Winner, Winner, One-Pot Dinner

Well, almost. This recipe suggests a frying pan in addition to a pot, but based on a recent article by John Willoughby of The New York Times' Dining and Wine section, you might just get away without it.

It all started with the promise of ripe avocados. During a weekday shop at the Covered Market, my greengrocer spotted me eying a basket of what appeared to be delectable Israeli Hass avocados. They had that almost-shriveled, blackened exterior and gave immediately to the touch. 'This can't be', I thought, greedily adding a handful to my basket. Avocados with ripe, creamy flesh suitable for guacamole are a fruit that has achieved grail status among circles of ex-pat friends, especially those from California, and the odds of finding such things are about 1 in as-many-miles-as-we-are-from-San Diego. And yet we comb produce bins of the major supermarkets, along with the baskets of the handful of markets and greengrocers in a dogged, sisyphean effort to find green gold.

So, you can see how, with a nod from this nice man that 'these'll be great for guacamole', I couldn't resist. In retrospect, however, the fact that he asked me if I'd 'like some cucumber for my guacamole' should have killed any lofty expectations of the authentic specimens I craved...I sliced and diced as soon as I was home from work--all brown and stringy, save one, which was willed into a pseudo-creamy mush with vicious mashings of a fork.

Unwilling to accept defeat, I got started on everything else to go with it. Here's the recipe:

One-Pot Stewed Chicken with Chorizo

Yields 4 portions
Time: 2 hours

• 4 skin-on, bone-in chicken legs with thigh attached (preferably free-range, organic), patted dry with kitchen roll
  
• 110g (approx.) chorizo sausage (one that has a good kick of heat and plenty of paprika), casing removed, and cut into 1-cm pieces
• 1 Tbs butter
• 3 Tbs olive oil (needn't be extra virgin)
• 1 medium-large white or yellow onion, peeled and sliced
  
• 2 cloves of garlic, peeled and minced
• 1 Tbs ground cumin
  
• 1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp nutmeg
• 2 tsp tomato paste
• 1 8-oz tin of whole or crushed Italian tomatoes (needn't be seedless)
• 1 Tbs dark muscovado or brown sugar
• 1 Tbs white wine vinegar
• 1 bay leaf
  
• 3-5 whole cloves
• ideally 2 whole tinned chipotle peppers in adobo, chopped (I had to substitute 2 red chilis, with seeds, minced and 1 tsp chipotle-style hot sauce--not at all the same thing, I know!). This is all to taste, of course. If you're not a fan of chilis, go easy and use just one.
• Salt and ground black pepper
• Tortillas
• Lime wedges, soured cream, guacamole, to serve as accompaniments

It's a laundry list of ingredients, but the idea here is that by combining all of these robust flavours, you'll be left with incredibly tender meat and a rich gravy.

If using the browning method, first heat a skillet on medium-high heat. Add the butter and olive oil and brown the chicken pieces, one-to-two at a time for a few minutes per side, until the skin is browned and starts to crisp. Transfer the chicken to a casserole or a deep pot. Lower the heat to a medium flame and add the sliced onion, stirring occasionally so that they soften and turn translucent rather than brown. Once they're softened, add the garlic and spices (cumin, cinnamon, nutmeg), turning over so that the onions are coated. Add the tomato paste and stir for a further minute or so. Add everything to the chicken in the pot. In the same skillet, raise the heat slightly, and sautee the chorizo until crispy and browned, 2-3 minutes. Again, add this to the chicken, onion, and aromatics.

The skillet can now be retired, and the pot or casserole should be set on a medium-high flame. Add in the tin of tomatoes, sugar, vinegar, bay leaf, cloves, and peppers (or chilis). Give the pot a good stir with a wooden spoon, making sure that all the chicken is coated with liquid, and add enough water so that the liquid is almost level with the chicken. Stir well again and bring the pot to a rapid simmer.

Once the liquid has reached a rapid simmer/boil, turn the heat down to a very low simmer and simmer, covered and stirring occasionally (every 15-20 mins. or so), for at least 1 1/4 hours (up to two hours). As the fat in the chicken and the sausage will rise to the surface during cooking, and there will be an ample amount of it, skim the surface of the simmering liquid with a large spoon, discarding the fat.

Place a strainer over another deep saucepan and drain the entire contents of the pot into the strainer. Pull out the chicken and reserve. Press the sausage and onion and spices against the strainer to release any other juices and set the sausage-tomato-onion remnants aside to serve later, if desired.

Set the strained liquid in the saucepan onto a high heat so that it begins to reduce to at least half its original volume. Once reduced, taste for seasoning, adding salt and pepper as needed.

Pick all of the meat off of the chicken, discarding any bones or skin. Try not to eat it all in the process! The meat should fall away from the bone.

Once the sauce is reduced, how you serve this dish is up to you! I returned the chicken to the reduced sauce and served in warm tortillas with a squeeze of lime, coriander, soured cream, and tomatoes. You'll have just spent a lot of time developing that rich gravy, so there's no need to add much to it. Another variation might be to serve the chicken pieces whole, with the sausage, onions and gravy over the top (remember to pick out the bay leaf!), with rice or couscous.

While perhaps a bit time consuming, the overall effort is minimal and the flavours robust--part sweet, part smokey and hot from the sausage and chipotles, part tangy from the vinegar and tomatoes, and the chicken is melt-in-the-mouth. It is a satisfying weekday supper, even when the avocados are brown!

With thanks to E. for her help with the recipe!

When a Craving Takes Flight

Recent weeks have been peppered with a sense of longing. I'm not sure that 'nostalgia' is the term I'm looking for because that implies a lingering sentimentality, whereas these moments were fleeting-acute but not weighty enough to bring out the Linus security blanket and a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Though I DID recently purchase some Dalesford Organic vanilla to try...

One food memory in particular came to the fore on Friday afternoon. I wanted buffalo chicken, and I wanted it bad.

In the town where I went to college, there was a pub called Wendell's. They were famous for their wings, and the small operation supplied myself and friends many much-needed pitchers of beer and bowls of wings towards the time our theses came due. Wendell's was the kind of place where locals grudgingly shared the greasy air with the 'gown' crowd; the fact that a website for the place is even in existence is a bid odd. However, their wing reputation clearly precedes their 'Two fryolaters, one grill, and only one cook'.

A quick search for the 'ultimate' buffalo recipe led me to the Anchor Bar's recipe, arguably the 'original'. The next major hurdle was to track down some Frank's Hot Sauce in Oxford. After posting a desperate message on Facebook, the sauce was sourced from Waitrose--just a short bus journey away--and I was determined to make these wings.

At just 1.75 GBP for a package of two dozen chicken wings, I decided to splurge and get some tenders as well. After discovering chipotle paste in stock, how could I not?

I stuck as close as possible to this variation on Anchor Bar's recipe; I lightly oiled the wings, tossed them in flour and baked at 425, turning over once, for about 40 mins. I followed the sauce recipe as closely as possible, too, though I had to substitute chili powder for cayenne and fresh garlic for garlic powder. A toss in the sauce and there they were--in their spicy, vinegary glory. Nothing beats that singe-your-nostril-hair acidity cut with tangy heat. Having oven baked them with just two Tbs. of vegetable oil, and having used half-fat bleu cheese dressing, I felt almost guilt-free about all that crispy chicken skin.

For the tenders, I coated them in 1 Tbs. of oil, 1 Tbs. of Frank's, and 2 Tbs. of chipotle paste, followed by a quick egg wash and, finally, a coating of breadcrumbs and baked them in a similar manner.

I'm thinking these will be great throughout the week in wraps and salads.

Roast Chicken Salad

Keeping with this recent theme of posts to do with leftovers, I thought this warm salad of leftover chicken might make a timely addition. With the mercury dropping, or, in Oxford's case, a seemingly constant cold rain falling, I find myself craving stodge in a primal way--somewhere, deep in those rare, remaining empty fat cells there is a concerted, biological chorus of voices cooing 'fatten up for winter!'

And in a last-ditch effort this week to stick to healthy dinners, this salad fit the bill as both warming, satisfying and...well...not unhealthy.

Mixed greens, washed and torn
1/2 small white onion, finely sliced
1 garlic clove, minced
1/2 bulb fennel, finely sliced, exterior layer removed and discarded.
1 apple (Pink Lady is a favourite), cut into fine slices
Leftover roasted chicken
Stilton or blue cheese, crumbled, to taste
Cashew nuts (optional; toasted almonds or pine nuts could work, too)

3 Tbs. olive oil
1 Tbs. white wine vinegar
1 tsp. Dijon mustard (whole grain mustard would be fine as well)
Salt
Pepper

In a small saute pain, add 2 tsp. olive oil and saute the onion over medium-high heat until soft and beginning to brown; then, add the sliced fennel and garlic and continue to saute another 2-3 minutes. Lower the heat and add in cubed chicken, stirring until the chicken is heated through.

Whisk together the last five ingredients in a large bowl and toss with salad greens. Layer the greens on a plate, followed by the sliced apples, chicken/onion/fennel mixture, Stilton, and cashews.

The salty tang of cheese, sweet apple, combined with the savoury warm ingredients hits every note and creates a satisfying mouthfeel without any stodge!

Inaugurating the Mortar and Pestle

May the gods of flat letting be praised: I have a place to live. With the end of my cushy student housing contract looming, these past days have been rather hair-raising.

The exciting thing is that the new pad is not far from one of Oxford's Asian markets, and there, tucked away in a dusty corner of racks of plastic wash bins, woks, and wire baskets it called to me:

a Thai granite mortar and pestle, not unlike this one.

Try to imagine, as hard as it may be, life without a food processor. Difficult, I know. Yet now, dear reader, you realise how joyous a day it was when my hand mixer came into my life. And now, to add to the pantheon of gadgets, a mortar and pestle!

This new acquisition and subsequent christening meant one thing: curry.

I trotted over to the market and picked up lemongrass, baby Thai aubergines (if you haven't tried these yet, do!), shallots, chilis, nam pla (fish sauce), sambal oelec (chili paste), fresh turmeric (you'll never go back to powdered), galangal, and peanuts.

I had diligently watched Rick Stein travel his way through Asia on his 'Rick Stein's Far Eastern Odyssey', and I was hungry. The pastes used as the bases for the dishes explored and explained in Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, Bali, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka had such striking colours, interesting textures, and left me yearning for the mingling aromas of lemongrass, fresh turmeric, and chilis.

The only disappointment I feel obliged to express here is a certain Eurocentrism that coloured his commentary. Perhaps Oxford's post-colonial contingent of the English Faculty was as small then as it is now, but I really did expect a more enlightened, less complacent tone from the OBE. Whether the writer(s) was Stein himself or a group of BBC producers, either way, Stein's reluctance to walk along a Phuket beach because--he states more than once--it would be too cliche does not jive with observations of rural Bangladesh like, 'It looked to me like scenes from ancient Egypt along the flood planes along the Nile', and 'thanks to a massive population, everything is done by hand'.

Somehow, I have to believe that the back-breaking labour of brick makers and rice paddy workers has far less to do with mere population numbers and much more to do with global trade and the exploitation of a product and a people (particularly the rural populations) by Western consumers who aren't willing to pay the true price of their imported goods.

Another line pulled me up short: 'I feel slightly proud of being British because we introduced tea to Assam. And here it is, it came from China in the first place'. This sense of (misplaced?) pride and awe is a constant throughout the series, with Stein focusing far less on the realities currently facing the people of these countries than on romantic asides that smack of nostalgia for the days of Conrad. While it certainly must have been exciting times in Assam in 1838 when that first dispatch of 160 Kg of tea was sent to be sold at London's India House, not one word was mentioned of the tea crisis in India of the past decade. The British did not 'introduce tea to Assam', but certain multinational corporations who shall remain nameless have succeeded in fostering a growing preference for soft drinks, which, along with the global financial crisis, continues to threaten the tea industry in India, Kenya, and Sri Lanka.

I truly do enjoy listening to Stein talk about food. It's clear that his awe and affinity for Asia comes from a place of respect and good intentions; I just wish the travelogue commentary could have stuck to food, or, better yet, acknowledged the hardships faced by those in the food production industry of these countries.

OK, now that that is off my chest, back to this recipe. I freely admit that this concoction is in no way an 'authentic' version of any one national dish. It is, rather, what I found to be a combination of flavours that are largely Thai, but one that certainly does not strictly adhere to what a Thai curry should entail.

Annie's 'Thai' Curry:
(yields approximately 4 portions)

4 garlic cloves
7 shallots (substitution: 2 small red onions)
2 1-cm cubes fresh turmeric
1 stalk lemongrass
1 1-cm cube galangal
2 handfuls of plain (not roasted) peanuts
3 red Thai chilis (bird's eye), 3 green Thai chilis (to taste)
4-5 Tbs. sambal oelek (to taste)
1 tsp. lime zest
Juice of 2-3 limes (to taste--I like lots of chili and lots of lime)
4 Tbs. nam pla
1 Tbs. ground corriander
1 Tbs. ground cumin
1 Tbs. garam masala
Fresh corriander
Salt

4 chicken breasts
4 baby Thai aubergines
4 tomatoes (with or without skin)
2 Tbs. palm sugar
1 can coconut milk

Jasmine rice

1. Toast the peanuts in a skillet, and get to chopping!

2. Chop as finely as possible and add to the mortar: shallots, garlic (use a garlic press), lime zest, tumeric, galangal, and chilis.

3. Cut the root tip off of the lemongrass and pummel the length of the shoot with a rolling pin to soften the inner flesh and chop finely. Add to the mortar and, using the pestle, work into a paste. One small handful at a time, add the toasted peanuts, alternating with lime juice, and sambal oelec. Then add the dry spices to taste.

4. Cut the rinsed aubergines with tops removed into quarters, lightly salt, and sauté in a deep pan until just brown in a few tablespoons of oil. Remove and set aside.

5. Cut the chicken breasts into small, bite-sized pieces, salt and pepper, and brown in the same pan, adding a small amount of oil, as needed. While the chicken browns, add about 10 shakes of nam pla. Remove browned chicken and set aside.

6. Add enough oil to barely cover the bottom of the pan, bring to medium-high heat, and add the paste from the mortar. Stir-fry the paste for about two minutes, then add the chicken, aubergines, tomatoes, and a few shakes more of nam pla. Let cook, stirring often for about 4 minutes. Then, add a palmful of palm sugar and as much coconut milk as you'd like (I used about 3/4 can to make a lot of creamy sauce). Lower the heat to medium-low and let the curry simmer for at least 20 minutes. For a rich curry, add the entire can of coconut milk and let the curry reduce further.

Serve with jasmine rice, fresh coriander, and chopped peanuts.