MUSEUM WINNER'S PIE

Settle in friends, it's time for a bit of cooking.  You may remember that my sweet sister and her husband lean toward Kentucky gifts at Christmas, and 2012 was no exception.  This beauty of a cookbook arrived shortly before Christmas and I've been eager to get into it ever since.  I volunteered to bring a pie next Wednesday to our Heavenly Hash group and, in Derby parlance, I'm "off and running" into the Dessert Section or, as they call it, "The Twelfth Race."   There are 65 entries in the 12th Race and I'm just a little taken aback by the number of steps involved, the emphasis on "from scratch" ingredients (who knew you made a coconut pie after draining the milk, removing the brown skin and grating the meat!), and the amount of bourbon necessary for the successful completion of many of these recipes...and that's before you pour any for yourself.

 

Yes, dear friends, in this cookbook bourbon is a near necessity.  If you purchase "The Kentucky Derby Museum Cookbook",  you might as well just stop at the liquor store on your way home and pick up a bottle.  And let me save you from no little amount of embarrassment.  It's part of my job here.  Tennessee Whiskey is not the same as, nor can it be substituted for Kentucky Bourbon.  Don't even ask or try to sneak it through.  Don't.

 

After hours of searching and dithering, I decided to make "Museum Winner's Pie".  It called for two Tablespoons of bourbon or, in very small print, suggested that I would be allowed to substitute one teaspoon of vanilla.  What's with that?  Do measurements not count anymore?  Do they not know how many efforts I have ruined by mistaking a big "T" for a little "t"?  Generally, if you use a big "T" (Tablespoon) instead of the required little "t" (teaspoon), it shows up right away.  On the other hand, if you have used a little "t" instead of the recipe's big "T", it just seems rather bland and, perhaps, a touch dry.  I'm not taking any chances.  I'm going with the two Tablespoons of Kentucky bourbon.

 

I know I mentioned the book's propensity for "from scratch" ingredients, but if this cute little doughboy can whip out really good piecrusts, why should I get in his way?  You go, little guy.

 

 

Well, there it is.  It looks a great deal like chocolate chip cookie dough--a little more pale and gooshier perhaps--but definitely just as good.  I know that because I threw caution to the winds, ignored the raw egg situation and had a taste.  I believe, however, that the 2T of Jim Beam probably took care of any bacterial threat while adding a really nice kick to the whole thing.

 

And, now, for the final product.  I"m kind of surprised because I had expected that the one cup of chocolate chips would turn the whole thing chocolate, but instead, it looks rather like a huge chocolate chip cookie.  I can't wait to try it.  BC--would you like a piece of pie? 

My intent, of course, was to try this new recipe before presenting it to our Heavenly Hash friends and, perhaps, all of us dropping over dead from some grotesque printing error.  I don't believe there were any mistakes here.  It is, per BC, pretty darned rich and, I do have to admit, he's right.  I've had three pieces while trying to decide if it's TOO rich and if I need to add whipped cream or vanilla ice cream to temper that a bit.  Or, of course, there's always the French solution to such a quandry...simply serve a smaller portion.  I'm going to try that now.

RECIPE REQUEST!!!

Last evening, we hosted Heavenly Hash.  Heavenly Hash is a dinner group that hides, within its cutsey clever title, sheer terror for poor cooks with self-esteem issues.  As you know all too well, that would be me.  BC, by contrast, loves Heavenly Hash.  And why not?!?  No, I can't go there.  I'm trying to become a better, more charitable, more understanding, more accepting person.  Let's just say that sometimes the Division of Labor divides along gender lines.  Not always equally.  Not always fairly.  Nor always...  No, I'm not going there. 

However, this year was a bit calmer than normal because last December, while in the throes of Christmas spirit, generosity, and loneliness, we invited the neighbors for dinner.  We found the perfect menu, which means that most of the dishes could be prepared the day before and simply heated the day of.  It doesn't mean you won't ruin the asparagus.  It just means you'll be a bit calmer about it.  So, I told BC, "We'll serve the very same thing for Heavenly Hash and I won't be nearly as worried because we've already done it once."  Generally, when we've already done it once, I'm much less likely to grab for a last-minute Zanax too near the last minute...which can leave me a bit giddy and ruining more than just the asparagus.

The new favorite perfect menu goes like this:  Regal Romaine, Grilled Peppered Steaks, Twice Baked Garlic Potatoes, and Roasted Asparagus.  Obviously, other HH guests bring appetizers and dessert, which is also a good way to lessen the tension.  This lovely menu comes from my all time favorite cookbook, "Women of Great Taste", put out by the Wichita, KS, Junior League.  Let's give credit where credit is due.  This wonderful book, first printed in 1995, is an absolute go-to godsend for uncertain cooks who don't mind the process if the result is edible.

And...for the second time IN A ROW, I received a request for a recipe.  That just does not happen to me.  But, now, since it has, here's a copy of Twice Baked Garlic Potatoes which I'll be sending them this afternoon.  Trust me...these are good.

INGREDIENTS:
1 Head Garlic
1 T Olive Oil
8 Baking Potatoes
1/2 cup Butter
Milk
6 oz. Softened Cream Cheese
1/4 cup Minced Fresh Parsley
1/4 cup Thinly Sliced Green Onions
1 t Salt
2 cups Grated Cheddar Cheese
Paprika

PROCESS:
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Cut off and discard top of garlic.  Place garlic on piece of foil, drizzle with olive oil and wrap tightly.  Bake potatoes and garlic for one hour.  Cut potatoes in half lengthwise, scoop out into a bowl and reserve shells.  Unwrap garlic and squeeze cloves into potatoes.  Mash potatoes and garlic with butter and enough milk to moisten.  Blend in cream cheese, parsley, onions and salt.  Spoon mixture back into potato shells.  Sprinkle with cheese and paprika.  Bake until cheese melts, 25 minutes.

THE REAL STORY:
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Do what with the garlic?  I'm not sure I know how to do that.  I'll just put minced garlic from a jar into the potatoes as I mash them...and I think I'll bake an extra potato or two so that I can pile the mashed part high.  There...that looks nice.  I'll also stop right before the cheese and paprika, cover them and put them in the garage refrig until tomorrow, at which time I'll take them out, sprinkle on the cheese and paprika, and pop them into the oven.  I do think I'll watch them a bit closer than I did in December, so the cheese doesn't overcook and form a rather hard shell over the potatoes.  And...voila!  They're so perfect I'm nearly crying from happiness.

And, BTW, this recipe will serve 16.  Govern yourselves accordingly. 

   

THE NERVOUS COOK RE-EMERGES

We will be attending a Pot Luck this evening, given for our friend Vicki, who has just retired.  She's been the last holdout among our Thursday evening "Small Group", so it's appropriate to celebrate her capitulation to the neighborhood status quo.  I've volunteered to bring a salad because, as you long-time readers may remember, cooking, quite frankly, just isn't my thing.

As always, I scoured various foodie web sites and eventually chose "Mexican Chopped Salad with Honey-Lime Dressing" from epicurious.com ("for people who love to eat").  It seemed to be a relatively classy site that wouldn't lead me astray.

I made the dressing first...a combination of lime juice, honey, olive oil, garlic, jalapeno and cilantro.  I seem to have overbought on the cilantro for two teaspoons, so I pushed  it up to three.

Despite the fact that cooking isn't my thing, I do have a goodly supply of really neat cooking gadgets (thanks primarily to BC, who loves such things).  These are the latest purchase, and the best ever for slicing up leaves like cilantro, parsley and etc.  Trust me--they can slice quite a pile of cilantro in nothing flat.  You may have to control yourself.

This is as close as I'll ever come to creating a semi-still life, but really I'm just organizing the chopping orgy that's about to begin.  I've chopped every vegie in this picture at least a hundred times before, but  I'm about to meet my first...

JICAMA

I must admit I needed help to find it at the grocery store.  I made a run at the rutabagas and the pomegranates before the Produce Manager found me and led me to the Jicama.  I haven't figured out the Jicamas yet.  They're certainly not pretty and, at least this one, didn't have much taste--but they're not offensive nor anything negative.  I guess Jicamas are just what they are and we need to accept their presence and include them as often as we can.

We've made it to the party, we're nearly ready to serve and at such moments I like to camouflage my cooking nerves with hysterical laughter.

Here's the finished product.  Doesn't it just scream Mexican Chopped Salad with Honey-Lime Dressing?  At least it's presentable.  Kind of like when my mother told me that as long as I was neat and clean I was OK.

THE NERVOUS COOK...COOKS

It's been a hard week for The Nervous Cook.  On Monday she shopped.

On Tuesday, she cleaned house, beginning in the master closet.  The Nervous Cook is not in analysis, although she senses there could be great benefit from that.  But, even without an analyst she knows she cleans the master closet before guests arrive because it gives her a certain, sense of control over her life.  "I may be a nervous and uneven cook," she thinks to herself, "but this closet looks darned good."  Two mornings later the alarm signals that T-Day has arrived, and it's still dark outside.  You can't begin too early!

The turkey patiently waits for its stuffing next to its little friends, the rolls, who seem to be growing a bit quicker than their package had suggested.

In the meantime, the Nervous Cook's "Sweet Babboo" is having another cup of coffee and checking out the newspaper.  It's a holiday, you know.

Enough of that holiday nonsense in the house robe--there's serious work to get done and get done now!  Life is earnest...life is real, and you can't begin too early.

Yes, The Nervous Cook is just fine, thank you.  May she have some champagne now?

The guests begin to arrive.

It's one of those gorgeous Arizona afternoons when the patio is the perfect place to be.

It just makes you think Norman Rockwell, doesn't it?  No--I understand--an overcooked turkey in pieces is not a pretty sight.  It is beginning to look as if a person actually can begin too early.  The Babboo got away from The Nervous Cook or he would never be out displaying this poor creature to guests who are bravely smiling through what some suspect may be waves of nausea.

They came, they ate, and they have lived to tell about it!  They are dear people.   

Thank you friends!

  

THE NERVOUS COOK PLANS

The Nervous Cook's mother did cook (under protest) but wasn't what you would ever call comfortable in the kitchen.  She much preferred sitting on her shady, cozy patio with book in hand, ashtray at her elbow and, if it was after five, a small glass of Chablis.  She took her younger daughter to the library every week, made her listen to the Metropolitan Opera's broadcast each Saturday afternoon, and dragged her to the Community Concerts four times each winter.  She did not teach her how to cook a roast, bake bread, can vegies nor assemble stuffing for a Thanksgiving turkey.  The young girl could, however, shake up a mean whiskey sour strong enough to mellow many a '60's Mad Man.

The Nervous Cook and her Sweet Baboo have invited six friends for Thanksgiving Dinner.  So, the Nervous Cook is thinking to herself, what in the h*#l have I done?  This event will obviously call for serious cooking skills which might include baking, stirring, crusting, mashing, basting and stuffing--with a bit of sheer hysteria folded in.

So, the Nervous Cook plans...

Despite being a Nervous Cook, our gal has quite a cookbook collection.  She has gathered a representative sample to begin the planning process.  But somehow, even to her, it seems sick and wrong, if not completely Un-American, to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for eight in fifteen minutes.



The Nervous Cook has now jumped from the sublime to the ridiculous.  While the Women of Great Taste cookbook from the Wichita Junior League generally yields quite tasty dishes, it is usually a long and winding road to get there.  The Nervous Cook doesn't have that much time.

The Nervous Cook has now called on Williams-Sonoma's Christmas cookbook--you can sense the tension building.  The Nervous Cook is scanning stray printouts of untried recipes from the computer and seeking the comfort of The Pioneer Woman's calmness.

The Nervous Cook is now finished.  She has checked drawers and shelves for ingredients, she has used up the computer's battery, and her list is complete.  She is going to lie down now.