Refrigerator Roulette

   In celebration of our new apartment, new kitchen, and today our new fridge, I bring for your starved eyes and idle hands "improvisational meals." Following are dishes which I'm glad to say had cost me no stress to craft—a quality that is often lacking when I am playing the part as chef. The first two utilize ingredients left over from previous nights, while the latter two are not only more appealing, but they lead in a concept I much appreciate: cooking with condiments.
   In an early post, I subtly mentioned one of the most integral precepts I cook by: You work with what you have. A recipe calls for something you don't have? Find a substitute; or, possibly, you can omit it. Though, in these cases, it's much simpler than that. Hungry? Look in the fridge and start pulling out ingredients. Fond memories of my dad making lunch for us stem from this basic principle. His idea of pizza was very...unique.

Hasty, yet Tasty

   Lunch is usually my first meal of the day, simply because I rarely have time anymore for breakfast. If I do have breakfast, it's usually in the form of Pop-Tarts or fruit; when it's not, it's a special occasion. But returning to lunch, the most impromptu of these plates seem to always start with a tortilla.

March 1, 2013 - Concocted Steak Fajitas

   This wasn't so on-the-spot as I initially led you on to believe. I brought all of the ingredients to work and assembled it there for the microwave oven. The tortilla and peppers were provided from home, while the steak and cheese came from Baja Fresh. Something I picked up from someone somewhere: you can shop for ingredients from local restaurants, just as you might ask for "extra" on the side. Yes, it's cheap in more ways than one, but hey, it saves time and effort for a lone pair of lunchtime fajitas.

March 1, 2013 - Concocted Steak Fajitas

   Now, if you really wanna talk cheap, long before that delicious treat was even possible—and, actually, a few months before I met Jes in person—I'd made a burrito (pictured below) containing melted Havarti, leftover Chinese-takeout rice mixed with a couple of packets of Taco Bell mild sauce, and sliced pear. The Taco-Bell sauce was a phase of my early cooking days, and you'll hear the end of it another day. But I must say, for something so embarassingly bland, it was actually a decent meal.

July 30, 2011 - Meatless, Veggie-less Burrito

A League of Its Own

   Moving right along to the other half, there's something to be said about refrigerated condiments. Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise—in my youth, these things found their way to the table merely as add-ons for burgers, pretzels, and sandwiches; but somewhere along my life, I got the idea that they should really be add-ins. Shirley, I'd often watched my mother put ketchup in meatloaf—and the memory of her using the short-lived green variety that hit the supermarket shelves one year is actually more hilarious than revolting.
   Ground mustard was upon our spice rack, and I'd sprinkled that over potato salad and other sorts of foods as a kid exploring distinct flavors. The squirtable version was less a favorite of mine, even for hotdogs and kielbasa which I consider proper pairings nowadays. And mayonnaise is often used as a binding agent due to its egg-content. Well, my mom would be proud to learn that last one had stuck with me after all those years, because when I thought of ingredients to mix together for a delectable, moist coating for boneless chicken breasts, mayo was at the top of the list.

July 13, 2015 - Art o' Chicken

   The other two noticeable pieces of this spread were chopped artichoke hearts and black olives, along with a tasty dose of garlic powder, salt and pepper. My passion was really showing that night, as though I knew exactly what the outcome would taste like even before I'd opened the mayo jar. A few combining stirs later and a balanced application over the thawed chicken, these saw their way to the oven and came out without a worry for their doneness. Only God could have orchestrated such peace in the kitchen that day, and if that weren't enough, this meal marks the third which Jes and I agree belongs in my portfolio.

The Best of the Worce-t

   The side dish for my artichoke-chicken was a preparation of yellow squash Jes had made with Worce-ster-shire sauce. Another condiment which I used to only apply to well-done steaks, the very label suggests using it for marinating. Well, I can't say that I've done that yet, but I have put it to work as a form of simmering broth.

January 27, 2014 - Baked BBQ Chicken Remastered

   I can't say I recall why this reads "baked BBQ chicken." I'm almost certain it was leftovers—I just have no recollection of having eaten it any other day, or preparing it, if we were indeed responsible for it. It might've been undercooked after some time in the oven, as that's the only explanation I can consider. Regardless, it made its way to this sauté pan along with Worcestershire sauce for a proper searing, and a generous amount of ground black pepper.
   Following, it took a bath in Coca-Cola. Yes. There's some sentimental value among my brother and me in using effervescent caffeine beverages (soda) as a cooking ingredient, but to settle things right out, it's simply the flavor that actually made this work. If this remastering saw another remastered moment, the three enhancers might better find themselves combined as a marinade, given the acidity of the soda.

January 27, 2014 - Baked BBQ Chicken Remastered

   The sides for this picnic-reminiscent dish included (clockwise from bottom left) canned beans (wax, kidney and green) with rosemary and black olives, a can of "southern cabbage," and frozen shoepeg corn cooked and burnt to deliberate perfection. The liquid left over from drowning the chicken ended up reducing for the sauce shown.

Oven Lovin'

   Lasagna is a casserole. What I mean by that is, everything goes into one dish and bakes. The reason I have little interest in remaking the vegetable lasagna is not because I thought it was horrible, but because I rarely bake; I'll roast, I'll toast, I'll broil, but I much prefer the stovetop to the stove.
   Jes fills that void in our culinary repertoire. The first meal she made for me was tatertot casserole (recipe to follow), the second follows here, and yet another casserole debuted at the first Christmas party we shared. Now, not everything she makes is lumped into that dish, but she does have a trust for the oven which I do not; so, if I'm using the oven, it's because she is nearby.
   I'm very hands-on with my cooking style. I will watch a pot of water boil. I like to poke and stir and remove things from the heat. When you're baking, however, you can't do that. If that door opens, you're likely doing more harm than simply extending the time it takes to fully cook your meal. You could upset the delicate balance at the molecular level! Worlds could be destroyed because you thought you knew better! I think my biggest quandary with the oven is that the lightbulb inside really deals no justice toward the doneness of your food.
   The other extreme to coddling your creations is not paying enough attention. This could have horrific consequences particularly when you're baking, but I actually bring it up as a means of bringing us back to pasta. Jes and I have a friend who has admitted to burning spaghetti, because while boiling it, she returned to find that no more water was left in the pot. That is hilariously perplexing to many of us, but it just goes to show: we all make mistakes.

Stovetop Science

   Baking is its own science, but boiling has its moments as well, and there is some bad science out there needing to be addressed. This article immerses itself in the facts behind boiling the perfect pasta, debunking the myths many of us have heard by testing them to their true conclusion as real science is supposed to do. From the size of the pot to the amount of water and even the amount of heat, the author settles out the only things that really matter.
   What I gleaned from this read was how to keep pasta from sticking, which you may remember was a problem that I couldn't figure out. Gluten is the protein that helps the dough of pasta hold together; starch is the carbohydrate that makes cooked pieces of pasta stick to each other. Gluten softens pasta as it boils; starch releases from each piece of pasta and coats the surfaces, clinging to itself. If the pasta is agitated (stirred) when this initially happens (within the first couple minutes of boiling), the starchy residue disappears into the water for good, keeping each noodle separate.
   If that wasn't revolutionary enough, the best part was learning not to discard the water—or, at least not all of it. It's a happy ending for the starch after all.

Western Spaghetti

   With the second installment in our pasta series, we go out of the realm of "oven-ready" pasta and actually pre-cook it ourselves. Whether you're following tradition or the above-author's suggestions, I'll leave the process open-ended. Jes and I don't really follow the box (obviously, because I never used to stir), but it is helpful to know how long a particular shape of pasta requires. Most boxes tell us how long to cook for al dente—"to the tooth," or "with bite." If al dente is perfection, we like to overcook our pasta; so we go that extra minute or so. Or, if Jes is cooking, we test a piece until we think it's done.
   From the moment your water starts taking heat to the draining of your cooked pasta, there is enough time to fabricate a sauce. For this particular recipe, Jes uses a homemade-ish meat sauce. I say -ish because I'm used to giddo making it from scratch, while this recipe calls for some brand-name flavors. I'm not attacking the method; I'm simply noting the difference.
   This may seem the perfect set-up for a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, but there is one more layer of flavor to add that you should have guessed by now: Here lies the recipe for:

November 5, 2011 - Baked Spaghetti

   Baked spaghetti is simple, delicious, and simply delicious. But, on the off-chance that our kitchen does not have spaghetti stocked in it, it's nice to know that this recipe is open to interpretation. I mean, pasta is pasta is pasta; you could potentially use any shape available. Though, macaroni might not be the best choice, and lasagna has its own place.
   The most recent preparation of this dish utilized the fun shape of wheels—the baked-on residue of which made beautiful graffiti art to be admired afterward. But of course, since the sauce takes the longest to craft, it's best to address that early on, so that whatever pasta you choose to cook isn't sitting around waiting for it to be made.

April 19, 2016 - Baked Wheels

1 lb. ground beef
2 24-oz. jars spaghetti sauce [Roasted Garlic and Tomato & Basil]
1 1.37-oz. package McCormick Thick and Zesty Spaghetti Sauce Mix

Start out browning the beef in a large pot. Drain (and rinse if needed).
Add the Thick and Zesty to the beef and about ¼-jar of spaghetti sauce and stir until the meat is coated. Then add the rest of the sauce and mix well. Let it simmer about 15 minutes, stirring often on medium-low heat.

April 19, 2016 - Baked Wheels

1 lb. pasta

Meanwhile, boil water and cook pasta.
Drain pasta, then add it to a large baking dish and gently fold in sauce. Mix until the pasta is coated.
Put it in the oven at 350 deg. for 20-25 minutes.
Add shredded cheddar over the top and bake for 5 more minutes.

   Voilà! C'est bon!
   Personally, I wouldn't think to put cheddar on top, but it actually works. Not to mention, it's lactose-free—as long as it's not processed. That's a different story. Nevermind. Forget I said anything.
   Depending on your sauce preferences, you might possibly end up with unused meat sauce. No matter! Bulk cooking is nothing to be ashamed of, and is actually something I promote. Growing up, my family would create huge batches of sauces or dips and freeze them for another day's meal. As long as you label the date, who knows how far into the future you could provide for? We only recently broke into giddo's last braid of Syrian cheese.

Speaking of Cheese...

   We're not through with this post yet. If you were surprised to see that recipe formatting show up again, we're really gonna bake your noodle tonight.... Oh, that was almost too perfect.
   No plate of pasta is complete without a crispy, crusty piece of garlic bread. And with Jes, you can almost be certain it'll have cheddar cheese added in. Not that I'm complaining; when we thought she was lactose-intolerant, I almost cried to consider giving up such a world of flavor.
   Anyway, I've never made garlic bread, or even paid attention while my mom did, but this is definitely not your Italian grandmother's recipe.

April 19, 2016 - Cheesy Garlic Bread

½ stick butter
1 tablespoon fresh chopped garlic
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
generous pinch shredded cheddar

Set out butter on the counter with garlic, stirring every 5-10 minutes until room temperature and smooth, about 45 minutes.
Add mayonnaise, shredded cheddar and optional sliced green onion. Mix well.

April 19, 2016 - Cheesy Garlic Bread

½ loaf French bread

Cut bread in half lengthwise, then spread mixture evenly over each and place on foil-covered pan.
Put it on top-rack in the oven at 350 deg. for about 5-8 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and golden brown.
Let it cool for a couple minutes. Then cut and eat!

November 5, 2011 - Cheesy Garlic Bread

   Notably, the first time Jes prepared this for me was the best. It was much deeper than golden brown, dried to perfection, and it had the ideal balance of all of its flavors. It may be as simple as gas vs. electric, but that discovery awaits another day.

POTATO

   Between Jes and I, "potato" is a word. Not a concept, not a title, not even the obvious name for a specific underground vegetable. In the very beginnings of our relationship (some might specify the period as mere friendship), it was a word I said at random, to break the tension of not knowing what else to say. As my social skills are often lacking, silence is usually the response I give in normal contexts, but this was an online chatroom, a whole other ballpark. Silence connotated an air of ignoring someone. If you wanted to show interest, and you weren't a normal conversationalist like everyone else, you had to speak up, even if what you typed made absolutely no sense. At least you were there; at least you were alive. 
   So, I'd type "potato." We used it in Scrabble, we used it as an insult, it was the scapegoat in everyday conversation. Among a slew of other hat-choices, "potato" stuck almost like a cuss word in our vocabulary. Ironically, it became a flavor-enhancer, and only we were in on the joke. We had even considered buying one of every variety and handing them out as Christmas presents to each of my family members. (My dad would get the fingerling.) What had originally started as a reason for Jes to call me weird now brought her under that umbrella: we were "the odd couple." And you could say bananas were equally responsible.
   So there you have it. "Potato" means a lot to us, and we're not really sure why. 

   Potatoes, on the other hand, seem to present themselves as the ultimate kitchen challenge, for myself at least. I mean, if vegetables are supposed to be easy to cook, then potatoes do not deserve to be categorized as such. Indeed, they'd probably be much more comfortable at the bottom of the pyramid.
   I must tell you about my potato stigma. I do not have the patience to cook potatoes. In fact, I very much dislike including them in any meal because of it. And I had long known that they take some extra time to reach the perfect doneness, had even unveiled secrets in my research which called for cutting potatoes in order to speed the cooking process.
   But when I decided to tackle them for the first time, in 2011—two whole months before meeting Jes in person—I had babysat them for what I was certain was borderline too-long, only to find that seasoning and plating them only made them look appetizing. The luster they lacked was obvious upon the first bite: they had simply refused to cook through. I've never resorted to using a microwave oven to actually cook something, but that was probably the closest I'd ever come to doing so. I had given up hope, and would rather stomach their undercooked bodies than heat-treat them once more for an indefinite period of time.

August 11, 2011 - Balsamic Steak

   Ignore the "steak" off to the left that appears to be crying tears of shame. There are plenty of excuses for that to be heard. But also note the date. This was four years ago. My skills, creativity, plating design, and nearly every other aspect of my former self have changed since. Only my hatred for preparing potatoes remains the same.
   OK, that's not entirely true. For one, I'm no guru when it comes to meat; but at least I can judge when it's done without cutting it open. Potatoes, however, must be in my mouth before they can disappoint me. Not a month later, I took the rest of that sack and tried again, as yet another side to a horribly cooked cut of steak. Hey, I've had high hopes for every meal I've ever crafted. It's just the fact that both of them came out unsatisfactory which shows they ended up being paired pretty evenly.

September 30, 2011 - S&P Swiss Steak

   To quote my feelings after this meal, "I do not like cooking them." There are mushrooms in there as well, and a dab of sweet hot sauce I had received as part of an online order. That probably explains the burnt goodness that tried to hide the undercooked starchiness. And I don't know what it is about steak that just begs to be paired with potatoes, but this was, in fact, the last time I put the two together—not that I stopped cooking either of them, but where I got better with beef, the other became the bane of my kitchen experience.
   Fast-forward to life with Jes. She loves mashed potatoes and doesn't mind the instant kind. I'm not a fan of mashed, but I'll eat it; I much prefer baked, and separate entirely from Jes's tastes, I think sweet potatoes are amazing. Yes, I know they're not technically potatoes. No, I don't care. But, both of us thoroughly enjoy roasted potatoes, and I am thankful that Jes has such oven expertise that she can rectify my stovetop failures.

January 10, 2015 - "Aside" Dish

   Remember those high hopes I'd mentioned? These red potatoes were originally sautéed in a pan that I had just finished sizzling shrimp in, for the fabled ramen meal of repurposed legend. I added a splash of white cooking wine and a couple of pieces of butter, then tossed these "cubes" in and did my worst. Finally, when I admitted to Jes that I could not successfully tend to potatoes, I handed over the baton and she roasted them to the perfection seen above.

Deli-cious

   After reading up on those deviled eggs we made, Jes had a sudden hankering for all things hard-boiled. Well, mainly just eggs. She made me buy a dozen in this expensive economy—there's been an egg shortage nationally, or something—on my way home from work. But, apparently, potatoes were also on her mind.
   Visit a deli and it'll be easy to see that potato salads are very popular, so much so that there's usually more than one kind (three-potato and red-skin, to name some). My absolute favorite happens to be an Oktoberfest specialty, full of flavor, oil and bacon; I am hopefully looking forward to having that this season. My mother occasionally buys the Black Bear premade stuff, which aside from the excess of runny, white mayo can be quite tasty. But homemade anything is instantly better, and is often easily recognized.
   Summer picnics, barbecues, family reunions, and general visits to my grandfather's house had my relatives eating one mayo-variety that included pickle slices and shredded carrots. Fresh, tangy, colorful, and unique—all words to describe what we call "giddo's recipe." My mom usually made it sans pickles and carrots, which I equally enjoyed, but being different from grandpa's gave his a sort of delicacy status.
   Yet, no matter who was making it in my family, the potatoes were always boiled: Peeled first, and then submerged in a bath of boiling water. (Actually, if memory serves me correctly, my mom was boiling water for potatoes when the issue of adding salt to water was initially brought to our attention.) This might be why the very first potatoes I cooked, shown above, were boiled—whole and unpeeled, because they're much tinier.
   Jes, being from the west coast, has a more unique look on foods than I've been exposed to in NJ. This is both due to regional trends (location) and her separate heritage. She apparently has a lot of Northern Europe in her blood, and while I've both grown up with and live in an area with a lot of Dutch and German influence, Jes's take on potato salad happens to be so ingenious that I'm surprised I'd never heard of the variation.
   To be fair, it's not hers any more than pickles and carrots would be mine, but her mother, Ruth, famously made it for their family gatherings where it was lovingly called "potato lollie." And the history behind it is, I think, simply beautiful:
   One Easter, Jes's grandpa wanted potato skins for an appetizer. So, Ruth baked potatoes, halved them and scooped out the meat of each, fried the skins into shells, and then added the fixings such as bacon and cheese. But what became of the actual potato? Ruth decided to take those hollowed-out guts and put together a salad. Talk about saving scraps. If one recipe doesn't need something, spend it toward another.
   Of course, the salad was as much a hit that meal. Ruth's brother would ask for it time and time again, though no one can really be certain how the name "lollie" stuck to it. Ruth will call it her Famous Potato Salad, but I don't think Jes and I can escape referring to it by its pet name, especially since I've actually tried it.

The Radioactive Potato

   We went shopping in my mom's pantry—a legitimate practice for us. A box of russet potatoes was the prize here, specifically those bearing the seal of Idaho. "Russet" simply refers to the skin color, meaning "brown." As opposed to red-, white-, blue- or yellow-skins, russets are good for baking, and those grown in Idaho are boasted to benefit from "ideal growing conditions" (true story). Personally, I don't care which state grew them, just as long as God made them.
   So, Jes took up 5 medium-sized ones, I guess the length of my palm. I don't know if my palms are big or not, but now I'm self-conscious about it. Anywho, she gave them a good scrubbing, blinded them (i.e., gouged out their eyes), and set them on the bare oven rack after it was preheated to 350 degrees. Initially, she waited 35-40 minutes, and aren't you glad I'm being so precise about this? I mean, of all things, I'm timing an oven-baked potato.
   One-liner comedian Mitch Hedberg once commented on this exact phenomenon: "Sometimes I'll just throw one in there, even if I don't want one. But by the time it's done, who knows?" True to theory, when she checked their doneness, Jes had to raise the time an additional 25 minutes. I asked her how she checks, because I was honestly intrigued, and the answer made me cringe: You squeeze them, really quick. I am familiar with the game Hot Potato, which sounds painful enough for my chicken, tender fingers, but having to reach into an oven insulated with searing-hot metal simply to do so certainly does not better my prospects. She does use a towel to protect her fingertips, but she had to remove one from the oven in order to get me to try it. A softened yet firm texture was the goal, but I'm convinced that heat was the only thing I could feel.
   When the 25 minutes were up, three of them were perceived done, while the other two received another 10 minutes, bringing the grand total time for baking these medium Idahoans to 60-75 minutes. This probably fluctuates with ovens, individual potatoes and heat-loss from opening the door, which is generally why I don't prefer timing things. But, knowing the basics such as a minimum time-frame, visual cues for doneness and the desired texture, I could probably dare to bring potatoes into my meals again.

Baking Potatoes

   Once they're done, the potatoes are set out in the open air to cool before they're finally refrigerated overnight. This will not only make the skins shrivel and separate, but will also make breaking them up more tolerable, as Ruth characteristically gives them hands-on attention. As Jes was preparing them, I would have loved to save those skins for something (I'd always eaten them as remnants of baked potatoes from my childhood), but alas! she tossed them before I could express my wishes. Le sigh.
   A day later, after peeling and crumbling them (admittedly with the aid of a knife), Jes added all of the other ingredients and finished the job before I could even wake up. The only true difference between this concoction and her mother's tradition is actually a consequence of region. The American history of mayonnaise is an interesting tale, but to cut it short, in the 20th century, the Eastern United States had Hellmann's while the Western United States had Best Foods, with the Rocky Mountains serving as the dividing line. At some point, Best Foods bought out Hellmann's brand, but otherwise kept the two distinct in name, regional distribution and recipe. So, while Ruth and Jes are familiar with one taste of mayo, the majority of the US calls another its norm.

September 13, 2015 - Baked Potato Salad

   Don't think I'm going to leave you dry. I've been saving up the suspense for this very moment. I introduce to you the first official recipe to be listed on this site, by simple virtue of it not being mine. Without further ado, I present to you Ruth's potato lollie, which incidentally shares her recipe for pasta salad:

Mommy's Famous Potato Salad

1 package elbow noodles / 4 or 5 large russet potatoes
2-3 green onions, sliced thin and broken apart
1-2 large cans jumbo black olives, cut in half (amount varies by preference)
1 celery stalk, sliced really thin (optional)
1 cup or so mayonnaise (too much will make the salad slippery)
½ to 1 teaspoon spicy brown mustard (add incrementally to taste)
salt and pepper (to taste)

Boil your noodles, don't overcook. Drain and cool.
Or, substitute noodles with potatoes. Bake your potatoes, then let them cool. Peel them and break them up into small pieces.

Cut up your veggies, then add to your cooled noodles / potatoes. Add mayo and mustard, and mix well. Taste for salt and pepper, or if it needs more mayo or mustard or onions. 

Chill for a few hours before serving.