Fajita taco enchiladas

I'm on this kick lately of trying to use leftovers creatively--or at least, to consume them in a different way than I did before they were left over and were something resembling a meal. I made buffalo tacos on Thursday along with a pot of peppers and onions, which I like having alongside whatever. But peppers and onions make rather horrible leftovers, and the buffalo, on the second night, just didn't look appealing. So I layered them with some cheese between soft taco shells, and now I'm pretty well convinced I'm a genius. I should market this as a hangover cureall, because I think it'd do the trick for people who get hungry hangovers like I do.

I like the buffalo taco recipe in and of itself, it's thick and better than the packaged stuff, and it could, honestly be spicier if I had less fear of red pepper. It's pretty basic, once again courtesy oc Cooking Light:

1 teaspoon canola oil
1 cup chopped onion (about 1 small)
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 pound lean ground buffalo
1/3 cup tomato paste
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon ground red pepper
2 cups water

Fry up the onion, garlic, and buffalo in the oil. Once the meat has browned, add tomato paste and spices; stir to combine. Add water; bring to a boil; simmer 20 minutes or until thickened. The first time I had this on soft corn shells with crunchy boston lettuce, tomatos, cheese, black olives, and sour cream, as the recipe advises. I had the peppers and onions--one red, one orange, one green, and about two sweet onions, cooked over medium low heat in a Dutch oven coated with olive oil and cooking spray for as long as it takes to get them cooked down to the right color and consistency for your taste--on the side. And then the other night, I tried this:

1. Spray a small pan with cooking spray. Lay in a soft flour shell. Spoon out buffalo:

2. Cheese it.

3. Spoon over buffalo peppers and onions:

4. Cheese it, again.

5. Press it down with something heavy; this is the colander part of my steaming pot weighted with the first two jars I put my hands on, one of sliced beets (mm), one of olives.

6. Place pan over medium heat:

7. When the sizzle gets good and snappy, tip the pan away from you and flip with your favorite flat spatula:

8. Press again under weighting device. Perhaps figure out how to use your camera before the burning part:

9. Slop on plate:

10. Masticate with great delight.

You might not HAVE to get drunk before you have these, but... why not anyway?

I know what you're having for dinner

Not to be creepy with the title, but seriously, you must try this chicken. It was crispy and sweet and perfectly done, and not too spicy. And worth the smoke in my kitchen, despite how much it, and the very idea of using the broiler, freaks me out.

I'll admit the picture doesn't make it look mind-numbingly appetizing, but a) I suck as a food photographer thus far, and b) IT TOTALLY IS.



It has not been the best summer for cooking--too hot, too poor, too tired, too lazy, too frustrated with my ever-confounding digestive system. And tired as I was today, the idea of another night of pasta or leftovers was more exhausting than that of cooking, and making something new rather made me feel much better. Chicken, my mom's potato salad, some spinach, iced tea, and it was a nice, easy dinner that tasted good and was fun to make. Balm to my annoyed soul.

Recipe from Cooking Light--and, by the way, CL has a weird habit of suggesting cream-based dishes made with cream cheese, which is the oddest thing ever. The consistency is never quite right, even if the taste is all right. Feels like diet food.

This one, however, didn't:
Spicy Honey-Brushed Chicken Thighs
2 tsps garlic powder
2 tsps chili powder
1 tsp salt
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp ground red pepper
8 skinless, boneless chicken thighs
Cooking spray
6 tbsp honey
2 tsps cider vinegar

1. Preheat broiler.
2. Combine spices in bowl, toss chicken to coat thoroughly.
3. Broil chicken on a broiler pan coated with cooking spray (I pressed tin foil to the pan, made it easier to turn) for five minutes on each side.
4. Combine honey and vinegar, stirring well. Pull chicken from broiler, brush top side with half the honey mixture; return to broiler for one minute. Turn, brush with honey, and broil for an additional minute or until chicken is done

I didn't have to cook it longer than this, and it came out perfectly done, not the slightest bit dry and almost delicately crispy on the outside.

Sissy, you must try this one.

why did the chicken

I have been in a cooking rut for some while, lots of chicken and pestos and pastas. And, last week, a rather bland combination thereof.

Sample one: the lemon-herb roasted chicken.



Really, really good.

The second attempt was, surprisingly, better, but somewhat... the opposite of aesthetically appealing.



I've been playing a lot with leftovers, hence the pasta and pesto. I always have pesto around, just because. I love it, it's easy to make, it goes with tons of stuff, and you can make it a hundred different ways. And all these things lead to meals like this:



Peas, chicken, artichoke hearts, pesto, and orzo. And some cheese, we shall not forget the parm. It hit the spot when I made it, a nice carby combination of green, but it didn't keep well.

The thing with the chicken is, again, that it's an easy recipe and I can make it at the beginning of the week and have sandwiches with something other than deli meat all week. Also, enchiladas, pizza, a la king, chicken salad, etc. I was actually absurdly ambitious the last time I made it and got up at six and put it in the oven before work.

The lemon-herb recipe is great and goes with everything, but I skipped it this week and used Bon Appetite's roasted pesto chicken. And I'll admit, on this one, that while I prefer the homemade kind and I did have some in the fridge, I followed the recipe and used store-bought this time. Which, consistency-wise, was a good choice, and I had a guarantee there'd be enough.

The recipe is courtesy of Bon Appetite's 50th anniversary book. There are additional ingredients and directions for making gravy, but I've yet to do so.

1 6-7 lb whole chicken
1 tbsp fresh rosemary
1 tbsp fresh thyme
lemon zest
garlic
1 stick of butter, softened
salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 450.

Combine herbs, zest, salt, pepper, and butter, combine thoroughly. Rinse the bird inside and out and pat dry. Loosen the skin on the breast and legs. Spread herbed butter over the breast and legs (under the skin), inside the chicken, and all over the outside of the bird. Massage the butter into the skin as well as underneath, over the breasts and legs to get everything thoroughly coated.

Cook bird uncovered for 15 minutes, then drop the temperature to 375. Cook another hour and 15 minutes or until you poke the chicken in the thigh and the juices run clear.

tragic inability to spell the word congratulations

So, I tried my hand at cake decorating tonight. A local (and fantastic) bakery held a class, so seven other novices and I showed up to learn how to make borders, roses, and how to best frost a cake. The decorate who led the class was great: energetic, passionate about her job, and patient. I had so much fun, and I'm doubtful that's just the sugar talking.

I also, it turns out, am a hideous cake artist. Jen, the leader, did offer me a spot in one of the kiddie classes, so maybe there's hope for me? I'm okay with rather sucking at this, because it means I can practice and get better. I certainly can't get worse.

This is my cake, pre-frosting. I had some trouble cutting in half; the slice through the middle was uneven at best.



Jen helped me smooth out the frosting, as I botched it.



Are you prepared for my genius?



No, really.



That's just the border. That's not too bad, right?

...compared to the rest.

Ta daaa!



Whee!



(The roses look much better from the top.) (I swear.)

At least I couldn't mess up the taste.



I'm so going to buy a kit for this.

Dressed Up Dolly

When your sister says, "How come you never...?", what she really means is "I want you to..." And since we're making the same dish tonight, albeit in two different ways in two different tiny apartment kitchens, this seems as good a time as any to let her think she can get her way.

Around our home, breaded chicken breasts or cutlets browned in olive oil with lemon slices and sherry is known as Dolly chicken, named after the lovely culinary genius Aunt Dolly, our mother's aunt and the closest we've had to a grandmother in our lives. Anything that Aunt Dolly makes tastes better than anything else in the world, no matter what it is. I don't know what it is she does, but I suspect she employs some sort of Sicilian sorcery; everything she makes with her two hands is simply delicious. Family logic demands that when we try to replicate her recipes, we call them "Dolly X." Dolly chicken. Dolly burgers. Dolly rice. Dolly broccoli. Dolly... eggplant parmesan. Dolly coffee cake. (The secrets to some of these things are silly, you know. Dolly rice is actually risotto milanese, but we didn't know that for a good long while, and I'm pretending I've never, ever heard the story that Dolly coffee cake is Duncan Heinz.)

When I lived at home, Dolly chicken was pretty much a weekly staple, because it was easy, fast, and made with sherry. These are all good things for week night cooking. I had some chicken tenders in the fridge tonight--I stock up on these because it's cheaper and easier cooking for one to buy tenders instead of breasts--and after going through a list of meals I really didn't want to make or eat, I decided on the fallback that is always good, Dolly chicken. And for reasons inexplicable--or maybe just because cooking is soothing and my subconscious wanted to destress without alerting me to said stress, I decided that regular Dolly chicken wasn't quite enough for tonight. I wanted to make something more. I really, really liked the results.

(I unfortunately do not have a photo of the results because my camera's lost its charge and none of the batteries I have seem to be working. Next time.)

Dressed Up Dolly Chicken
1 lb-ish chicken breasts, cutlets, or tenders
2 egg whites, beaten just slightly
seasoned breadcrumbs
grated parmesan cheese (or romano, asagio, whatever's handy)
lemon zest
lemon juice
dry or cream sherry
capers
marinated (or plain, whatever trips your tongue) artichokes, one small jar

In a large bowl or on a plate, pour out your desired amount of breadcrumbs--however much it's going to take for the amount of chicken you have--and combine with a good full handful or two of cheese and the zest of a lemon. Dip chicken into egg whites and then thoroughly coat with breadcrumb mixture. Add olive oil to a medium-to-large skillet over medium-to-low heat, and place the chicken. When the bottom begins to brown, turn the chicken pieces and add the juice of one lemon. (If capers and artichokes aren't your thing, cut up another lemon into thin, translucent slices and use them to cover the chicken at this point--the chicken will get lemony and stay nice and moist that way. The capers will give it a slight salty bite.) Sprinkle the skillet with capers and drained artichokes. When the chicken's nearly done, add a splash of sherry to the bottom of the pan. As soon as the alcohol cooks off, you're done and ready to serve.

We generally have this with parmesan orzo or rice pilaf, it's a nice side to the sweet, citrusy chicken. I also like it with steamed broccoli--or peas. Pease go with everything.

it's because of the paprika

I'm conveniently Hungarian when the occasion requires.

(Such occasions include clothes shopping and hefting anything remotely more weighty than a loaf of bread. My sturdy Eastern European build means that I cannot fit into anything that's narrow at the hips or in the shoulders or has buttons over the bust. It's a broad generalization, and I'm sure there are many women of Eastern Europe who are lithe and lovely (and also lucky bitches), but a brief glance at the remaining photos my mother has of her family in Hungary, and you'll understand why I've taken to calling myself a strong Hungarian woman whenever I lug groceries or work out. I've got shoulders to bear a heavy load and hips to bear babies.)

There are other times when it strikes me completely unbidden--my affection for soups, which I inherited from my mother, is a Hungarian one. I've long thought that my taste for red onions, beets and other rooty vegetables come from that side of the family, but I've no idea if that's true. It's something my mother has said, when I reach for the creamed onions or put mushrooms in just about anything: "Your grandmother would be proud." (Honestly, my knowledge of Hungarian culture and cuisine is limited to my own household and my week-long visit there a few years ago. I aim to read a bit about it this year to educate myself.) One particular craving I've never had, historically speaking, has been for cabbage. That may not be the case anymore.

My mother went with me on my weekly grocery trip on Saturday, due to a bad case of the dizzies on my part, and one of the first things we saw when we walked in was a huge crate of heads of cabbage. And they were beautiful cabbages. They were lovely: big and leafy, invitingly just tinted green and white at the base. They even smelled good, mellow and smooth, somehow. I had to have one, and I knew only one way that I could have it: stuffed, just like my mother makes.

I'm sure--and I'm sure that my sister can attest to this--that stuffed cabbage was not necessarily something I clamored for growing up. Mom didn't make the stuffed cabbage as often as she made the stuffed peppers, which featured the exact same stuffing and topping. When she made either, she made a load of the stuffing and kept it separate, I remember, and that was probably for mine and Sissy's benefit. We loved the stuffing, how sweet and creamy it was. As we shopped, I made Mom pick out all the ingredients for me, choosing the perfect head of cabbage, the sauce, and the paprika.

We didn't end up buying paprika at the store that day--they had the generic paprika spice, but when aiming for anything made with paprika, I strongly advise you (and by you, I mean more specifically, my sister with her CVS brand spice!) to choose the more expensive, Hungarian brand. Go for the authenticity; it's not just a fancier spice, it's an imported one, and it's worth the extra coin. There are two kinds, hot and sweet, and while I could have used the hot sparingly in this dish, I wanted it for the sweetness I remembered. Mom had an extra cannister at home, and I filched it.

I googled the recipe today out of curiosity, and it turns out that Mom's recipe is fairly close to the "traditional" ones teh internets have to offer. Hers is just much simpler, lacking egg and onion. As I said, it's great for stuffed peppers as well, and I've a hankering to try it with mushrooms. Just out of curiosity.

For stuffed cabbage (of which I do not have a picture due to: dizziness, flickering electricity, and the fear that it had come out completely wrong):

Head of green cabbage
2 (8oz) cans Hunts no-salt added tomato sauce*
1/2 to 1 lb. ground meat, depending on how many you intend to feed and your preference; we've always had it with ground beef, and my mom suggested ground sirloin, but you can also make it with ground turkey if you don't do red meat. I made mine with a half pound of ground buffalo meat. It's very lean and has a very rich flavor.
1/2 to 1 c. white rice (uncooked)
sweet Hungarian paprika, to taste**
salt and pepper, to taste
sour cream***

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Peel individual leaves from the head of cabbage and trim them; you want the tough, white base that makes up the spine of the leaf to be removed. I found a large V-cut out left me with as much of the leaf as possible and made for easier folding as well as getting rid of the part you don't want to eat, because it's gross. Blanch cabbage leaves in boiling water (and a touch of vinegar, if you have it handy; I did not, and they blanched just fine) until limp and bright green. Lay them on paper towels to dry.

Cook rice according to package instructions. For a half pound of meat, a half cup of uncooked rice makes just the right amount. It's easy enough to double up on both. Brown the meat and drain.

Combine rice and meat and douse with as much paprika as you care to. Taste as you go, especially if you don't usually cook with paprika, as it is very sweet. The rice and meat will take on the rust color of the spice. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Spoon rice and meat mixture onto individual cabbage leaves and roll or fold them closed. Place each roll seam-side down in a casserole or baking dish.

When all rolls are assembled in the baking vessel, smother them well with tomato sauce. Add a dollop of sour cream to each.

Bake 30 minutes with a pierced foil cover over the dish. Remove foil and bake 10-15 minutes more.

Let cool, and stuff face.

*Honestly, I know that this sounds like making meatloaf with ketchup, but the paprika does all the work for this recipe, and the sauce, plain and as is, is a good pair with the way the rice makes the stuffing a little creamy, as well as the sour cream.

***I recommend not using a fat-free sour cream, which I did, and which frightened me. The sour cream does congeal a little, according to my mom, but the fat-free kind seemed unnaturally caked where it was and didn't bleed into the tomato sauce the way I'd hoped it would. It basically doesn't add as much to the dish as it should have. The little bit of fat will make all the difference.

**Get this:

Promise me. And if you don't, please, please don't tell me.

tastes green

I made my first pesto sauce a week ago, and it seemed to be missing a something at the time. I decided I'd try again sooner rather than later (which, I assure you, has nothing to do with wanting to use my Cuisinart mini-prep chopper/grinder, a Christmas gift), so tonight: pesto.

It came out a little differently tonight than I'd anticipated. Last time, the consistency was more uniform, smoother. I do realize that this is a ridiculously simple recipe, but I'm new to adjusting recipes to my taste, instead of following the recipe to the letter, and frankly, I haven't gotten the hang of using a food processor quite yet, even a mini one. My kitchen went from being gizmo-free to... less gizmo-free. I'm still trying to get the hang of my low-end immersion blender. I'm learning, is my point. When I made this sauce the last time, I think I grated the cheese first. I tried to run it through the grinder tonight, but instead of getting fine enough to blend, the parmesan was just pulverized into tiny pebbles. I used more cheese this time around, thinking that the grinder would do as a grater, which I think accounts for the better taste. It was a little less bitter this week, a little bit fuller. And it still had that nice, sharp pesto flavor that I love; it really did taste green.



Recipe courtesy the Bon Appetit cookbook, though it does seem a pretty standard recipe:
2 c. fresh basil, packed
1 c. grated parmesan cheese
1/4 c. pignole (pine nuts)
1/2 c. olive oil
salt and pepper to taste