So last winter your freezer conks and you find five whole chickens on the outer edge of thaw and you think they’d probably be fine but you just don’t have the gut-based gumption, so you refreeze and wait ’til windfall apple season and you make the following recipe:
5 whole chickens
3 5-gallon buckets of windfall apples
Some water
Boil in cauldron
Stir until repulsive
Let cool overnight
In morning, feed to joyful pigs.
Makes a pesto based on fresh garlic scapes. This is the sort of condiment for which the term “restorative properties” was coined. I would eat it with a shovel if the children weren’t watching.
My wife’s been putting fresh kale on a cookie sheet, drizzling it with olive oil, sprinkling it with sea salt, and then putting in the oven for about ten minutes at 425, and man, what comes out actually tastes like a snack. Takes some tweaking to get the timing/temperature just right, but worth it.
I mean, it ain’t potato chips, but it’s pretty dang good.
Plus that kale will grow right through those first few snowfalls…
Must be that time of year. I’ve received a number of emails asking me how to make the roast tomatoes I describe in Truck: A Love Story. It was tomatoes, fresh thyme, fresh marjoram, olive oil, sea salt, fresh ground pepper, slow roasting, and as much garlic as you like. Separate the stock and the pulp. Eat the garlic while standing at the stove. The actual recipe can be found on page 92 of Tom Collichio’s Think Like a Chef, worth buying for the photographs alone.
Truth be told, the Collichio technique, while lovely and all (the garlic…roasted in the husk…I digress), is relatively time-consuming. This year we’ve dealt with the tomato overload by making “Tomato Glut Sauce” from a recipe in Joan Gussow’s This Organic Life. You can get through a monstrous bunch of tomatoes with this one, and the sauce is fine, fine.
Having held this opinion for decades, I will now speak: Pringles are salted on the wrong side. You place one on your tongue like a tiny saddle and the salty part is against the roof of your mouth. As delightful as these mysterious chips are (mysterious because they are less than 50% potato...!?!?), imagine the exponential flavor explosion if the salt and flavor crystals were actually facing tongue-ward.
Got hooked on Pringles early when Mom brought some home. Mom was notoriously frugal (oatmeal in 25-pound bags) so it might seem counterintuitive that she would be purchasing packaged junk food, but I recall those early canisters (or perhaps the print ads) featured comic drawings showing the chips being punched out and baked in a science-fiction sort of way. This suggests to me that they were probably offered at a low introductory rate. Also, we lived in range of a test market, so we often got cut-rate deals on new food products.
One hesitates to always default to Wikipedia, but the Pringles entry is a quick, interesting read.
Anyway. C’mon Procter & Gamble: flip those chips.
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