Toil and Trouble

Ragu Bolognese! It took forever, probably because I followed a recipe. 

I began by transforming pancetta and garlic into a smooth paste. Because I live in the modern world I used a food processor. I fried the paste in butter (!) until the fat was rendered and the metamorphosis complete. I chopped the Holy Trinity (celery, onion, and carrot) gloriously fine, and added that mishmash to the cauldron*. Damn, my friends - I was cookin'! I was turning base materials into gold.

When the veggie/fat seemed utterly transfigured, I plopped in a pound each of ground beef and pork. Fifteen minutes of chanting** browned the meat evenly. I imposed my will with a wooden spoon, chopping and hacking to break it into small pieces. 

I added wine, a pinch of nutmeg, salt, and whole milk. Well, I didn't actually have whole milk, so I used my fearsome powers to turn half and half and a little skim milk into whole. Don't judge me. For a few uncanny moments I feared I didn't have nutmeg. After ransacking the spice rack, I found it. Or maybe I materialized it? Who knows?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the stove I heated stock into which I dissolved tomato paste and puree. I folded the red liquid into the meat, bringing the heat up until it bubbled and spit. I covered the pot, lowered the heat, and simmered the whole mess for a few hours. I degreased the sauce once even though the recipe didn't ask me to. I just had to. 

Before serving, I melted in two more tablespoons of the Philosopher's stone*** and added 20 turns of ground pepper. That's what the recipe asked for, 20 turns. I obeyed.  

*pot

**swearing 

***butter

Cooking with Grandma

Granddaughter E is 18. I invited her over to make paella. Cooking is a way to spend time alone with her; a way to lure this great beauty over and have her company all to ourselves. 

Yes, we have a paella pan. No, we're not sticklers for tradition. We're Americans, for crying out loud. We live in small town USA, a gastronomical wasteland that would have us exist on fries, hamburgers, and pizza, with an occasional side of coleslaw. We could shop in Orlando, but who wants to drive that far? We make do with what we find at our small Publix. 

I did order saffron and real-for-real paella rice online. We had clams (the only ones at the store still in their shells), shrimp, sausage, and chicken. I confess we used deboned chicken breasts. I know, I know, it should be actual chicken pieces. Most in my family only want white meat, and do NOT want to work hard to eat it. 

E made it, with me hovering nearby. I forced myself to turn away, bellowing "tips" and encouragement, helping her read the recipe, things like that (!). You should have seen her chopping garlic. The kid's a natural.  

She took finishing the top as a creative challenge. In her world, paella has a face. Peas are served separately so those who hate peas avoid them, and those who love peas sprinkle them over the top. 

One family member has a shrimp allergy, so Grandpa cooked shrimp separately, too. Like I said, we make do.

Nice job, my luv!

Just before it went into the oven.