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Soul Food Friday: THE Italian sandwich gets franchised!
The real Italian courtesy of amatos.com.
So last Saturday I found myself in one of Vermont’s outlying areas, in other words, I wasn’t in Portsmouth or Burlington. And I was hungry — OK I was slightly hungover, but the nights are long and cold in northern New England, and if there isn’t much going on during daylight hours, there’s even less of it after 8 pm and accessing it requires at least an hour’s drive, which makes slumping against the baseboard heater in your hotel room with a fifth of Jameson’s about the only game in town as far as I can tell.
So with an hour to kill and a grumbly gut, Mr. S and I made our way to West Lebanon’s signature eatery, Maplefield’s, which sounds like a quaint inn with a fireplace and a big floppy dog, but which is in reality a gas station, albeit of the gourmet variety with tables. It was with heavy hearts that, having located it, we slopped through the door prepared to make do with a hot dog or Twinkie for brunch. Instead, I at least, found myself at the pretzel gates of culinary heaven as I lurched ecstatically toward the counter of the Amato’s franchise, located just behind the display of motor oil and windshield wiper solvent. I am not exaggerating when I say I choked up and may even have shed a tear or two.
Carving and Cracking
Thomas Keller's roast chicken courtesy simplyrecipes.com. Do NOT try this at home.
I can’t carve a cooked bird to save my life. Even sober. Though let’s be honest I can’t even recall the last time I got to the carving stage with my feet in my shoes and my bra on the inside of my sweater. I start pretty well, but eventually am reduced to tearing away at the flesh with my fingers and flinging it on the platter so as to get it to the table while it’s still warm and the guests are still upright. Anyways, the always helpful Jamie Oliver has a video on his site demonstrating how to carve up a chicken and it looks so easy I may even try it again myself. By the way, that’s one of Jamie’s minions (presumably a relative) who carves up the bird. When I first cued it up I thought I’d opened that pesky time machine by mistake again.
Now, I was considering starting a video series myself, but then I was thinking maybe I don’t have any particular skills to demonstrate. That was until I clicked on Jamie’s video of how to prepare a cooked lobster, and let me tell you that is just wrong. As I may have mentioned, I grew up in Maine where lobster shells are used as teething rings, and if there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s extracting every last shred of edible foodstuffs from a lobster. And I don’t need no stinking knife to do it either, Blondie. So stay tuned.
If you’re wondering how to choose a lobster (or any seafood for that matter), take a stroll through my archives.
Gratin facile (bien sur)
So simple even a dipsomaniac could make it.
Not terribly artful, but golden and delicious!
Over the course of my life I have met only one person who actively dislikes potato gratin; unfortunately it is my daughter. As a result, I generally reserve this dish for company or special occasions so as to avoid seeing it pushed away, untouched, with a moue of distaste. Of course it’s a mercy, too, as I could eat the stuff three meals a day, pausing only to check on my order upgrade at the Scooter Store or to mainline yet more Lipitor.
I mean really, it’s potatoes, cream and cheese. What’s not to like?
So as I was saying, over the years I’ve tried lots of different approaches, which have yielded mixed results. In truth there are as many recipes for this as there are cooks. But here’s mine, which is generally foolproof and requires the least amount of work and clean up of any recipe I have tried.
GOOD TO KNOW: White corn meal = Best corn bread. Evah.
It’s all about the blonde!
So tonight we had easy fish stew for dinner and I decided to make the usual corn bread to accompany. Imagine my surprise when I retrieved the old reliable Indian Head corn meal from the pantry only to find I’d picked up white corn meal rather than the usual yellow during my last trip to Fairway!
You know, btw I hate Fairway. I swear their floor plan is designed to induce psychosis. For example:
ME: “Excuse me, where might I find the cinnamon?”
FAIRWAY GUY: “Well it depends what kind you want. You can get it in aisle 5 with the imported spices or back in the produce section with the Spanish seasonings. We also have some in the organic food area of our annex, or you could just mosey over to aisle 114B where there should be some next to the domestic pie filling.”
ME: “I’ve been running around here for thirty minutes in search of one freaking jar of cinnamon. I don’t even know where I am and will need a St Bernard and a gallon of whiskey just to make it to the check out. Can you just get me some goddamned cinnamon?”
FG: “Ma’m, have you been drinking?”
It’s always the same.
Anyways, I was feeling far too lazy to run down the the Las Americas bodega to get the usual yellow product, so I threw caution to the wind, poured another glass of wine and decided to roll with the white stuff. One of these years I’m going to get a working camera to share the fruits of my labors, but until then, you’ll just have to take the word of the Slattern family that the white cornmeal makes a far superior corn bread. Lighter, finer and altogether more pleasing. It’s not difficult to make — just use the recipe on the back of the sack.
If you’re too lazy to click the link, read on to see the recipe just as it appears on their site. Foolproof.
Sandy part deux
Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the Slattern’s Kitchen…
You thought I was done with Sandra Lee, didn’t you? Well at the suggestion of my new BFF, Baker Bettie, I had a look at the video of Sandy’s “war crime” (in the words of Anthony Bourdain), aka the Kwanzaa cake, and I feel compelled to share. Now, I don’t know how I managed to miss this, but it is absolutely mesmerizing in its repulsiveness. Look:
Is it the poisonous acorns (no they are NOT edible)? The revolting canned icing? The glutinous apple pie filling from the can? Hard to say. And I should know by now; I’ve already watched the damned thing six times. The horror, the horror…
Kitchen Slattern 