A Mildly Special Christmas Edition

The holidays are a time for family and friends to get together and immerse themselves in the season, to indulge in the joys of food and company, and ideally to forget about all the pressures of modern life.  This time of year also brings a thick and gooey sense of nostalgia, a focus on things won and lost over the year.  Unfortunately this holiday season was, for most people, one of somber reflection as 2011 saw the abrupt and shocking end of our Family Füd Blog.  Each bite of boiled goose was slathered, not in a traditional jellied-egg gravy, but in salty tears as Americans, and even some Canadians, mourned the loss of their beloved blog.  “Where will I go now for amateurish food photography and recipes ripped from other people’s websites?!” screamed the distraught masses into the face of any psychoanalyst or DMV receptionist that would look them in the eye.  


As one half of Family Füd, I feel partly responsible for shutting of the proverbial light of happiness on so many billions of people, but she who is really to blame for this debacle is Karen because she moved to Portland in July and we could no longer get together to cook.  Sure, we talked about trying a long distance version of the blog, in which we would collaborate on a menu, then cook in our respective locations and write about the experience, but just as we were primed to pursue this exciting new venture, the unthinkable happened: we hung up the phone and just kinda forgot and then never did any of that. 

Oh my, how I've missed this.  A chill of excitement ran through my body as I read that momentous intro and a smile of pure exuberance sits upon my face as I prepare to respond.  Yes, Tony and I are once again cooking in the same location, making food that is pleasing to the palette and filling to the tummy.  It's wonderful to cook and share a meal with loved ones, but that's not what I'm really excited about.  What I've really missed is the arguing.  Few things excite me more than a good debate amongst people who are evenly matched in passion, knowledge (or lack thereof), and ability to withstand repeated hittings with spatulas.  There's nothing like arguing with the people who know you best and are still required to love you despite your stubborn assertion that, "PETA is only pretending to save animals so that they can eat them all themselves."  That said, let's get back to Tony's accusation that I ended the blog.  Prepare to get yer ass handed to you, bro, dance-off style!

Just kidding.  I'll use my words.


What my dear brother fails to mention is that although I did pick up and move to Portland, he himself had been planning to move out of LA for quite some time prior and scuttled* off to Berkley less than a month after I relocated.  Aaaaaaaand, he failed to mention that I pleaded, implored, beseeched, and begged him to move to Portland with me so that we could continue this blog and other writing endeavors.  He still refuses this request even though I've been trying to tempt him with all of Portland's beer and food offerings for months now ("They got beer and foods here, bro!").  Therefore, he is the one who has torn this blog asunder and should be flogged.  In the face of his callousness I have started a petition entitled Make Tony Stop Being a Turd and Move to Portland.  Any comment or "like" on this post will be taken as a signature on this petition.  I appreciate your support.

 *I have never scuttled anywhere.  EVER. 

Anyway, one more thing before we get to the actual food part of this food blog.  A few things have changed since our last post.  So as not to confuse and discombobulate our reader(s?) I'll clarify some glaring changes here:


Change #1 -  We are no longer cooking in my apartment in Los Angeles, but instead are located in the kitchen of our home in Las Vegas.  You may notice as you peruse this entry certain Easter eggs in the photos such as baby pictures, politically polarizing bumper stickers, empty Miller Lite cans, slightly inappropriate aprons, and random piles of "junk."  I hope this gives you, fair reader, a little added insight into our childhood and why we are the way we are.


Change #2 -  My hair is now large and poofy whereas Tony's has shrunk in length and volume.  This is because I spent our time together in LA gradually syphoning Tony's "hair power" and building my own reserves.  My hair power is now at full capacity and anyone brave enough to challenge me to a "hair battle" will surely meet their "hair demise"!  I imagine this battle would render my challenger completely squeaky bald while I would automatically have giant 1980's Tina Turner hair (something I've always coveted).


Change #3 -  Our food pics may not match the impeccable quality you've come to expect from this blog.  Any impressive food photography in our previous entries was due solely to my roommate's amazing camera and not to my or my brother's artistic talent.  Since we no longer have access to that camera, I will just say that our photos may lack a certain mouthwatering appeal.  We'll try to compensate with more biting sarcasm and cheese jokes than in previous posts.

For the few people that made it past that long-winded intro, welcome to the section of the food blog where we actually talk about food.  Unfortunately, I’m the last person involved in this meal who should introduce it because I didn’t come up with a single dish.  As I recall, which I often do and with great accuracy, one morning I ambled bleary-eyed into the kitchen clutching a warm Coors Light to find my mother and sister dressed in sleek business attire pouring over the kitchen table upon which lay elaborate blueprints.  It was all set to go, a real cut and dry meal, in and out, no complications: curried butternut squash with turkey meatballs, mashed sweet potatoes with a brown sugar pecan crust, salt-roasted beets, and a whole roasted chicken.  


“What have you got, kid?” my mom requested.  I belched a salty Coors Light burp and stuttered out an indecipherable response.  
“Ugh,” said Karen disdainfully, “can you at least do something with the beets?”
“Yeah yeah yeah!” I responded.


And just like that, I was once again tasked with the thankless job of providing the one healthy element for the meal and beets, nonetheless, a vegetable that I don’t even particularly like.  But damn it, I was determined to make one hell of a salad.  

However, having spent the previous night watching my friends play craps until 3:30am, I wasn't in fighting mode right away.  So I played sous chef and spent a while hitting pecans with a knife.

I like how Tony condescendingly states that he provided the only healthy part of the meal, even though my contribution was sweet potatoes, which we all know is a superfood!  We all also know that "superfood" is a totally made up phrase with an unclear meaning, the use of which is not sanctioned by nutrition or health experts, but it sounds super!  So, let's say sweet potatoes are good for you, especially after you add maple syrup and half a stick of butter.  


If you have even the tiniest affinity for sweet potatoes you absolutely must must MUST make this recipe: Mashed Sweet Potatoes with Brown Sugar and Pecans.  I made them this past Thanksgiving then again for a Christmas party, and the dish elicited not just one but several Holy crap!'s upon tasting.  It is definitely a crowd pleaser in addition to being super simple to make.  You can prepare the topping first a few hours in advance.  Just chop up some butter and pecans and add a big ol' cup of brown sugar.

Awwww yeah, that's gon' be nice and crunchy and caramelized on top uh them taters after an hour in the oven.  

Next, peel and chop some sweet potatoes or "yams" as people who enjoy being correct call them.  I'm torn on this topic because while I do greatly enjoy being right, I also find the word "yam" totally unappealing.  It makes me think of a toothless old person gumming fictional Dr. Suess meat.  In any case, the recipe calls for 5 lbs of sweet potatoes, but I have yet to make that large of a portion.  2-4lbs works just as well and sort of fudging the amounts of the other ingredients is hard to screw up too badly.  Don't be afraid to guesstimate.


After boiling the taters until tender, I just mashed them by hand instead of using some new fangled food processor (because we don't have one).  Then added the eggs, syrup, vanilla, lemon, and salt and beat with a mixer.  You could just as easily mix by hand with a big spoon.  I dunno why these recipes always insist on dirtying up a beater.  Have they ever tried to clean beaters?  It's bollocks.

*Tony note: If you imagine the mixer has eye sockets and that the beaters are protruding from them, well then that's pretty funny looking, huh?

Glop the mixture into a baking dish and sprinkle with the prepared topping.  

I haven't ever heeded the part of the recipe where it tells you the size of dish to use.  The bigger the dish, the more delicious topping you get to add.  Pop that guy in the oven at 350˚ and you got yourself a delectable treat that's almost sweet enough to be dessert, but just "real food" enough to justify still eating pie after the meal.


Here's Tony doing his part by eating a salad half-way through dinner preparation because of his "fast metabolism" or whatever.  Sometimes Tony is just the worst.

It's a serious condition!  Don't look at me like that. 


It wasn’t simply hunger that compelled me to have a salad; I had to bravely test the Citrus Vinaigrette that I whipped up for the beet salad.   


This slice of pizza I ate a few minutes later, now that I can not excuse.

Back to that vinaigrette.  I just winged it with this thing, mixing together orange juice, fresh squeezed grapefruit and lemon juice, a little lemon zest and then adding salt, pepper and olive oil.  I love salad dressings, the more flavor the better in most cases, but sometimes a simple, fresh tasting vinaigrette is the way to go, as I felt was the case here.  Odd, considering my goal was to most effectively subdue the taste of beets; that taste being “dirt.”  People use the term “earthy” to describe beets, but what they really mean is, “Hey, this is like I’m eating dirt!  Am I enjoying this?”  


Anyway, I digress.  I admit that roasted beets, in concert with other flavors (namely, a strong cheese and some toasted nuts), are quite delicious.  My finished salad was composed thusly:
- Bed of crunchy lettuce (romaine, red leaf, tempura, etc.)
- Sliced beets (the thinner the better.  Thick sheets of dirt?  No, thanks)
- Caramelized onions
- Blue cheese (goat cheese is the popular pairing these days with beets, but then you’ve got “earthy” AND “gamey” and you might as well just eat a farmer’s sock. There, I said it.)
- Toasted pistachios
- Basil
- Citrus vinaigrette 


Nothing too special, really . . . 

. . . but then BAM!  I went all Frank Lloyd Wright on this beet tower, and it made everyone think the salad tasted way better than it did.  People are such idiots.  

One more note on beets, which I do love, despite their dirt flavor.  My mom introduced me to salt roasting them and I've never looked back.  Cover the bottom of a baking dish with about 1/4" salt, plop your beets on top, cover with tin foil and roast at 400˚ for 90 minutes.  Cool, peel, and enjoy.  They really soak up flavor if you make them a day ahead and then marinade them in whatever dressing you'll be using for your beautiful beet salad.  

Mom, by the way, was doing some serious cooking in her corner of the kitchen, as well as dropping everything to help us hunt down any item we mentioned.  At one point I thought about “pepper” and turned to find her holding five different varieties.  She was chopping up squash and mixing curry powder and making meatballs.  She even managed to get the chicken prepped and in the oven while Karen and myself were rather shamefully napping in the middle of the day.  We’re obviously out of cooking shape.

I'll admit I have very little idea what mom did with the entrees while we children whipped up our dinky side dishes.  The first thing she did was roast a whole chicken.  I have never attempted this in my life and therefore would not presume to provide instructions on the process.  You're on your own there.

While I have roasted a few whole chickens in my life, my memories are now merely frantic gruesome montages of chicken viscera and panic, so I can't help you out either.  But I would like to add that my mom garnished the roasting pan with kale, resulting in morsels that were half crunchy and half soaked in rosemary-infused chicken fat.  And 100% eat-them-off-the-floor-of-a-Petco good!


Tragically, our patience with the inferior camera dissolved almost entirely by the time that beautiful bird came out of the oven and we have no good pictures.  So Karen commissioned me to do an artist's rendering of the event:

I give to you: 
A Fowl on the Eve of Our Lord's Birth, 2011
Pixellated paint on digital canvas

Excellent portrayal, worth every penny.  All zero of them.  


So next thing I know Ma Green's making turkey meatballs which, again, I have no idea.  It looked something like this:

I encourage you to go do that.


The turkey meatballs were part of a curry butternut squash recipe my mom got from a coworker that really was delicious.  It involves a secret spice mixture that goes like this:


Curry Spice Mix
1/4 cup sun-dried lime
1/8 cup black cumin
1/4 cup paprika
1/4 cup turmeric
1/4 cup sumac
1/4 cup yellow (or golden) curry
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 cup cinnamon
1/4 cup coriander

We searched high and low in Whole Foods, but couldn't find sun-dried lime or black cumin, so you might have to hit an Asian market for those ingredients.  The dish turned out delicious regardless, but I wonder what could have been.  If only . . .   

Once you've got all that mixed up you can start on the recipe proper.


Curry Butternut Squash
1 butternut squash
2-3 shallots, thinly sliced
olive oil
raisins (we added some dried cherries as well which I highly recommend)
walnuts
1 lb ground turkey (for meatballs)


Peel and chop squash into cubes.  Microwave squash until half way cooked.  Sauté shallots in olive oil until tender, add squash and coat in spice mixture.  Cook through.  Add raisins, nuts, and turkey meatballs.  Cover and bake at 350˚ until fragrant.


I apologize if that seems a haphazard recipe.  That's how it's done when you've got the cooking experience and intuition my mom has.  She just knows . . .

While Karen and mom were busy doing stuff, I took the time to stop and smell the roses.  Or, in this case, great big pink flowers that I guessed were penstemons.  I had no idea if that was correct, but Karen was thoroughly shocked that I could think of any flower name at all.  Gee, thanks.  When I discover my own flower I will name it “You’re a jerk, Karen.”  And it will smell like enchiladas.  

New life goal: Create a new species of flower through cross pollination or selective breeding or whatever and call it "You're a jerk, Karen" just so Tony can't do it first.  My flower will smell like beets and triumph.


The pièce de résistance of our almost-finished mildly special Christmas meal was the delectable gravy that my mother whipped up like it was nothing more than snapping her fingers.  She really should have her own food blog.  I watched this whole process wide-eyed and so I feel I can expound on it a little.  Apparently gravy is made by skimming of bit of the fat from the top of your left over meat juices (in this case chicken juices) and adding it to a pan to heat.

Sift in a few pinches of flour and stir until this mixture thickens and gets a few shades darker.  Then pour in the rest of your meat juice, stirring constantly so the flour doesn't clump up.

We added some pepper and soy sauce at Tony's suggestion and had ourselves some delicious thickened chicken secretions.  I mean . . .gravy.  Yum.

To borrow a phrase from Guy Fieri, that gravy was money!  In fact, should the Euro collapse, I think those folks could do a lot worse than a gravy-based currency.  But more on that in my  forthcoming political treatise Soggy Wallets: The demise of the Euro and the rise of the Gravy State.  


But seriously, the gravy had a wonderful herby taste due to the thyme/marjoram/rosemary combo in the chicken.  I forgot how amazing rosemary is until Thanksgiving left me with a huge cache of it.  I put it in pasta sauce, on Italian salads, on bacon with brown sugar and pepper.  You just can't go wrong.

Here we have the product of all our work in muted unappetizing tones.  We had a nice pinot grigio with the poultry-heavy meal.  Everything was truly delicious, though my dad did his best to pretend the beet salad didn't exist. 


There you have it, folks, another meticulously planned and expertly prepared meal consumed in less then 5 minutes with only a few barely audible grunts exchanged between diners.  Ha, just kidding.  We may not be the perfect family (not like them Kardashians, am I right?  They're so fancy!), but we do genuinely enjoy each other's company.  I'm so grateful we were able to be in the same place this holiday season and I hope our merriment shows through all the sarcasm.  Thanks so much for reading our inane ramblings.  


Here's wishing you and yours a Joyous and Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from the Greens. 

Yup, here we are, the whole Green family staving off starvation for a few more moments in order to capture this photo.  Fun fact: Karen actually had to hide her hand under the table to conceal the chicken drumstick she grabbed in a hunger frenzy.  


Haha, very funny.  Man, I'm glad I live 600 miles away from this little boogerface and don't have to hear his whiny voice go on and on about quinoa and the World Wide Organization of Organic Farms anymore.


*Remember to sign the Tony is a Turd and Should Move to Portland Already petition by commenting or liking this entry.  Or just bug him in real life.  He won't mind.