Oven Fried Oysters: Cooking the Books

Every winter, my husband an I get together wtih two of our friends and we eat approximately a million oysters. We shuck one, we top it with some sauce (or not), and we slurp it down. Then we repeat it. A lot. There is wine, and for the pretense of virtue, there's water and bread. It is...Oyster Fest.

Yesterday, we had our sixth annual Oyster Fest. And, breaking with tradition somewhat, we actually planned to (gasp) cook some of the oysters. I know. I know. It's a strange course of action, but when one is staring down at hundreds of bivalves, one has to start thinking outside the boundaries of tradition. So, what's a wayward cookbook blogger to do? That's right: reach for Cook Book Presented by The Fishwives of Charleston Oregon.

Oven Fried Oysters

Drain oysters and dry thoroughly. Roll in buttered crumbs. Sprinkle with bacon fat and diced bacon (cooked until soft but not browned). Bake in hot oven (400) 15 to 20 minutes until nicely browned. Serve with lemon.

Millie Henkle

Well, okay then.

I did two batches of about 20 oysters each. There was no draining needed, as they were coming out of the shell not a can -- though I did reserve the liquor. I mixed up about a cup of seasoned breadcrumbs (to which I added a hearty amount of freshly ground black pepper and a big pinch of salt) with the melted fat rendered from the bacon (I had about a quarter cup). I figure this: why use butter when you've got bacon fat at hand? I mixed in fat until the crumbs were moistened and the mixture seemed uniformly sandy. One at a time, I patted oysters dry and chucked them in the bowl with the crumbs. I tossed them in the crumbs, and then spaced them out in a 9 x 13 baking dish. Then, I actually did sprinkled bacon over the top, trying to get at least a few pieces on each oyster. Since I'd used up the bacon fat, I saw no need to sprinkle on more bacon fat (though, hey, if you've got it, might as well).

15 minutes at 400°F got them nice and hot and not a bit rubbery. They likely could have gone a full 20, but I'm really opposed to rubbery oysters (which is why I never cook them in the first place). As they came out of the oven, I sprinkled on a big pinch of salt, even though more salt on oysters might seem like coals to Newcastle.

Friends, I'm here to tell you, these are good. We scarfed them down right quick -- eat them when they're hot. They are dreamy with a squeeze of lemon. They're also pretty darned amazing with a drop of chipotle Tabasco.

This recipe is a keeper. But really, did you expect the fishwives would steer us wrong?

Blueberry & Blackberry Boy Bait: Cooking the Books

It's September 11, 2011, and I celebrated the second day of being in a Toxic-Free Zone (TFZ), media-wise. I invited a friend over for movies, made up a big super nacho, and, because nothing makes a TFZ quite like the scent of baked goods, I baked.

Specifically, I baked a Boy Bait...with variations from the original recipe (I know you're all terribly surprised).

Variations:

• I used blueberries and blackberries.
  
• I used a whole lot more blueberries than called for -- a whole big pint container, not just one cup.
  
• Yes, and then blackberries in addition to that...a 4 oz package.
  
• I didn't use nutmeg, because, well, I found out I didn't have any nutmeg in the house.
  
• I did have cinnamon, though.
  
• I ran out of sugar -- what sort of baker am I? -- so filled out the "sprinkle on top" sugar measure with cinnamon sugar.

I recommend upping the amount of fruit like I did. Otherwise, you're having much more cake than fruit. This gives you a good duality. And, yes, I said "cake" -- it's much more cakey than a clafoutis or any crumble, crumb, or whatnot.

The recipe came together just fine. A survey of other boy bait recipes online show that others are way more complicated, with whipping of egg whites and folding in of same, and cutting cold butter into flour... this is easier.

In the original post, I talked about how I liked how the ingredients list was ordered. Well...I take it back. The first measure of sugar, the butter, and the eggs should be together, at the top of the list, and then the dry, then the milk, then the toppings. So sayeth me.

I would serve this slightly warm with ice cream, or completely cooled with whipped cream or Cool Whip. I didn't, though, and it was just a touch on the too-dry side...and that was with the extra fruit!

Cooking the Books: Dom's Mom's Meatballs

It's day two of a four day weekend for me, and I've a clean kitchen and a non-over-stuffed fridge. This means...

Time to cook.

I wanted to chop, and I wanted to mix, and I wanted an excuse to eat pasta. So, I hopped on over to the grocer's and bought all the fixings for Dom's Mom's Meatballs, the quintessential meatballs from Dom DeLuise (and his mother).

Of course, there are in-the-moment variations: I upped the amount of parsley, because I couldn't bear the thought of using just a bit of a bunch, knowing I'd not use the rest of it before it went bad. I bought pre-seasoned breadcrumbs, feeling in part like I was a poseur, but also admitting that, damn it, really good seasoned Italian breadcrumbs are, in fact, really good. I grated my cheese (parmesan -- Mr. DeLuise doesn't specify, but, c'mon, ya know his mom's using parmigiano) because the stuff in a shaker jar just isn't good enough for a loving batch of meatballs. I didn't measure the cheese -- it was closer to 4 oz by weight than by volume. I used 1.5 pounds of ground beef, and 1 pound ground pork, mostly because I couldn't buy a smaller portion of pork, and so I thought my option was "double the recipe" or "just switch proportions." There's only two of us -- well, three if you count Puck the Corgi -- and we've a small little freezer, so making 40 massive meatballs seemed foolish at best.

The meat mixture is resting right now. Didn't take any photos during the assembly & mixing process, because my hands were busy, and dirty. Perhaps I'll ask Nick the Chefly Husband to take some pictures as the shaping process happens. If so, I'll post 'em here. If not, well... They're meatballs. I assume they'll be brown and lovely, and eventually covered in red sauce and served with penne.

And a lovely glass of almost-undoubtably-red wine.

Cooking the Books: Tomato & Buttermilk Soup and Hard Cooked Eggs

I don't know what's got me on a buttermilk kick lately, but a kick I am on. It's also hotter than heck in DC right now. So, I decided it was time to try Tomato & Buttermilk Soup. Last night, I pulled out two Mason jars. I poured buttermilk in one, up about 1/3 of the way. Then, I topped the jar off with tomato juice. I screwed the cap on, gave it a shake, and put it in the fridge. I remembered it this morning while leaving work -- small miracle, that -- and popped it in the work fridge until lunch.

It was cold. It was delicious. I didn't add salt -- the tomato juice is plenty salty -- or pepper or any such thing. That being said, I can see a couple dashes of Tabasco working nicely here, or a sprinkle of dill, or fennel fronds, or grated cuke, or... really, whatever you have handy that is tomato-friendly.

I drank my soup right out of the jar. I shall do so again tomorrow. It doesn't look like much in this picture here -- if you want a more-vivid color, then use more tomato juice, or try some paprika (ooo, paprika would be good in here...).

The only lunch prep I did for this week that required a stove was boiling up a bunch of hard cooked eggs. Followed the recipe (with mother in law alteration) and once again, ended up with perfect, perfect eggs.

As to the second jar I mentioned up there in the first paragraph, I filled it 1/3 of the way with steel cut oats, and then poured in buttermilk until the jar was 1/3 full. Screwed on the cap. Set it in the fridge overnight. Opened it this morning to fill the jar the rest of the way with fresh blueberries (frozen fruit works, too), and took it off to work where it made one heck of a hearty breakfast. Texture: like Grape-Nuts. And we all know how much I like Grape-Nuts.

Cooking the Books: Bacardi Rum Cake

I said it was Cake Day, and Cake Day it is! I decided it was high time to make a Bacardi Rum Cake. I had all the ingredients in-house, including some lovely eggs from Washington's Green Grocer. Though I normally prefer to make a cake from scratch, I honored the original recipe and used a mix.

...Okay, I didn't honor it all the way...

I used half a cup of walnuts, not a full cup, and I'd feel free to omit them entirely if you have concerns about nut allergies (or if you don't know for absolutely sure that your cake audience is allergy-free).

I nabbed a box of cake mix that did have pudding included, and yet, rebel that I am, I added a box of pudding, used 4 eggs not 3, and had a full half cup of oil.

My oil was not Wesson.

My rum was not Bacardi.

And, believe it or no, I used a Bundt pan. I live in a 1937 apartment; my oven is TINY. As much as I love 9 x 13 inch pans, the narrower footprint of a Bundt just works better in my oven -- the heat can actually circulate.

The cake went together easy peasy. It filled the house with amazing scents. I had no problem getting the cake out (my Bundt is non-stick, and I buttered it liberally). And the glaze... well! I've never cooked a butter/sugar glaze before -- most cake glazes I do are water and confectioner's sugar. This took more time and stirring, but turned out beautifully. I poured it slowly over the cake, trying to let it all soak in, but there was still a pool of glaze when I was done -- you can see the pool in the picture above.

No worries. Just keep going back as it cools further, and use a spoon to, well, spoon the glaze from the pool over the cake. The glaze thickens as it cools; after a few times going back to lacquer the cake, there'll be nothing left to spoon.

The cake is gorgeous. It smells wonderful. And I can't wait to try it.

Cooking the Books: Tangy Cucumbers

Some things in life seem so basic, so natural that to discover them writen down can come as a shock. "Wait, there's a recipe for that?" I cried, when I came across the basic natural it's-always-that-way cucumber dish in the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008:

Tangy Cucumbers
Betty Mellberg McKenzie

1/2 cup white vinegar
1/2 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
Water

Slice cucumbers into a bowl. Add above and then put enough water to just cover the cucumbers. Keep in fridge. They get better the longer they sit.

"Seriously, a recipe?"

But then, if this isn't the only way you were ever served cucumbers as a child, this is just the sort of thing you need. (No hyperbole there; it seems we always had a jar of these in the fridge, which is a neat trick, because I could eat all the cukes in one sitting without trying.) It is, indeed, tangy, as the title (and the vinegar) suggest. You could fancy it up by adding dried hot pepper flakes, or thinly sliced onions. I do not. You could use a food processor or mandoline to ensure uniform, nearly-transparent thin slices. I do not. And yesterday, Washington's Green Grocer brought me two cucumbers...

I scrubbed them, and realized they were still very waxy. Out came my trusty Oxo vegetable peeler, and in a trice, off came the waxy peel. A bit of casual knife work, and I had a bowl full of uneven but beautiful slices. I ground a good healthy amount of black pepper on top, and sprinkled a hefty pinch of salt over. Then, I poured 3/4 a cup of vinegar over, slowly, to wash the spices into solution. Yes, 3/4 cup. I love vinegar. And, yes, white vinegar. Other than Easter egg dying, this is the only food application for white vinegar in my life; otherwise, I use it mostly for cleaning. I topped off the cukes with one scant cup of cold water...



...and then I ate the top layer, with my fingers. Yes, it tastes better after it sits. But, yes, I could eat it right away. It took all my willpower to not tuck in with a fork, but... there's always tomorrow.

Cooking the Books: Popovers for Piglet

This is what happens when popovers don't pop over. Epic failure.

I'm at a loss. This recipe has never failed me. Ever. My chefly husband tried to console me with a well-meant, "Popovers are notoriously difficult!" Yes, well, this recipe has never, ever failed.

Lessons learned: I may well have figured out how to bake in my tiny tiny half-sized oven, but the tricks needed can't be used on popovers. Anything that requires me to not open the door for 25 minutes is just going to bomb.

:sigh:

I was really looking forward to the popovers. Not only for beautiful blog fodder and a great wrap up to The Pooh Cook Book, but because I was craving them. For breakfast.

:sigh:

Trust me: it does work, this recipe. But you need enough room in the oven for good air circulation. And it wouldn't hurt to have a window on your oven door.

Chefly Husband says that, since the only leavening agent is the eggs, the oven must have been too cold. Since the bottoms are burned, I'm thinking that, in theory, the oven temp was just fine...until the pans went in and blocked all circulation. So, hot on the bottom, cold on the top, not good for popovers.

When I try it again -- and I will -- I'll either cook 'em one pan at a time, or try stacking them... it is entirely possible, however, that my oven is not meant for popovers.

Cooking the Books: Mulatto Rice

For all my thoughts of The Savannah Cook Book's Mulatto Rice as "pantry food," I must confess I had no bacon in the house, no onions, and no rice.

The last one isn't quite true. I've heaps of arborio, and piles of sushi rice, and various bits of basmati and jasmine. That said, I had no long grain white rice.

I hopped over to my local Safeway and got my supplies, and headed home to make a mess of food.

I cooked the rice separately, because I wanted to save time, and also because I was highly suspicious of the recipe -- I didn't think there'd be enough liquid in a pint of tomatoes to cook a pint of rice, and frankly, I didn't want to stand over it, fretting and fussing and wondering if I should add water or stock until it was done.

I recommend this method, also recommend that you use stewed tomatoes if you do the "I'm in a hurry" method. Diced tomatoes hold on to their acidity if they're just warmed through, and the acidity is not a welcome companion here.

I used a whole 12 oz. package of bacon, and removed just a touch of the rendered fat. After I removed the bacon (to drain crisp on a paper towel lined plate), I chucked in the diced onion and saw the white white onion take up the little black specks, and thought again about the "touched by a tarbrush" idiom -- such things one can learn in one day.

You don't need to add salt or pepper -- the bacon and bacon fat bring all the seasoning to the dish.

It's simple. It's homey. It's tasty. It's definitely worth cooking up, and makes me curious about cooking more recipes from The Savannah Cook Book (even if the descriptions and recipe titles are cringingly racist).