes, and the more that you peel, the less your thumbs will like you. I've actually bled during our road trip where these delicacies had made their debut, but having to eat them all myself made that my burden to bear—and Jes's. Being the passenger has its disadvantages.
   Just under the shell is a fuzzy layer that I admit first caught me off-guard. The thing is, a fresher nut will have this cling to the meat, whereas a drier, more ripened nut will have this cling to the shell. When all is said and done, the meat is room temperature again and you begin to wonder why you even roasted them with their shells on.

December 14, 2015 - Roasted Chestnuts

   I never noticed before, but chestnuts taste eerily similar to bananas. You can bet we'll be making banana-chestnut bread sometime soon. There are some recipes already in existence out there, but all of them seem to call for chestnut cream or flavoring rather than the actual nut.

The Nutty Professor

   I love botany. I study it. But I love cooking, too. And I have to say, I hate botany.
   Like learning that cucumbers and tomatoes and zucchini and eggplants are all actually fruits, I suffered as much inner turmoil when I discovered that many of the fruits that we call nuts are not botanically so. You may immediately think of peanuts, which some time ago we were all clued in that these are technically legumes. I guess the etymology is that they are peas which resemble nuts.
   The definition of a nut is simply a fruit that naturally sheds its outer covering to reveal its hard seed. If you've ever seen a chestnut tree, those green urchins mature and dry out, and in the process they split. There are often numerous seeds (chestnuts) within, which account for their unique shapes.
   Hazelnuts are also considered true nuts, as are, oddly enough, acorns. The former produces an allergen which does not allow some people (my mother included) to eat it; the latter is simply inedible. But if you've ever had a bad chestnut (or a dry persimmon), you'll know what an acorn tastes like. They're excessively high in tannins, prophylactic compounds most notable for their bitter flavor.

   From a culinary standpoint, nuts are high in protein and fat. Check out the food pyramid: they're lumped together with meat. Almonds, cashews and peanuts all come to mind; walnuts in particular are 15% protein, 65% fat, and roughly 14% carbohydrates. By contrast, chestnuts are 1% protein, 1% fat, and 44% carbohydrates, and while they are still seen as nuts in the cookbook, in the science book, all of these others are not. Chew on that.
   Interestingly, the most common false nuts out there are actually considered drupes, or "stone fruits." The genus Prunus includes many of these, such as the peach and cherry. The almond also belongs to this genus, yet it is unique in that we don't eat the flesh but rather the actual pit, or "stone."

Inside the Peach Pit

   The walnut is also a drupe. Jes recalls seeing green baseballs scattering the ground when she was growing up in California. Inside each, a pit that competes with a jawbreaker for both size and hardness. Only a kung-fu master could dare to break one with bare hands.

This Nut Takes the Cake

   Walnuts find themselves in a variety of dishes across cultures, whether they are adding the crunch to m'hommorah or are being pickled in England. My mother characteristically bakes them into half of her brownies, while I'm sure everyone is familiar with their showcase in banana-nut bread.
   They also inspire the following recipe, which Jes prepared for Christmas in memory of her grandma Dorothy (Ruth's mom), who passed away this December. We were blessed to be able to see her during our road trip while she was still in good health. This recipe for Russian Tea Cakes goes back to holidays past, and both Jes and Ruth thought it fitting to make it on their respective coasts.
   Oddly enough, my mother and aunt recalled butter cookies just like these, but they'd never earned a formal name. Instead, they were named after a friend who had baked them many years ago. Maybe that friend knew their real name and never shared it; or, knowing my family, maybe she did share it and we just forgot and made up a new name.

   These are indeed butter cookies. You start with 1 cup butter warmed to room temperature. Add to this 1 teaspoon of the ever-potent but impure vanilla extract, and cream it like you were a bully from the 1950s. Jes would've used her hand mixer to accomplish this (or her hands, JD), except that earlier that week her bridal-shower stand mixer took its maiden voyage out of the box as Jackie baked more than a few dozen cookies Done Wright (shameless plug). Business cards to follow.
   Once smooth, add 6 Tablespoons powdered/ confectioner's sugar, because you are playing the role of confectioner and your sugar demands a certain level of quality. Cream this a bit more before adding 2 cups flour in increments. If you don't add it incrementally, I imagine something horrific happens. As I don't bake, I can't be sure what that is, so just trust me on this.
   Finally come the walnuts. We were shopping, and me being me wanted to get whole walnuts and take a hammer to them. However, walnuts are probably processed along conveyor belts and therefore the labor that goes into shelling them actually lowers their cost. Needless to say, the chopped walnuts give you more per pound (because you're not paying for shell), while unbroken halves require slightly more care and so will cost more because of that.
   Anywho, take 1 cup finely chopped walnuts and fold them into the dough evenly. I say "evenly" because it may actually matter. Then, heat the oven to 350 degrees while you roll out two dozen 1½-inch balls and place them on [probably multiple] baking sheets. These will be baked for only 10 minutes.

December 24, 2015 - Russian Tea Cakes

   When they're done, let them sit for a minute or two, and then roll each in powdered/ confectioner's sugar (½ cup set aside) while still warm. Be gentle, because Jes had some of these start to crumble, which we speculatively blame on fault lines caused by adjacent walnuts. Let these cool for another 5-10 minutes and finally roll them in a more generous dusting of sugar.

A Tough Nut to Crack

   OK, the way I see it, science can call a nut whatever it wants, but the fact that we are consuming the seed instead of the actual fruit is what makes it a nut in a cook's mind. The cashew, for example, has a dual use: some people eat the pulp, known as a "cashew apple," while most people around only know of its seed (myself included until today). So then, linguistically, a nut is simply a hard seed, and I can live with that.
   Now, if you thought walnuts were hard, consider the largest seed that we eat. The coconut grows with a fibrous green husk which can be a versatile construction material. In most American grocery stores, however, it has been removed entirely to reveal its one-pound brown, hairy seed. The water of a young coconut contains dissolved nutrients which deposit themselves along the interior of the seed, eventually forming what we would later consider the "meat."
   You've probably long-known that coconuts are not nuts, but it is interesting how "nut" ended up in its name. So guess what? If walnuts and peanuts and pine nuts are allowed to be nuts, so is the coconut! On this blog, at least.
   When shopping for the right coconut, you should consider where your interest lies. A fresh coconut will have lots of water inside. This, you can feel by its weight, or in most cases a firm shake will let you hear about how much water is within. I buy a coconut maybe once a year, solely for nostalgia's sake, and I usually end up eating it all myself (Jes loathes coconut). But this year's specimen goes down in history for two probably related reasons.

December 20, 2015 - Fresh Coconut

   If you're like me, you like a coconut with a lot of liquid. However, I wasn't even expecting half as much as this picture shows. This probably filled half of the inner space, whereas past coconuts had barely yielded two ounces. I like to drink it straight, but this had a sort of pungent taste that even mixing it with milk could not take away. Nonetheless, I stomached it, because Vitamin C.
   The first step of opening a coconut is draining it. (Although, considering how this one turned out, I'm curious to see how skipping that step would have affected it.) In most cases, a coconut has three "eyes." One of these is always softer than the other(s), and the degree of its softness goes hand-in-hand with its youth. Using a pick—as part of a nutcracker set—or similar sterile instrument, touch each eye until you discern the softest one. There was literally no effort required for this coconut.
   Push the tool through at least an inch to ensure you've reached "the void," and possibly wiggle it around to widen the hole. If you have a power drill, you could make an air hole in the opposite side. But, if you're using power tools, why even follow this method? Get a glass, turn your coconut hole-side-down, and start shaking! I got a good rhythm going by the time the glass was half-full.
   When the water is down to a slow drip, it's time to share your well wishes. Optimally, you'll need a plastic bag, a sturdy plank of wood, an old newspaper and a hammer. Minimally, you'll need a tall building. Place the coconut cozily inside the plastic bag so that when it cracks, all of the pieces will be together. Go outside and place your bagged coconut on a plank of wood, to absorb shock and cause the least damage to whatever surface is beneath. Place your newspaper—several pages thick—on top of the bag; past experience has taught me that this will prevent bag-breakage when the hammer finally comes down.

December 20, 2015 - Fresh Coconut

   Several swings later, you will know when to stop. Ordinarily, when a coconut cracks, the meat is fused to the shell such that a shucking knife or similar means will be required to separate the two. In those normal instances, smaller pieces of shell are easier to work with. Oven toasting can also help loosen the meat from the shell's hold.
   However, for this curveball, you'll notice that the shell fell apart while the meat was still intact in its egg-shape. I'd never seen this before, and I attribute it to the amount of moisture held inside. I know it looks hideous, but it's not moldy. The bottom part of this image, which shows something similar to a leaf, is actually how the back of the meat should appear once properly removed from the shell.

December 20, 2015 - Fresh Coconut

   Taking a fork to this made breaking it up much simpler. When the meat is separate, you can bake it in the oven (350 degrees for 15-30 minutes) as is to help dry it out, or grate it beforehand for ease of use in recipes. Another option for drying it out is to leave it open to air in your refrigerator—this, of course, assuming that your refrigerator is clean of mold spores. Otherwise, you're basically feeding them a petri dish.