Just something I threw together for me and wifey on a Monday night.  I’ve been cooking for her when I can, usually Mondays, and usually chicken.  My lovely better half has a very refined palate; that is to say she won’t eat shit.  So it’s normally chicken I cook, I’ve perfected my fabrication, brining and crispy skin.  This Monday, however, I had breasts. In an attempt to church them up with limited resources, we’ve got this little dish here.  I worked my way through a handful of recipes in J.O.C., and what I realized I wanted was a gratin. Saucy, cheesey crusty, etc.  It’s was a rainy northwest winter day and after a haircut and a Fremer run I was drinking beers and cooking.  My other big goals for the day involved blogging, flogging, and not jogging.

Bacon Fat Biscuits adapted from J.O.C recipe

1 3/4 cups flour

3 tsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

5 bacon fat

1 tbslp butter

3/4 cup half & half

flour for dusting

1. Pre heat oven to 450.  Sift the dry ingredients into the bowl of a stand mixer.

2. Measure and freeze the bacon fat and butter. Micro plane it into the dry ingredients.

3. Mix the dough with the paddle attachment on low speed just into a loose wad begins to form.

4. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and pat into a disk with floured hands.

5. Cut desired shapes and bake 12-15 minutes, again G.B.D.

Serve with:

Chicken & Broccoli Gratin

2 brined chicken breasts

2 cups blanched Broccoli

2 oz parmesan

2 oz cheddar grated

1 oz dolloped buitter

1 slice oven dried bread of your choice

1/2 cup candied walnuts

2 tblsp flour, plus more for dredging

1 cup chicken stock

1 tsp chicken demi

2 tsp sherry vinegar

salt and pepper to taste

1. Brine the chicken breast and blanch the broccoli if you haven’t already.  Drain and dry the chicken. Hold in the fridge with the blanched broccoli.

2. Pulverize the parm, bread, and walnuts in a food processor, reserve.

3. Dust the chicken with flour and sear it in a hot pan, finish in a 400 degree oven.

4. Remove the chicken from the pan and hold at room temp.  Add the flour to the pan and it’s drippings, cook for two minutes.  Add the stock stock and demi whisk smooth.

5.  Cook the gravy for 5 minutes.

6. Slice the chicken and arrange it and the broccoli in the desired pan.  Spoon on the gravy.  Cover it with the crumbs, grated cheddar and dolloped butter

7. Bake for 10 minutes, then turn on the broiler.  Broil until crust is G.B.D.

I can still hear the rapid-fire “smek smek smek smek” of bare feet on solid pour polyurethane. As he rounded the first bend I looked at myPhone’s stop watch and realized he was going to beat his time.  He challenged himself to get 1:25 and he was way ahead.  Chepe was running this track barefoot; and he was doing it fast, burning it.  Moments before he sat on the edge of his seat, pysching himself up, amping himself.  Moments after he had to lay on the ground, about to puke passionate, pumping vessels throbbing in his head.  As he lay there panting, my mind rewinded the days events.  The fun-as-shit-I-love-being-a-chef lunch dish up.  A dip in the fountain, a boozy aftrnoon nap; a reprieve from relentless heat, a snorey slumber.  Soon after as we lined up for salmon and started to spot other Chefs, enjoying service or fine wine; poured by more familiar faces.  The fish roasted over a long trench I couldn’t get too close, I was sizzled, scorched.   A trench of fire!! We ate salmon and salads in the sinking sunlight.  There was also pork. We drank wine with decadent abandon; swilling with senseless pretention and simply sloshing out as the next selction sauntered up smiling.  Our table mates included the former director of the American Heart Association, his friends and relatives.  Behind us nearby eating; the Chef from Toro Bravo; we felt friendly in good company.  Ditching our table at dusk we hit the dessert buffet and then the still scalding fire. A couple chasing each other around the trench made me grin.  It was fast approaching the opening of the Library Wines so we turned to the center of the venue.  Soon after we had more sips to swirl and ran into my old friend Jeremy, he had also worked the event and was now partying.  After tasting so much wine it all began to taste the same we bounced, we knew of a secret stairwell somm soiree with more wine and friends. In a flash my head hits the present, the way-back machine having caught up with itself.  Fuck I love days like this.  My best buddy sprawled supine below trying to catch his breath, and me in the stands, reeling.

Two guys that ate wat too much.  But picked up Oreos on the way home…

Molten Chocolate Doughnuts

8 oz dark chocolate (64%)

8 oz butter

6 eggs

3/4 cup sugar

2 cups all purpose flour

fluer de sel

panko, egg wash, and more flour as needed to bread

1. Bring the butter to a boil and pour it over the chocolate. Whisk smooth and keep warm.

2. Whip the sugar and the eggs about three minutes; until lemon-colored and almost double in volume.

3. Whisk the chocolate into the eggs all at once, whisking smooth.

4. Add the flour, again whisking smooth.

5. Transfer the batter to a flexible silicon mold and freeze rock hard, at least 4 hours.

6. Turn the cake out onto a lightly floured surface. Using a 2 1/2 inch doughnut cutter, cut out 9 doughnuts.

7. Bread the doughnuts twice, according to the standard breading procedure, and refreeze until ready to fry.

8. Deep fry at 350 until golden brown, and hold at room temp for service. Heat through in a 300 degree oven until warmed through, about 10-12 minutes. Sprinkle with salt. Serve with Pistachio Creme Anglaise if you like.

Kate hit up Trader Joe’s last week and returned with fish.  She found some frozen Sockeye Salmon, which we had early in the week; and also Mahi-Mahi, aka Dolphin Fish.  I find Dorado tasteless and bland; seeing the frozen filets hinted no different.  They appeared as they probably were going to taste.  Perfect rectangles of an impossible gray that defied metaphor.  I knew they would need a rich sauce, and a spicy side.  I had a deli cup of clarified lobster butter (thanks Chef,) begging for hollandaise. Our sausage guy had hooked me up with some smoked Chorizo awhile back, I stumbled upon that in the freezer searching for fat.  A deli cup of rice pilaf from the fridge smelled good.  Dinner was upon us!!  I sliced the Chorizo and rendered it on a silpat the oven.  Conviently, I had cooked bacon on this same pan for breakfast; I had a ton of delicious grease to cook with.  When the sausage was hot and oozing fat, I removed them form the pan and replaced them with halved pearl onions which then roasted, filling the house with a sweet and spicy smell.  I knew shellfish and chorizo were money together, and figured since mahi doesn’t really taste like anything, the lobster hollandaise and smoked sausage could lift up this lackluster fish.  I knocked together the sauce; volumized yolks, whisked in fat, seasoned with salt, pepper, vinegar.  I heated up the rice in the pot that I warmed the lobster butter in, much to my fiancee’s chagrin.  I reheated my sausage bits with the almost-done onions.  The fish hit a screaming hot pan with a searing sizzle and when flipped hit the oven.  After waiting four minutes I threw in two empty plates.  Steaming food hit warm plates 3 minutes later.  Hollandaise oozed.  Lips smacked.  Hunger: at bay once more.

We lived in limbo for a few days, concerned about our kitchen. The broken water pipe had been connected to the restaurants heat system, which we really needed to open.  The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and would soon prove to be one of Portland history’s most devastating storms. On Thursday around noon, after a morning of nail biting and pacing, my buddy Nate called me; “Let’s go night riding at Ski Bowl!”  I had no excuse, he was offering me a free lift ticket. I called Perez to see if he wanted in, I knew he was going just as stir crazy as I was. The city of Portland had shut down; chain-slapping buses spun sporadicly in the falling fluff.  We knew the mountain had been dumped on.  We rallied around 4 pm to embark on a two and a half hour journey in Nate’s 78 VW Bus.  We chained up around Rhododendron; the roads were getting nastier the higer up we got.  Perez was periodically recieving phone calls from our bosses, keeping us posted about the restaurant.  After much back and forth, we learned that we’d be closed until next week.  Our concerns lifted, an icy updraft, when we saw the lights of Ski Bowl. Heavy snowfall blanketed the mountain, and we were soon strapped in and smiling. We drank PBRs as we ascended the lift, smiling and swinging.  We raged the gnar for three hours or so, carving powder and bally-hooing to each other as we mached by.  I missed the mountain life.  Everything makes sense when you can carve powder turns.  We finished our beers in the parking lot and headed home.  The weekend went by slowly.  The skies were gray the roads were gray and the snow that covered everything was gray.  I felt the walls closing in; I lost myself in the web.  I annoyed my dogs with guitar and no walks.  I happily braved Tri-met to meet Chef and Perez on Sunday at the restaurant. I was prepping Tabla desserts and they were cleaning out the walk-in.  We crammed all we could into our freezers, but a good amount of food was about to spoil.  Not surprisingly,  Perez and I immediately volunteered to cook and eat the food.  It would be a crime of the highest order not to.  A damn shame.  We packed up what we could, and grabbing beer near 4th, caught a bus to my place.  We hit the grocery to augment our booty.  We drank and cooked and cranked music. We thrashed my little kitchen and dirtied every pot, pan and dish.  We even fired up Old Blue. My fiancee was out of town so it seemed the thing to do. We cooked and ate, carrying on and finally enjoying a bit of this down time…by cooking.  It made life feel semi-normal.  Through all the bedlam, the food was there for us.  We got back into the restaurant early in the week and re-prepped everything we had lost. Teddy put our kitchen back together.  Christmas day came and went. The rains finally came and washed away the slush and snow, the city awoke.  People mingled in the streets, then filled the seats in the dining room.  Smiling servers ferried food to grinning guests.  A storm had come, and in it’s wake a sharper image, clarity. I felt as if the people around me were looking at each other a bit different, feeling a warmer glow. I felt an in-the-trenches level oneness, a communal happiness to be back at work. Sometimes shit happens, and all you can do is dive in and swim.

In an outstanding feat of restaurant leftovers I created a delicious brunch this past Sunday.  Anyone in Portland could tell you how cold it was this day, and a how a lavish, greasy breakfast was in order.  At the restaurant we serve pork belly, naturally.  It’s one of Chef’s greatest dishes. The precise bacon wrapped portions create a bit of side product, which we sometimes use for sliders or staff meal. Sometimes I take home a little package for the freezer; a lazy Sunday.  I rendered off about 4 ounces of meat.  Combined with a bit of fat I had reserved from another project, I had about 3 ounces.  Emulisfing it into one egg yolk, It was just enough for one portion of silky sauce.  Snow drifted down outside, and the smell of fat filled the house, warming us.  I toasted the leftover brioche and poached the eggs.  Spinning the water and dropping the eggs, they simmered lightly just below the boiling point.  I usually use vinegar in this situation but not using any had a pleasant result.  Unseemly as they cooked, most of the whites dispersed into the water.   I ended up with perfectly cooked yolks however, and it’s all about the yolks right?  I loose chopped the pork belly and warmed it in a pan with butter. Everything came together on a warmed plate and smoked black sea salt. A most satisfying of meals, I felt it filled me up nicely.  I wasn’t even hungry until I saw the pulled pork that night at Jaybill’s.

The branding and packaging of Valrhona chocolate just begs to be treated trashy.  The sexy black box and flashy gold wrapper simply scream: do your worst, I can take it and still be good.  Nothing is more ghetto to me in the world of pastry than s’mores.  The latest tableside “twist” or lofty “deconstruction” did not, for me, change the fact that this is a campfire treat, a gooey mess that was never intended as a plated dessert.  These days, anything goes. If a chef wants to do s’mores as a plated dessert, that’s just fine.  In fact, my old chef Tony made a kick-ass “Rocky Mountain S’mores“  With homemade graham crackers, marshmallows and Bailey’s ganache.  Anyway, I wanted to make s’mores with this bad-assed Valrhona, and seeing that these bars go for ten plus dollars retail, I decided to go budget as possible with the other ingredients.  Ever heard of a good Western Family product?  That’s because there isn’t one.  The gold standard of sub-standard in gas stations everywhere, I was surprised to find both of these gems at New Seasons.  My first couple s’mores started out great.  I trimmed up the chocolate and crackers.  I split the mallows in half and set to work.  I cranked up old blue and within 5 seconds had a flaming stinky white goo dripping off my skewer.  I turned down the heat and split a few more of the puffy little orbs.  7 seconds, flaming goo.  It was time to scale this operation down.  Old Blue sported way to many BTU’s for this project.  Plus it was cold and rainy outside.  Inside, my camping stove proved to be the perfect marshmallow toaster.  I used some little corn holding prongs to get in there nice and close, slowly rotating and toasting. Once lightly toasted and warmly gooey, I transferred them onto the chocolate.  Waiting a minute or two for the chocolate to melt, I drank a beer.  Slurping down the messy-mess was funny-fun.  I couldn’t help but smile as the marshmallows dripped everywhere.  The sumptuous 64% chocolate had melted just so, a delightful tiny snap as I bit down.  The crackers were meh.  I wasn’t surprised.  On my second s’mores I did opt for five seconds in the microwave.  I wanted to finish off the melting of the chocolate bar, and make it as drippy as ever.  It was pretty tasty I must admit.  I may not be an authority on cookery, but I still can’t see making it at it in a fancy restaurant.  It just seems contradictory.

Click here to view the embedded video.

This is certainly my most exhaustive Photoshop effort to date. This silly thing took at least five times as long to make as the gnocchi, and isn’t half as delicious. For this recipe I used Ile de France goat cheese, the second installment of product they wanted me to eat and write about. The last cheese they sent me I basically ate straight, so I thought it better to cook with this one. The cheese had a creamy texture and showcased that distinctive goaty taste. The flavor carried through to the gnocchi, and was exceptional. I liked this cheese better than the last one they sent, it had a little more personality. I also found the packaging more pleasing, this time with a picture of a goat rather than a picture of cheese. Still a bit flashy for me but a step in the right direction. This company is bringing some great cheese into the country. I hope some more of it finds its way to my doorstep. I chose gnocchi because I have always wanted to try it. I’ve seen Perez and before him Arturo making these things three times a week for the past eight months. I had the process memorized just by seeing it done so many times. I won’t include a detailed recipe because I’m quite sure there isn’t one. You basically knead the ingredients into a dough, form it into a wiener, and you’re good to go. You’ll have to forgive the penis humor, faithful readers, but I gotta be me.

I get sent home with a fair amount of food.  Working in kitchens, you don’t go hungry.  Often, pre-seared lamb won’t get sold, and won’t make it until Monday.  Enter the fat kid!!!  And how about a deli cup of those delicious fucking beans with the shredded duck confit? That would go great with this lamb.  I’ve got that balsamic glaze from Italy in the cupboard at home, for drizzling.  All the cooks know they can get rid of their various use-able odds, ends, bits and pieces.  I used to have a line on some halibut scraps, but I haven’t seen him in a grip.  Yes I will have two deli cups of garlic oil.  Yes I will take home a day old loaf of brioche.  (French Toast, bitches!!) How’s about Chimichuri marinated flank steak? Why yes I can find a use for that.  To feed my ever growing teets!!  With power-lunch-stlyle sammy action on old blue.  Enjoying  some vino from the vineyard  always helps wash this all down quite nicely. In light of some rather alarming new statistics, it’d good to know that food isn’t going to waste, but to my waist.