Chili and Beans
Back in prehistoric times when Joe and I were married, one of the gifts I received from a dear family member, in addition to the traditional envelope filled with cash or check, was three cookbooks. The cash went into the Italian busta (can you hear the theme from “The Godfather” playing yet?) that was, I believe, held by an aunt, but the cookbooks received a bit more attention. As she handed the books to me, and I don’t even recall if they were brand new or passed down from her collection, she said that if you get one good recipe from a cookbook it’s a keeper. Yes Joe, that’s why someday we will be buried in my cookbook collection – I never ignore advice received on my wedding day. Hmm, I wonder how that advice could be applied to whether a husband is a keeper. Ah, but I digress, don’t I?
I honestly don’t remember two out of three of those early cookbooks, but the recipe for Tuesday night’s Simple Chili and Beans dinner came from the “keeper” cookbook which is “The New 365 Ways to Cook Hamburger and Other Ground Meat” by Doyne and Dorothy Nickerson, which is no longer a particularly “new” collection. I guess the same could be said for my marriage, which is also a “keeper.” As the title says, it’s a “simple” recipe, but at the time it seemed kind of exotic because it required 1/2 ounce of unsweetened baking chocolate. Woo hoo! Now we’re talking authentic Mexican cuisine, let’s forget about the bottled tomato juice that forms the foundation for the sauce. It’s neither authentic Mexican nor Texan chili, but the recipe has always worked, is satisfying, tastes good, and neither Joe nor the girls complain about it despite the canned kidney beans which I doubled the other night just for their dining pleasure. I even went a little crazy and dumped in about 4 times the chili powder that the recipe calls for. I’ve made other recipes from this book over the years, but this one is definitely our favorite, mine most of all, since it’s so simple to prepare. A real keeper.
This One’s for Annie
Ah, peel ‘n eat shrimp, the no-brainer food of the seafood world. These days you don’t even need to clean shrimp before cooking them because they’re sold frozen, split down the back and cleaned. All you need to do is defrost them and give them a quick bath in boiling water. And to create this classic Eastern Shore preparation, you add a little butter to the cooked shrimp and some Old Bay Seasoning. Serve them and let your dinner companions do the work to take off the shells.
Requested by Annie, it’s one of her favorite foods. If I was in the mood to feel guilty today, this would do it. Instead, all I can say is: Way to make your mom’s life easy kid – Thanks!
Not Meat!
I thought it would be appropriate and funny to follow a meat! dinner with a mostly vegetarian meal. Therefore I scheduled this chickpea soup for dinner last night. I thought if anyone complained, I’d remind them how they were all so happily rolling around in the meat the night before and needed to take a break. I found this recipe on a website called Tasting Table which is mostly a review and event promotion site for restaurants in big cities. But one of their “special” newsletters shares recipes from chefs at the restaurants they profile. Once I saw this chickpea soup, I knew that I’d have to try it.
As you can see, it’s not entirely vegetarian with a little bit of ham in the soup for flavoring. It required that I soak massive amounts of dried chickpeas for a day. Easy enough as long as you remember to do it (which I did, after watching Top Chef reminded me). Once the chickpeas were drained and rinsed, you toss them into a big stockpot with water, ham hock, carrots, celery, garlic, salt and pepper. Then you forget about it for about an hour. Adjust seasonings before you serve. It sounded incredibly easy and good.
Louisa was disgusted by the lack of meat and blandness of the soup. Annie had no problem eating it. Joe enjoyed adjusting the seasonings with his chosen hot sauce of the evening, and even had second helpings. Me, I think I’ve made better. I didn’t like the thinness of the broth or the disproportionate number of chickpeas to the other ingredients. Now I have a huge tub of chickpea soup sitting in my refrigerator waiting for a taker since I won’t be eating it for lunch. Who’s laughing now?