A 30-Year-Old Egg

   Hallowe'en is coming, and you know what that means? Eggs. Worse than getting TPed, I've never actually seen a house get egged, short of perhaps in a movie scene. But apparently it's a thing, and it's partly the only reason I'm bringing it up in conjunction with All Saints' Eve.
   Now, I don't like eggs, but I'll eat them. And you'll note here my favorite way to eat eggs, at least when they're explicitly present in a meal. But, strange as it may be, when we go out to eat and I am in the mood for eggs, boiled is hardly on the menu. I've actually tried to order them at least thrice, with responses that ranged from the obvious "we don't have" to the humorous "you mean for a salad?" Needless to say, I regularly order omelettes instead.
   I've actually been in the habit of eating omelettes since college, where the food seemed endless and I actually had time to eat breakfast after my first class. Everybody's favorite chef was Omelette Guy, where he'd give you every option imaginable for him to craft your very own 3-egg omelette. The nutritional value was always a question but never an issue in anyone's mind.

How Not to Make an Omelette

   I faintly remember having made an omelette before, but knowing how memories work and the likelihood of the whole thought being fabricated, plus the fact that I have no photographic evidence of it, I've probably never made an omelette before. And that actually makes me feel good, because the specimen you're about to see is so idiotic, I would have no excuse for its concoction had I succeeded at it once.
 

March 12, 2016 - Level Zero Omelette

   Allow me to explain my thought process in the initial stages of this obvious faux pas. I was so psyched that I was to create my first omelette that I forgot the single most important step: whipping the eggs. I cracked the shells, peeled them apart, poured them into the sizzling pan, and voilà! started to think that something was amiss. As the thought settled in my mind, I went into the other room to admit my mistake to Jes, who seemed to know instantly what the problem was. I mean, there are very few ways you can fail at making an omelette, especially within the first seconds of sizzling.
   Well, not being a fan of sunny-side any-which-way eggs, I stabbed it all with my trusty spatula and made my first batch of scrambled eggs. Of course, I'll still refer to it as an omelette because that's what it was meant to be. The fact that it looks nothing like one was simply an error en route to the plate—or, in this case, the bowl.
   I know it doesn't taste any different from an omelette, but its appearance sat in the back of my mind as something not so appetizing. I mean, look at that third quadrant: It's so fluffy! It looks like a Peep exploded into a hundred pieces. And I'm not even a fan of marshmallows, either.
   Well, since Jes was practically forcing me to eat my  words  works, I just had to douse it in flavor first. You know, to mask the egginess. She suggested hot sauce, and I had to admit I didn't think of that; ketchup or Worce-ster-shire were the first condiments to come to my mind. But I reached for the spice cupboard, considered the soy sauce, brought down a tiny bottle of coconut flavoring, took a whiff and smiled—all while Jes had to leave the room because she couldn't bare to see what I was about to do—and decided on hot sauce after all. There's just something about that vinegar-cayenne mix that works with just about anything.

More Whisk, Less Risk

   Soon, I returned to my weekly breakfast skillet with more confidence in my ability to keep to the code—that being, beat the eggs before you cook them. I know; it's like common sense for an omelette, and if I were reading a recipe, I'd hardly miss that step, but trial and error is as proper a teacher. And, that said, this time still had room for improvement.
 

March 19, 2016 - Mushroom-Swiss Omelette

   I was much happier with myself when I pulled this together: broke 2 eggs, brought out my shootin' hand to mix yolk and albumen as best as I could, then poured the smooth concoction into the buttered pan and tilted it around to fill out the circle. I know the tricks for making pancakes, but this was something new for me, and I still haven't mastered the technique of knowing when to flip it. Maybe my spatula wasn't big enough, or maybe I did well enough and I'm just kidding myself. But the thing that sets this omelette apart from the next is, once again, some amendment of the first step.
    I had my ingredients all prepped from the get-go—tomatoes, mushrooms and (I believe) sliced Swiss cheese—but the reason I piled them high in, once again, that third quadrant was simply because it's how I imagined making it at the time. Now, there's nothing wrong with building an omelette like that. It tastes about the same, given those particular ingredients (i.e., vegetables). But the egg became a blanket to the filling, its taste separate and still-so-eggy, something I don't particularly enjoy in my eggs.
   Folding this over also proved meddlesome in that I can never decide proper ratios for combining flavors. I know, it's nothing a simple recipe can't fix, but that's just not my style. Good cooking had to start somewhere; it wasn't always mathematical ledger, right? Besides, it's not like either of these came out inedible. They were simply not as good as they should have been.

Living on the Ejjeh

   Which brings us to my final omelette of the year (thus far, at least). Once again, still not the "best omelette you've ever had," but definitely, in the line of Saturday-morning cooking, the best yet crafted by yours truly. Even Jes made the face of approval when she had a bite of it; it's almost as if the mushrooms inside weren't even there.

October 16, 2016 - Ome-Roulette

   There are a few things I'm proud of in this meal, but let's start with the list of ingredients. Lately, it's easy for us always to have eggs on hand. But what else should go into an omelette? Whatever you have in the fridge at the time could work out in your favor. I like to limit myself to about three additions, one of which is cheese. The type of cheese mostly sets the tone for the end product, and therefore the other two choices. I'm not a fan of this shredded, pre-packaged stuff, but for ease of use and—especially in the case of cheddar—decency upon melting, it was probably the best option we had in our deli drawer at the time.
   The first thing to hit the pan, on this particular day of trial, was a delicate dab of leftover bacon grease. Home-prepped lard. I'd heard it was the proper start to a meal of eggs, but honestly never having had a traditional plate of eggs and bacon, this was the closest I'd ever be to that standard of a presumably purposed pairing. As soon as the whole thing melted on medium heat, a steady swish to coat the whole pan was met with the next level of eggs-traordinary tips. (If you thought I was above that, I've got news for you.)
    While whisking the 2 eggs this time around, I mixed in the other two ingredients: finely chopped mushrooms and a handful of asparagus tips. Not only did this make crafting the omelette easier, I believe it helped hold the egg together (fancy that) when it came time to flip. As the topside now cooks, the cheese is added to optimally fill a semi-circle or full circle, but for some reason I opted for burrito-layering. No matter. The end result would only be missing cheese in a few bites.
 

October 16, 2016 - Ome-Roulette

    After folding and plating, not only did this taste vaguely familiar, but it also looked like the little egg-patties of my family's tradition, ejjeh. Which, oddly enough, I'd always enjoyed. Probably due in part to my preference for eating them cold. Those egg-parsley rounds were always easier for me to stomach than, say, a fresh slice of quiche (pronounced kwee-chay). Anyway, as much as this omelette tasted good dry, I still like adding condiments to them. This one saw a splash of ponzu—basically a lemon-soy sauce that followed in line with the refrigerator roulette aspect of this meal.

Delicate Flavors

   May has become my Sabbath rest this year, within the reasoning that it would be a huge disservice if I actually took so many consecutive days off from my employment. Instead, there was still plenty of room for spiritual renewal, and what better month for it than the one which marks Jes's and my anniversary?
   Excuses aside, we haven't been cooking much lately for different reasons, and probably won't be for at least the next month, but when we do, you can be certain we'll be loving it in our new kitchen.

BUTTER!?

   Our first road trip together brought us over the entirety of I-80, from the Golden-Gate to the George-Washington. Somewhere along the way, one of us reached into a bag in the back seat and pulled out, of all things, a tiny packet of butter. Many laughs ensued. If you happen to be in our presence when we exclaim this singular word out of context, you'll at least know what's going through our collective mind.
   Jes is not a saucy person. She also doesn't like too much sauce with her pasta—something I discovered, and something she suffered, when we visited my great aunt in Southern California. My maternal family has been hugely influential in my love for Italian cuisine, whether cooking it in batches and sharing the wealth or going to some ristorante for most every celebration. Leave it to the Syrian-Americans, however, to be carrying on that tradition.
   Anyway, I presume Jes's dislike for such heavily laden, tomato-sauce-smothered pasta is related to her delight in simply buttered pasta. My mother used to do this on occasion, as well; and, to take it further, a misunderstanding during one of my childhood sleepovers once led me to eat dry spaghetti for dinner, to my own chagrin. However, in addition to its simplicity, it gains a 1-Up in my book for preparation time: 10 minutes.
   Now, buttered spaghetti is fine enough, but Jes dresses hers up with salt, pepper and garlic powder. It holds quite the appeal on its own, but I leave it to her to craft it. Besides, things always taste better when it belongs to someone else.

Purposed Segregation

   Using that dish as a base, I made a meal last year which was pleasing in many ways. If you recall what I'd said regarding my veggie-parfait, I had cooked each ingredient individually only to rejoin them for the final product. The following recipe predates that one, and it lived up to the hope of keeping the elements separated all the way to the plate.
   The concept behind it all was to have the flavors of shrimp alfredo without actually melding them together into a coherent sauce layered over dense linguini. I've never made a cream sauce from scratch—though I aspire to undertake the task one day—but this meal kept things as simple as possible.

June 22, 2015 - Shrimp Alfredo, Deconstructed

   I'm a believer in pairing a noodle's width with the weight of its sauce. That said, a traditional alfredo sauce matches well with fettucine or linguine, but you'll find no actual sauce here, so I went with Jes's personal favorite: angel hair. A specification of capellini, angel hair is among the thinnest Italian noodles (I've seen much thinner Asian noodles). It's perfect for runny, brothy sauces, and here, its only dressing is butter, grated parmesan, and ground pepper.
   Beside that, thinly sliced tomatoes gained some color and texture with a momentary searing in a pan. Charred onions are also a nice flavor add-on (and they happen to remind me of mom's good, old-fashioned London broil, or giddo's kebabs).

   Last but not least, hiding in the shadows would be sriracha-crusted shrimp. If you're either confused or intrigued, it was a revisited recipe which you will soon see here: a simple twist on breading shrimp that utilized flavored potato chips. All of my creations with shrimp deserve their own series, but to remain in the recipe at hand, it is enough just to have garlic-butter shrimp, whether such is infused or contains visibly chopped pieces of garlic. Perhaps the flavor would lend itself well to the added texture of a béchamel sauce, thereby setting up a more distinct division of the four elements already present.
   In case you couldn't tell, I'm giving myself brilliant ideas worth exploring. I would definitely like to recreate this.

Season's Eatings

   Fall.
   In our four-season climate, you may know it by another name, but "fall" was the term everyone used since my childhood, and it took me this many years to understand why it's called that. Plain and simple, the leaves are falling. Haha. Ah. The falls of my past were seasons of death and decay—look to Hallowe'en, the literal mock-holiday of All Hallow's Day. Most American children know fall as the end of summer, and hence the start of school. I loved school, so I can't associate with their dread on that point. But, fall also came to mark a trying time for my family.

   Autumn.
   Recently, this word replaced "fall" in my vocabulary. "I'm really autumning for you." "I've autumnen and I can't get up!" "Genesis 3: The Autumn of Man." Obviously not in any of these senses. But I feel as though "autumn" has a certain warmth to it, or at the very least sophistication, that adds to the season. It's, looking at a Norway maple casting its golden hue in place of shade. It's, drawing your eyes away from the road to stare at a sugar maple that's glowing so orange in the setting sun that it appears to be "on fire." It's, not minding the chill air that plagued you on your walk to the car because you'll soon be sipping a steaming hot vanilla chai. Where "fall" is simply the connection between peak growth and dormancy, "autumn" brings the magnifying glass down upon this quarter.

   Harvest.
   Now that I've finally gotten your attention, allow me to really indulge your taste buds. If fall is a time of year and autumn is a season, harvest is a reason. It's not just a time to reflect on, remember, or try to forget, nor even solely a moment to take a breath or have it get taken away. "Harvest" invokes bits and pieces of these sentiments, but on a grander scale it is the end...of a cycle. It reminds us of the work started in springtime, the care continued throughout summer, for the yield gathered now. It speaks of bounty and plenty, the cornucopia. Fall, is a walk in brisk weather. Autumn, is huddled around a nighttime blaze. Harvest, is a meal shared in good company.

The Greens-House

   I'm a huge proponent for seasonal eating. What that means is this: certain food items should be eaten at certain parts of the year, which then implies that region is taken into account. Nowadays, with the mass-production of foods via vast allotments of land, incredible use of resources, greenhouse-growing, GMO research, synthetic additives, natural and artificial preservatives, etc., the concept of only having a season in which to eat a particular food item seems like the cause would only be lack of supply—solely economically speaking, of course.
   Let's take greenhouses, for example, since that is at least my area of expertise. The purpose of a greenhouse (also called a glasshouse) is to create a controllable climate. By such projects, floral greenhouses often succeed in filling a room with orchids, most species of which are tropical, which basically connotes a year-round climate of high humidity and anything above freezing temperatures, from comfortably cool to swelteringly hot. While orchids aren't truly edible (some are used as a garnish), the same logic applies to greenhouses used in the food-industry.
   When considering tropical plants, such as bananas, supply via import-trading is a relatively constant business; because they are produced year-round, they can be purchased year-round. Non-tropical fruits and vegetables, such as cabbage and strawberries, don't share that convenience, so growing these in a greenhouse allows fresh produce to be gathered out-of-normal-season. Because, not only does a greenhouse imitate a necessary climate's temperature, precipitation, humidity, and light requirements (as if that were not enough), but it can also begin the growing season at any given point of the year. And, since most plants do not take a full 12 months to mature their produce, the space of a single greenhouse can provide a much higher yield than an equally sized plot of farmland.
   Yet, while every plant can be grown in a controlled environment, not every plant is. The greatest example of this which I can think of is fruit trees, namely apples. Because individual trees take so many resources, it would be impractical to grow them in a greenhouse. This is mainly because, unlike herbaceous plants such as annual vegetables, arboraceous plants tend to keep to a schedule as dictated in their genetics. For example, light requirements alone can become so technical as solar trajectory (across the sky), measure of light intensity (greatest in the summer) and even a requirement for darkness. While it is certainly within our grasp to build houses capable of controlling each and every one of these factors, it would be a lot of work just to improve a process which is far from broken.

1-Up

   Apples are not on short supply. And yet, they are grown seasonally. The apples we find in the stores are possibly harvested one year and preserved in such a way that they can be ripened and sold "fresh" the next. And so, there is a constant supply of apples; and this can be true for much of the produce we grow and consume. Just because they're always in the market doesn't mean they're always in season.
   This is not an attempt to change your food ethics. Some people are strictly against GMO processes, and others like to follow the FDA-approved "organic" labels. To each their own. Likewise, this is not a rule, but simply a preference—because I would be hard-pressed to follow my own advice scrupulously, to the point of avoiding foods that are not in season. No, I simply like to enjoy foods as they were once prepared: fresh from the garden (or, you know, the farm).
   In the case of apples, some varieties come into season ahead of others, and some even mature really late in season. My rationale isn't so technical to know when each and every piece of fruit or vegetable was harvested or would have naturally ripened—I'm hardly a keen shopper as it is. So, generally, what I do is divide the year into four equal parts, roughly 13 weeks each, and consider when certain foods would either be found growing in that time or still be fresh enough to warrant consumption. Winter, then, becomes a season of citrus, cabbage, nuts, and some types of fish.
   The most difficult season out of the way, spring receives berries and some quick-sprouting vegetables. This past summer was packed with shrimp. (Obviously, there are more items on any of these lists, but I'm just settling the basic concepts.) For autumn, just look to the Thanksgiving table.

November 21, 2013 - Mushroom Stuffing

   I concocted this for a Thanksgiving fellowship night because 1. I like stuffing and 2. I wanted to be original. It could be considered vegan (just swap out the butter), however, I've also noticed that a lot of vegetarians don't actually like mushrooms. Weird. I think they're great as a meaty ingredient, and they supply your vitamin-D fix.
   I regularly enjoy catering to people's needs, and that's really why I prepare a lot of vegetable-only dishes. This one began with celery, celery root, and onion, each chopped into about half-inch pieces and sent to a pan with lots of butter. Once the onions softened up, "baby bellas" and white mushrooms went in, along with parsnip, a nutty sort of carrot. And fresh sage and thyme. I love mixing sage with mushrooms, and I'm sure these flavors and scents could stand up as a buttery side dish without moving on to the next step.
   Because we shop for meals and not to stock our fridge, I had cubed fresh Italian bread for the main element of the stuffing. Traditionally, it should be stale—and I just discovered how to "make" stale bread. But I know I wouldn't have been able to even if I knew how then. "Stale" just implies dried, the point where the moisture has left the bread. If you have the time (I never do), you can bake it out, or if you want to take the lazy route, just leave it out overnight—at most in a paper bag. So, the difference between my fresh bread and a properly dried loaf was that the former couldn't absorb very many flavors.
   Once tossed with the veggies into the baking tray shown, the source of moisture came in the form of vegetable broth, store-bought, probably only 1 can, but don't hold me to that. (All of these measurements really stem from whatever recipe I'd used as guidelines at the time.) I finished with fresh parsley and salt and pepper, gave it another couple of folds, then baked it for an undisclosed amount of time and temperature. Uncovered. That probably makes the difference: If the bread I'd used was stale to begin with, that forgotten step might have dried out the dish even more. If I'd used stale bread, I would rather the stuffing be moist, so I guess it's a good thing my bread was fresh.

Apples and Pairs

   So, sage and mushrooms and parsnip and celeriac obviously go well, together and with the season. Another medley that works returns us to apple, the truest fruit of harvest. I'm sure you're all aware of the medieval images of a pig holding an apple in its mouth. More than just a garnish, the pairing of pork and apple is almost too good. Look around: applesauce with porkchops, apple-wood smoked bacon,... that's about it. But, the possiblities are [not really] endless, and they're actually quite inspiring (original recipe to follow).
   Anyway, this meal deserves a bit of history with Jes and I. And my brother, too; he's quite the aspiring chef these days. Within a month after Jes's arrival on the eastern seaboard, he'd baked some squash with oil and served them up otherwise unseasoned. I added pine-cone syrup to mine, because really, when else are you going to get to use pine-cone syrup? (I still have it.)

Jerm's Acorn Squash

   Thus began a craze in our family for the healthy, surprisingly easy-to-prepare cousin of the pumpkin. He would go on to buy butternut-squash soup-in-a-box, and my mother would bake the vegetables like potatoes. The following November, Jes and I went to an Italian restaurant (of all places) and ordered a seasonal soup served in an edible ramekin: a squash itself. And it featured ground turkey. I thought this was amazing.
   I'd had my experiences with dressing up that boxed squash soup as well (recipe to follow), but recently Jes was perusing Pinterest and found a recipe for stuffed acorn squash. Personally, I'm familiar with stuffed cabbage and stuffed artichoke and especially, as Mom used to make, stuffed peppers. This was very much like the last, and Jes was feeling up to the task, and of course it was overflowing with seasonal tastes.

October 19, 2015 - Stuffed Squash

   First, you start with a squash. Acorn is the choice variety here (though we're sure any will do), and Jes learned how to pick a ripe one. It's that orange patch that's telltale for this one, though not all acorn squash are colored like this. If you're really having trouble, look to the stem, where it once attached to the vine. If this is withered, or at least brown, the fruit [/vegetable] (depending on your definition) should be ripe.
   Next, after scrubbing the rind clean, you slice off the ends, top and bottom, so that when you halve it, each piece can rest evenly with their bowl facing upward. Then, you proceed to gouge out the seeds and all that weird stringy stuff, making sure to hold onto the seeds for a later date.

October 19, 2015 - Stuffed Squash

   To finish prepping these to be stuffed, put them in a baking pan and drizzle fresh oil over them, then bake 40-50 minutes at 400 degrees. Meanwhile, we chop up about a cup of onion. The recipe calls for 1 onion, and Jes used a Vidalia that looked to be too big, so she ended up only using half. Add to this 2 celery stalks, equally diced, and sauté them in 1 Tablespoon of your finest oil, along with 1 teaspoon each of salt, pepper, and fresh rosemary.
   When the vegetables start to lose color, add 3 chopped cloves of garlic. Jes doesn't like cutting garlic. Neither do I, really, but it's fun rubbing my fingers on stainless steel to get rid of the smell. Anyway, not liking the work, she purchased a jar of pre-packaged minced garlic out of convenience, which is fine because we're currently down to our last head of fresh garlic. For this route, she used a "heaping tablespoon," and we didn't mind.
   Then came the pork sausage, ½ lb. to be precise. Ground, however. When I think of sausage, it's always in link form. Considering the texture of stuffing, ground meat works best. If we were going to transform this dish, I'd use sausage as the star and combine the squash in its place. But I digress. The meat is browned while everything else continues to cook around it, and once that point is reached, the versatile little apple showcases itself. I think she used Gala, but neither of us can be certain. Regardless, it is the marriage of apple and squash with sausage as their mediator which makes this meal, for me.

October 19, 2015 - Stuffed Squash

   Once the apple softens a tad, it's time to fold in 1 cup of breadcrumbs and ½ cup of grated parmesan, just enough to incorporate it throughout. All told, this should make enough stuffing to serve 4, as the recipe called for two squash (each cut in half). Jes only bought one, so when they came out of the oven to be stuffed, we had a lot leftover. I won't suggest cutting the recipe only because it's stuffing, and it's delicious. If you've got extra, that's fine, because as we ended up doing, you can just change the veggie-of-choice and suddenly have another meal.

October 19, 2015 - Stuffed Squash

   Top these with a bit more cheese, then bake for another 20 minutes at 400. When they come out, they'll be piping hot, so consider the delicate nature of your tongue when the sights and smells grip you. Each half is like a personal casserole, so it really doesn't need a side. But, as we had leftover pasta salad from the day before, I figured that was as nice a complement as I could give it. And if the festive colors were not enough, I felt akin to Jes's mother while assembling it, because our kitchen was short-stocked in the hour it took to conceptualize and craft it.

October 19, 2015 - Stuffed Squash

   Up for a twist? I alluded to it before—even provided you with a sneak-peek. A week later, we took our leftover stuffing and placed them in boats of zucchini and crookneck squash. I picked out the onions from half of it and that was stuffed into the yellow (specially arranged for our guest). The plus to this variant was edible skin, which just made eating it that much simpler.

October 26, 2015 - Stuffed Squash, Round 2