The Dinner Files

Last night my world fell apart. And thus so too did dinner. Just a bit.

My Very Tall Cousin’s Norwegian girlfriend had been home over Christmas and made lefse from scratch with her stepmother. Lefse, in Norway, is a traditional food and made, she said, really mainly at Christmas time. Most people buy theirs – often from old ladies who make them at home – but her stepmother thought she’d try it and was amazed as how easy (just time consuming) it was. She came back full of will to make lefse – and to teach me how to make it.

So on Sunday she and My Very Tall Cousin showed up, with lefse ingredients in hand. They came upstairs and she unpacked the ingredients on the kitchen counter: flour, milk, butter, and sugar.

Where are the potatoes? I asked.

What potatoes? she responded.

Isn’t lefse a potato bread?

(And here all you Minnesotans will want to hang onto your hats because your minds are about to be blown.)

No, lefse is just plain and you fill it with butter and sugar.

I thought it was a flat potato bread.

No, that’s potato lefse. Just lefse is plain, with butter and sugar.

And, according to Wikipedia, she is right about the food of her country. According to the stack of English-language Scandinavian cookbooks on my shelf, she is on crack. But these books were all written by Americans for Americans. In Minnesota you can buy lefse at plenty of grocery stores. It is always potato lefse. Always. I had literally never heard of lefse being anything else until last night.

Forge ahead. The dough is very cool – just 2 cups scalded milk, 1 stick melted butter, and 2.2 pounds of flour beaten until it holds together in a shiny mass. It’s soft and pliable but holds together and doesn’t stick.

Then came the extensive rolling –

The rolling actually takes both time and a fair amount of effort because you want it paper-thin. Really, what you want is to get it read-through thin –

Getting each lefse this thin is, as you might imagine, a total pain in the ass. The best combination for this feat was the much-used (and thus constantly well-oiled and seasoned) cutting board and the rolling pin with actual handles. Rolling on the almost-never-used-for-direct-food-contact side of the kitchen cart with the handle-less French-y style rolling pin was not so much fun. In a way, it’s easy to roll out. It has the consistency of playdough and doesn’t stick much, but it has a tendency to bunch up and fold onto itself if you’re not paying attention or you’re using the above-mentioned poor combination of location and pin. We all took turns, and drank beer or wine (or, in Ernest’s case, a rare treat of ginger ale), and made a good time of it as we rolled, cooked the lefse on a pancake griddle instead of an authentic lefse grill, and – and I believe this is quite different than with potato lefse – layered the lefses ain between damp kitchen towels to soften them. Once properly pliant, they were spread with a butter-sugar mixture, folded, and stacked – ready to freeze as you see at the top of this post.

Then it was time for dinner. I had defrosted a top sirloin roast from my meat CSA, salted and peppered it and let it sit in the fridge overnight. Then I just roasted it at 450 until a meat thermometer read 135, let it rest so the temp would go up to 145, sliced it and served with butter braised cabbage and celery salad. And no potato lefse.

The problem was that none of the three thermometers in my kitchen drawers were registering any temperatures at all – but I didn’t realize that for awhile, what with all the lefse rolling business at hand. The meat all got cooked to medium well, which was a shame. Luckily, I had made a horseradish whipped cream (whip some heavy cream until it thickens and soft peaks form, stir in freshly grated horseradish and salt to taste). It was delicious. Beyond delicious, actually. And, as My Very Tall Cousin pointed out, it was like putting Cool Whip on meat. In a good way.

After letting the cream melt like butter onto the steak, and enjoying the horseradish tang on the deeply savory and seasoned meat, we headed back to the kitchen, for more spreading and folding and to eat our fill of lefse. Or, as my dashing husband dubbed it, “sugar bread.”

I am burying the lede. I forgot to take a picture of the lede. The lede should be (and in life was) the rib-eye steaks from our meat CSA. I defrosted a pair – they were cut a bit thin and I was worried they would cook up ill, but they were delicious simply grilled over a hot flame for 5 minutes on each side having only been lightly drizzled with a bit of oil and salted fairly liberally a moment before being laid ever-so-gently on the piping hot grill grate. I was so excited to eat them that picture-taking was the last thing on my mind as I sliced them diagonally and dabbed them with a garlic compound butter.

I served them to my dashing husband and young Ernest along with some grilled potatoes (with more of the butter slathered onto those, you can be sure) and the salad you see above. It was all very summery and satisfying. It was my last dinner in San Francisco for awhile. Ernest and I are headed to Northern Minnesota for a nice long stay again this summer. What draws us there? Well I could go on and on about the clear lake water for swimming and the extended family for fun and the walleye pike for eating but let me sum it up thusly: the living is easy and the child care is cheap.

I spent last night at a friend’s beach house in Manzanita, Oregon. We drove out from Portland yesterday, took a walk on the beach in a wind so bitter it made my Minnesota-raised eyebrows hurt; grabbed juicy, delicious, happy-beef (no hormones, no antibiotics, lots of exercise) burgers at the San Dune Pub that were most unfortunately accompanied by cardboard-like onion rings but most fortunately paired with glasses of chocolately Guinness and eaten next to a roaring fire; and went to bed early. We woke up to big, fat, white Christmas snowflakes droppping like so many bleached feathers from the gray sky. I have never seen waves crashing into snow. It is a marvelous thing to behold.

This weekend we had more people to dinner (not a dinner party, oh no). My Very Tall Cousin Sam and his Viking Goddess girlfriend stopped by. Very Tall Cousin Sam had volunteered his girlfriend to make “something Nordic” so the pressure was on. They arrived with a bag of groceries they lugged across town on their bikes, two giant smiles, some Norwegian chocolate for Ernest, and a cookbook for me. 

Next thing I knew we were downing luscious slices of gravlax draped over snofrisk-spread toasts and drizzled with a sweet mustard sauce. I was so busy snarfing slices down I forgot to get the recipe for the sauce. I’ll get on that. 

Then we sat down to a tasty Braised Beef With Paprika & Root Vegetables I’d been working on, served over a Norwegian-made celery root puree (celery root cubed, boiled until tender,then mashed with cream and butter), with a side of brussels sprouts (I left out the bacon from that recipe), which Ernest insisted on having. While he was picking them out at the store he expressed a desire to “grill” them. Then at dinner he was put out that I hadn’t “fried” them. Since I’ve never grilled or fried brussels sprouts, I was a bit confused.

Who had time to cook? I had presidential debates to watch. Well, just the one last night, but you know what I mean. I’d been slaving all day on a last minute story for The Man. The Man, however, was in a better place, thank god, so the whole thing went more like this:

The Man: We’d love you to do this story that you are uniquely qualified to write, would you do that for us in exchange for this small pile of cash?

Me: Why yes, I would, thank you for thinking of me.

[time passes]

The Man: This is great, thanks so much!

Me: You are very welcome.

I have to say, that’s about the level of drama I’m willing to deal with in professional relationships. Does it make good reading? No, not really. But I like how it doesn’t drive me insane and allows me to focus energies elsewhere, like into giant-ass needlepoint projects.

So anyway… back to dinner. It was a night of full-on freezer adoration. I went down to the freezer in the basement, rifling through the containers and bags, and pulled out some lemony lentils and spicy beef stew from an Ethiopian Feast I made in July. With an arugula salad (leaves from the farm box) and some sliced cucumber salad, we were all set. Oh yeah, plus the leftover butternut squash from the night before. Serious scrounging, yes. In a way it was a meal that was just working through what was in the house. In another way it was a tasty, nutritious dinner.

BTW, the cucumbers were “inspired” by this little number created by Jess over at Hogwash. Except I really didn’t have any of the key ingredients except the cucumbers. But still, I sliced them as thin as possible on a mandoline, which was step 1 of her recipe. Some day when champagne vinegar and chives grace my cupboards I will make that salad. Last night I just tossed them with a bit of oil and rice vinegar and plenty of salt. Boring but tasty. And cooling next to the stew.

So called, I believe, because it hangs off the diaphragm. Also the only loner muscle in mammals? Can that be right? Something like that–only non-symmetrical muscle… someone should google that.

In any case, it is a delicious cut of meat. Somewhat newly fashionable. Something the butcher used to keep for himself. Something young chefs are throwing on menus left and right. We tucked into a fabulous version last night at a friend’s house. Marinated in rosemary, nicely seared, and cooked to a perfect medium-rare. I am full of iron. Ready to take on the world.

“I don’t usually eat food like this at my house,” said our tiny dinner guest.

Ernie’s friend was as polite as could be, but our dinner as a whole did not appeal to him. Luckily, he found the spongy buckwheat flatbread irresistible and there were popsicles in the freezer for dessert, so he won’t forever associate dinner at the food writer’s house with starvation.

My dashing husband and omnivorous son were more enthusiastic about the experiment. The beef stew was fabulous, as were the lentils. My efforts with a version of the potato-carrot dish I’ve had at restaurants was a bit of a bust. Tasted fine, but a bit watery. Back to the drawing board with that and the injera–too dense and not spongy enough for a spongy flatbread.

Beef wat

2 Tbsp. butter

2 onions, finely chopped

1 tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. freshly grated ginger

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 Tbsp. hot paprika

1 Tbsp. cayenne (or less if you’re scared you big baby)

1 tsp. ground cumin

1 tsp. fenugreek

1/2 tsp. ground cinnmon

1/2 tsp. ground cardamom

1/2 tsp. tumeric

1/4 tsp. ground allspice

1/4 tsp. ground cloves

1/2 cup red wine

1 can tomatoes (14.5 oz)

2 1/2 lbs. beef chuck, trimmed of as much fat as possible and cut into 1/2-inch cubes

Melt butter in a pot over medium heat. Add onions and salt and cook, stirring frequently, until well browned. Add ginger and garlic and cook, stirring, until fragrant and incorporated with onions. Stir in all spices. Cook, stirring, until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add red wine and cook until pretty much evaporated, about 2 minutes. Stir in juice from canned tomatoes. Use kitchen shears to cut up tomatoes in can and add to stew. Stir to combine. Add beef and bring mixture to a boil. Cover, reduce heat to maintain a simmer, and cook until beef is unbelievably tender, about 2 hours.

Like all stew, this is even better the next day. To the point that I would recommend making it a day ahead and reheating it for the main event.

Here is my biased, unsolicited advice: If you are going to invite a food writer to a barbeque and if you are also going to ask said food writer if the tri-tip is done and if said food writer tells you that yes, in her opinion the tri-tip is at that exact moment grilled to absolute perfection, if all of these things are true, take the goddamn meat off the grill.

You don’t need to invite her (although she sure likes it when you do) and you don’t need to wave her over to the grill away from delightful conversation and put her to work at your party (although she really doesn’t mind), but if you do,  listen to her. Don’t, after all that hassle, over-cook the beef anyway.

Luckily, the beef wasn’t too terribly overcooked, just a bit more towards well-done than most people would probably like. The crowd was a forgiving one–former colleagues from Sunset–who I have witnessed dig into uncooked cake and burnt turkey. Everyone seemed too engrossed catching up and comparing the competing slaws to worry too much about the meat.

Two and a half years ago Ernie and I tried to go to The Hitching Post II, you know the one, the one from Sideways. I was down in Santa Ynez to be Sunset girl at a wine club event. I did so as a last-minute favor to the wine editor, and I had two conditions: that I bring Ernie (then 3) and that our hotel have a pool. He was a huge hit at the wine club event–running through the vines, grabbing handfuls of pinot noir grapes, shouting “Mama! These grapes are good!”

Our duty done, we ate aebleskiver in Solvang, we frolicked in the freezing hotel pool, we gazed at the moon turned red by wildfires farther south, and generally had a lovely little mother-son getaway. The only real downside of the trip was the insane wait at The Hitching Post II, which had been so highly recommended by both Sunset wine editor and Sunset travel editor. A wait insane enough to put me off.

Last night redeemed that disappointment. I went to the Hitching Post II. I ate grilled artichokes with a smoked tomato mayonnaise concoction that had the addictive quality of crack (why else was I thinking of ripping open a package of crackers in order to finish off the sauce when I had a giant-ass steak coming?). I felt my saliva glands activate when a perfectly cooked steak was placed in front of me. I tasted fried as fries are meant to be: crisp, golden, well-salted, and cooked in beef fat.

As great as the steak and its fixin’s were, the highlight for me may have been the relish tray. I know why relish trays fell out of favor: because too many people made bad versions of them and gave them a bad rep. When a relish tray is fresh and well-composed, it is divine. Divine, I say! I’ve been putting them together for dinner parties–often in lieu of the more filling pre-dinner cheese plate–for a few years and hope to see the trend go beyond my living room.

For those of you not from the midwest: a relish tray consist of carrot sticks, celery sticks, olives, and pickles. Add radishes or cherry tomatoes for color, spicy pickled okra to be a bit daring, or your own pickled garlic among true friends. I liked the pepperoncini at The Hitching Post II, but it seemed dangerously close to an antipasto platter….

When my dad used to go out of town it meant eating tuna casserole (which I LUVED) or this awesome faux-souffle my mom would make with eggs and cheese and it would bake up puffy with crispy edges (and I LUVED that too) at the kitchen table with the TV on. It was awesome.

When my dashing husband, semi-vegetarian that he is, goes out of town it means meat. Sausage one night, beef the next. I saw some bee-u-ti-ful little white turnips with their greens still attached at the market the other day. I knew immediately I would make Beef Baked with Turnips and Black Pepper from Madhur Jaffrey’s Spice Kitchen.

First of all, it contains lovely little turnips and BEEF. Second, I’ve had this dish before and it is unbelievably delicious (although, admittedly, no beauty contestant). Third, I hadn’t cooked from someone else’s recipe in so long I was starting to really miss it.

So I cooked the recipe as is. Pretty much. I streamlined some technique because that is my way. Poke 10-15 little turnips with a fork. Toss with 3/4 tsp. salt and let sit while you do the following. In a large heavy pot (like a Le Creuset) heat a bit of vegetable oil and brown 2 to 3 lbs. trimmed boneless beef chuck cut into 1 1/2- to 2 -inch pieces. You’ll need to do this in batches and watch it closely. Take your time. Deeply browned meat is the secret to delicious stews of all sorts.

As each batch browns, transfer it to a bowl .When all done preheat oven to 350. Meanwhile, cook 3 minced onions and 6 cloves minced garlic in the oil and browned (almost burnt!) bits in the pan. The almost burnt bits will loosen right up. Cook, stirring as you like, until onions start to brown. Add 1 Tbsp. ground coriander, 1/2 tsp. coarsely ground black pepper, 1/4 tsp.cayenne, and 2 tsp. salt. Cook, stirring, for a minute. Stir in 1 1/4 cup yogurt and 1 cup water. When everything combines into a sort of sauce, add turnips and beef (plus any liquid that’s accumulated in the bowl). Bring just to a boil. Sprinkle with 1 tsp. garam masala. Cover pot with foil and its lid to seal it as much as possible. Bake 1 1/2 hours without so much as thinking about looking at it.

Madhur Jaffrey has you then “reduce” the sauce on the stovetop, but I’ve never found there is so much sauce to reduce. Instead I let the whole thing sit in the turned-off oven until dinner time (5+ hours – no food poisoning yet!) and reheated it on the stove, resulting in a nice second-day stew effect, which we all know is way better than fresh stew.

We had it with plain basmati rice and turnip greens quickly cooked in a bit of olive oil and a sliced clove of garlic.

Ernie did not really care for the turnips, but he loved the greens–especially while he was allowed to play “twirling greens” (related to twirling strawberries – food item is twirled before eater’s mouth and then eater tries to bite it best they can) so I could take pictures. Once they were snapped he was told to use his fork. How’s that for some awesome parenting?