Fløtegrøt

Thanksgiving with the family is often a good opportunity to get together and make nostalgic, traditional foods. For our family, that includes such classics as potato klub, potstickers, and "party salad." This time, we decided to tackle a Norwegian favorite known as rømmegrøt. Although we had never made it before, rømmegrøt is a staple at Norwegian and Scandinavian events in the upper midwest. Or so we thought! Upon further research, I discovered a split in the recipes. Some started simply with heavy cream while others required turning the cream into sour cream overnight. As it turns out, it is only the latter that is truly rømmegrøt, and the non-sour version is actually called fløtegrøt. It appears that as the dishes made their way to North America and proficiency in the Norwegian language declined, "rømmegrøt" came to refer to both. I suspect what most people around here have called rømmegrøt is, in fact, fløtegrøt. Whatever you call it, it's delicious and surprisingly simple to make.

As always, I aggregated several recipes to make this one. The basic structure is the same, although there is some variance in the amount of flour. For this recipe, we used the full 1 cup, but the result is at the high end of thickness that I would want. My recommendation would be to cut it down to 3/4 cup and see how that goes. The most surprising thing when making this is how the butterfat almost immediately separates out once the flour is added. It's one of those things that seems like it won't work but just does. This recipe is most closely based on one from The Best of Scan Fest by Cheryl Long, although that book calls it rømmegrøt. I must also give credit to the 1950 First Lutheran cookbook (also the source for the party salad recipe) from Roseau, Minnesota. The recipe there, called "flodegrod," follows the same steps, although it lacks any measurements. Given the relative simplicity to make, I'm a little disappointed I waited this long to make it. An added bonus: "fløtegrøt" is pretty fun to say!

Clam Dip

My dad started making this clam dip about 20 years ago and I've enjoyed it ever since. I wish I could credit the original author, but all I know is that it came from a 2002 issue of Gourmet magazine. Gourmet ceased publication in 2009 and this particular recipe doesn't seem to have been archived. The recipe I've posted here is my adaptation of dad's adaptation of the original. It's a great snack or appetizer served with chips. All the amounts here can, and should, be adjusted to personal taste.

My main change has been in the garlic and clam juice. I grate the garlic on a microplane, which releases a ton of flavor. I've realized lately that recipes measuring garlic in cloves can be a big problem since they vary in size so much. I've been getting garlic from our local farmer, whose garlic comes in massive cloves about 2-3 times the size of those typically found in the grocery store. With something as potent as raw garlic, this can make a big difference. Grating helps measure more consistently. My recommendation is to be careful as you can always add more garlic, but can't take it away. For the clam juice, I added one tablespoon at a time until the consistency was right. Four to five tablespoons should do it. It should be fairly loose but still able to be picked up with a chip. The scallions came from our garden. With the incredible heat this summer, most of our vegetables didn't do as well, but the scallions were very successful.

Apples and Honey Cocktail

Apples and honey are the traditional food of Rosh Hashanah. The idea of turning that into a cocktail has been kicking around my head for a while. This cocktail builds on the classic sour template. A sour includes a base spirit, lemon or lime juice, and a sweetener - the daiquiri is arguably the purest expression of the concept. Inspired by the holiday, I built the cocktail with apple brandy and honey. Angostura bitters add some spice and an egg white froths up nicely. The end result was pleasant and well balanced. If you like it a little more tart or a little sweeter, play with the amounts of lemon juice and honey.

I am by no means an expert on apple brandy, as the one I used here is the only one I've ever tasted. I used Laird's Straight Applejack 86. From what I've read, some cheaper apple brandies are cut with neutral spirits, so try to find one that is 100% apple. The apple flavor is quite subtle when sipped neat. I think it could be used in place of other brandies or aged spirits in general. Honey mix is a simple combination of honey and water in a 1 to 1 ratio. Without the water, honey is very difficult to incorporate into drinks. To make it, combine in a saucepan and heat over low heat, stirring until homogeneous.  Transfer to a bottle and keep in the refrigerator. It features in such classics as the Prohibition-Era Bee's Knees, the modern Gold Rush, and a variety of tiki concoctions. The last thing to mention here is the dry shake technique. This means to shake without ice for a few seconds, before adding ice and proceeding as usual. Dry shaking is used to build more froth when working with egg whites.

For the holiday meal, I made a brisket similar to what I've done before. This time, I pushed it in a slightly different direction, incorporating ketchup instead of mustard. Ariel made a noodle kugel and a challah. It was enjoyable as always - they're classics for a reason.

Upgrade: Portuguese Chicken (葡國雞)

Portuguese chicken (translating literally to pou gwok gai in Cantonese, pu guo ji in Mandarin, and galinha à portuguesa in Portuguese) is a dish that fascinates me endlessly. It's a fusion of east and west that could only have been born in its own specific context. Back when I wrote about it in 2012, I noted that little was written about it (at least in English) on the internet. There's quite a bit more now, but it's still not a widely known dish. It also doesn't show up in any of my Chinese cookbooks. I still don't know if my version is authentic, but I can tell you it tastes good and improves upon my previous one in many ways. One of those can be seen in the photo, where the deeply colored sauce appeals a lot more than the bright yellow of my previous attempt.

Despite the name, Portuguese chicken does not originate in Portugal, but rather the bustling southern Chinese city of Macau, which was an outpost of the Portuguese empire for over 450 years. The food of Macau blends Cantonese cuisine with influences brought from around the world by Portuguese traders. As such, Portuguese chicken features some ingredients not commonly seen in other Chinese dishes. Most recipes feature five main components: chicken, potatoes, onion, coconut milk, and turmeric but diverge from there. Other possible additions include sausage, olives, and bell peppers. Some are simmered on the stovetop, while others are baked as a casserole. In some versions, the casserole includes rice on the bottom or desiccated coconut sprinkled on top. I decided to keep it simple and stay on the stove in a wok. This also makes it easy to thicken and adjust the sauce at the end.

After I wrote my original post, I found out I was not the only member of my family to be a fan of Portuguese chicken. As it turns out, my grandma went to school in Macau for a time and enjoyed it regularly. She informed me back then that my version was incorrect because the chicken and potatoes should be cut into smaller pieces. Cutting smaller does make more sense to eat with chopsticks and also helps everything cook more quickly. Another change I made was to crank up the seasoning and build a more complex flavor in the sauce. I also chose to marinate the chicken this time. Sources vary greatly on what should go in the marinade, but I went with a classic Chinese style. I included just a little dark soy sauce for color - don't overdo it. Some recipes use more spices in the marinade, while I put the into the sauce instead. I did not have any Portuguese chouriço (in fact, I have no idea where one can buy such a thing) but did have some Spanish chorizo on hand that worked well here. Some Cantonese lap cheong would also probably do just fine. The versions I recall from Shanghai did not include any sausage, and that works as well.

Ratatouille

Bonne fête! It's that time of year again, when we celebrate Bastile Day through classic dishes of France. Our Bastile Day feast started with escargot and bread and continued into a pan-seared ribeye and ratatouille. I've enjoyed ratatouille here and there over the years and made it a few times before, but had not yet dug into the sources on it. Julia Child has two versions, both on the fancier side, with thin slices of eggplant and zucchini layered between the peppers and onions. Mark Bittman's recipe does the same. Jacques Pépin goes with a more rustic style with cubed vegetables all mixed together. That is the form of the dish I'm most familiar with, so that's what I did here. The most interesting thing I took from these sources is to keep the cuts of vegetables large, so that each can be enjoyed on its own merits. This recipe makes a lot, but the sources agree that ratatouille is excellent both cold and reheated.

Ratatouille is a classic dish of Provence, the southeastern coastal region generally known for its seafood. As I wrote on 2019's Bastile Day post, olive oil, garlic, and tomatoes are characteristic of Provençal cuisine. These elements are central to ratatouille, as well. The four other vegetables featured here (eggplant, zucchini, bell pepper, onion) seem to be the most commonly used, but can certainly be swapped out. It's an excellent way to use up summer vegetables like yellow squash or kohlrabi. Any fresh herbs you have on hand can also boost the dish. I used basil because I tend to have a lot of it on hand this time of year. I will finally note that I increased the recommended baking temperature to 400, up from the 350 I used. A dish composed entirely of vegetables has a lot of liquid, which could have been reduced more. At that higher temperature, it may be necessary to stir more often.

Parmesan Garlic Wings

Chicken wings are a perennial favorite in our house. We order them frequently at restaurants and for takeout and also make them at home. While I still love Buffalo-style wings (as seen in my 2015 recipe), I've been experimenting with parmesan garlic wings lately. The air fry setting on our convection oven gives great, consistent results. A combination of potato and corn starch as a coating helps get the wings crispy and helps them hang onto the sauce. Of course, the wings can be deep fried instead but air frying reduces the hassle and mess.

This recipe is the culmination of several test runs over which I've made many adjustments. In the first attempt, I cooked the garlic in butter and added the cheese, which promptly fused together into a big mass. I realized what I needed was some liquid for the cheese to melt into, creating basically a thicker version of sauce Mornay (last seen on this blog as part of a croque madame). This creamy style of wings is commonly found at midwestern bars and pizza joints, like Vermillion's own Old Lumber Company, although mine might be a bit more complex. For a version omitting the cream, the wings could simply be tossed in the garlic butter and sprinkled with grated cheese before serving. 

The sauce is on the rich side, so I've made some adjustments to make the dish more balanced. Red pepper flakes add some background heat to the wings, but I don't add enough to make them overtly hot. A little lemon juice adds some much-needed acidity to a sauce that can otherwise be one note. Both of these elements can (and should) be adjusted to taste. The sauce is meant to be quite thick so it can coat the wings, but it can easily go too far into a paste-like consistency. It does thicken as it cools, so the wings are best served immediately when the sauce is ready. The parsley garnish is optional, but a little green goes a long way for the presentation.

Rum Nectarine Smash

Summer truly arrived here in Vermillion, with temperatures in the high 90s yesterday. Armed with a big box of nectarines from Costco, it's a great time for a refreshing new cocktail. This recipe is a combination of Dale DeGroff's Whiskey Peach Smash (found in The New Craft of the Cocktail, a great compendium of drink recipes) and a daiquiri. The nectarine is very present in the drink, and rounds off the bracing tartness found in a regular daiquiri. I enjoyed mine at the grill while cooking a big batch of char siu.

My base spirit of choice here is El Dorado 5 Year, quite possibly my favorite rum for cocktails right now. I previously used this for my eggnog recipe and as before, Pusser's is a good substitute. Or, just use your favorite aged rum. I'm sure peaches would work just fine in place of the nectarine, as in DeGroff's original. Either way, it's a perfect drink to kick off summer on the porch.

Upgrade: Fish-Fragrant Eggplant (魚香茄子)

I first wrote about fish-fragrant eggplant (yuxiang qiezi) back in 2017. That post was already the product of quite a bit of experimentation. In the years since, the dish has remained a family favorite and we've had it many times both at home and from restaurants. In that time, I have continued to tweak the recipe. The basic structure of this new version is consistent with my previous one, but subtle changes can bring great improvements. A great lesson from the upgrades series has been that recipes aren't settled things. Make the food that you like, which is not necessarily what someone else wrote down.

The dish continues to be built around 1 1/2 lb. of Chinese eggplants. Traditionally, the eggplant is deep fried, and that's how you would get it at a Sichuanese restaurant. Eggplants absorb a lot of oil, so they have to be pressed to expel it before continuing on. Getting a pot of hot oil ready is a hassle for what amounts to a single step in the recipe, so I previously got by with stir frying the eggplant. This also takes a long time and doesn't quite achieve the right effect. Instead, I now "air fry" the eggplants to brown them and drive off moisture. This can be done unattended while you prepare the rest of the ingredients. I also do the same for dry-cooked string beans. 

The other big change is in the sauce. In my old version, it's simply too salty, so I cut the soy sauce in half. Instead, I lean into the sweet-and-sour aspect of the dish and bring up both the vinegar and sugar. The result is a more nuanced flavor which is no longer dominated by the soy sauce. I now like to add some ground meat to the dish, a familiar flavoring method seen in other Sichuan dishes like mapo doufu and the aforementioned string beans. Traditionally, only a small amount is used (1/4 lb. would probably be about right), but I like to bulk it up a bit to make this the main event in a dinner for two. In a meal for more people, I would make a separate meat dish. To make this vegetarian, the pork can certainly be omitted and the stock replaced with mushroom broth. As with my other versions of Sichuanese dishes, I split the spicy doubanjiang with Koon Chun bean sauce to take the heat down - feel free to adjust to taste.