EVIL JUNGLE PRINCE...sorta

Ruth Wakefield screwed up.

The story is told something along the lines that she "discovered" the recipe for chocolate chip cookies by substituting a chopped Nestle chocolate bar for bakers chocolate at her Toll House Inn in Whitman, Massachusetts. The cookie dough didn't absorb the chocolate during baking as she expected and the result was the chocolate chip cookie we recognize today.

Let's not romanticize the story. She klutzed it. My personal theory is that Miss Ruthy had a crush on the barrel-chested lad who swaggered into her Inn each day to deliver farm-fresh eggs, butter and sweet cream. She probably escaped the lonely confines of her kitchen as often as possible to sweeten her smile with some moonshine poured at the hand of Mr. Hubba-Hubba Hunky-licious. This fateful evening might have found Ruth showing a little more ankle under her hemline (it was 1920-something after all) and eager to show off her bouncy new Coco Chanel hair bob. An evening of hooch and Ragtime music turned into an early dawn of disheveled hair and blurry, glassy-eyed stares out the window of her kitchen. She was probably most concerned with getting her stockings to stay rolled up past her knees when she famously proceeded to screw up her cookies big time and, well, you know the rest. At least for Ruth, things turned out better than expected.

Today I was hit with the urge to make Evil Jungle Prince, a favorite dish from Keo's Restaurant on the island of Honolulu. Keo's Thai food is fantastic and after my first visit there I tried to replicate the recipe at home with moderate success. Later I was able to find the recipe on the Internet and the result was highly respectable. The combination of coconut milk, basil, lime, vegetables and chicken is positively addictive. For some reason, I haven't made this dish in at least two years.



I stood in line at Pavilions with my bok choy and lemon grass, pumped-up and confident that I had the remainder of the necessary ingredients at home to complete my Thai party for two. Much like the unfortunate Ruth, my cherished dish was doomed.

Our pantry is deep...really deep. It's also really crammed. I found myself on my hands and knees searching for coconut milk. I practically crawled inside. I have cans and cans and cans of coconut milk. It's the little black dress of canned goods--it's always reliable and works for lots of occasions.

No coconut milk.

My resulting dinner won't ever be referred to as a brilliant "accidental discovery." Eighty years from now nobody will tell the story of how a guy screwed up at the grocery store and created this recipe. It was fine. It was good even. It just wasn't spectacularly mouth-watering like Evil Jungle Prince.

More like Evil Jungle Bastard Stepchild.

I caved in and moped around the kitchen for a while in defeat. I give you the recipe I created for the ingredients I had. Since I was taking significant steps away from the real dish, I decided to use shrimp instead of chicken and served it with rice instead of the traditional cabbage. I pledge to make REAL Evil Jungle Prince and post the recipe. It's worth waiting for. I promise. You'll thank me.


EVIL JUNGLE PRINCE BASTARD STEPCHILD

14.5 oz can low salt/fat free chicken broth
1 stalk lemongrass, chopped
2 tsp chili garlic sauce
zest of one lime
2 tsp sugar
2 TBS canola oil
1/2 can of bamboo shoots, julianned
3 stalks of bok choy, sliced crosswise thinly
25 snow peas, julianned
3 green onions
**I would also add water chestnuts--but omitted for Ed's sake
few dashes of fish sauce
20 large leaves of basil, chopped finely
6 jumbo shrimp, cleaned and butterflied
2 cups cooked brown rice



Using mortar and pestle pound lemongrass, chili sauce and lime zest to a paste. Bring chicken broth to a simmer in a saucepan and reduce by half. Add lemongrass mixture to broth and simmer for one more minute, then remove from heat.

In skillet, heat oil until shimmering. Add bok choy, snow peas, green onions (and water chestnuts as long as Ed isn't coming to dinner). Cook over high heat for 2 to 3 minutes and then add shrimp and broth mixture. Continue cooking over medium-high heat until shrimp are just underdone (only a minute or two). Sprinkle fish sauce (to taste) and basil. Stir well and remove from heat. Let sit for a moment more to allow shrimp to finish cooking.

Spoon over rice and squeeze a lime over the dish if desired (I desired).

CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN TRUFFLES

Whatever happened to hobbies? I assume that people have given them up because it seems that everyone, at least many people in my daily experience, have too much spare time on their hands. Idle hands are the Devil's workshop. And the Devil it seems, is out having loads of fun these days.

In short, people have been pissing me off lately.

My routine is to close my office door behind me and smile as I turn the key, feeling the familiar click of the lock sliding into place for the night. Traditionally, the invisible barrier between my office threshold and the elevator to freedom is crossed easily and without any notice. By the time I push the button for the lobby my thoughts are usually trained on personal tasks, the evening's activities, or any other assorted personal business that doesn't involve my daytime responsibilities. I don't carry stress home from my office with me, but lately I find myself toting mental baggage to the parking garage at night with more frequency. Mental baggage is ugly. It's not as supple and stylish as the Coach bag you'd prefer to carry over your shoulder. Mental baggage is unwieldy, never matches your belt or shoes, and it often is stained and smells vaguely of body funk mixed with some stale cigar smoke.

I drove home with Gwen Stefani singing "Wind it Up" to me. When I banished Gwen I embraced Etta James for the remainder of the ride. The sun had dropped down on the horizon and was sending those really amazing last rays of gilded light through the clouds like an illustration you'd find in a kid's illustrated Bible. None of this did much to quiet the sensation of blood pulsing in my temples that seems to appear each day in my office.

It's food now that seems to calm me. This is either terrible news for my waistline, or perhaps more of a less-subtle message that I seriously need to find a new door to close each night. There isn't an ogre on the planet that can't usually be slayed by Gwen or Etta or an amazing sunset. But tonight the ogres won against them. It wasn't until I got home that the beasts let go of my throat. I have a plastic container of leftover Thanksgiving truffles in the refrigerator. It's a blessing in disguise that desserts on the holiday table rarely get eaten because everyone has slipped into a food-induced coma by the time the after-dinner coffee is poured. Because of this, the pumpkin truffles awaited me and I descended upon them eagerly. These truffles have a very subtle spiced pumpkin flavor lying underneath the toothsome dark chocolate. One is never quite enough.

I remembered how much fun it was to sculpt each little ball of cold chocolate and cream and then bowl them into a dust storm of cocoa and powdered sugar. They were stored in the refrigerator until the moment that I plucked them from their Tupperware home and placed them into oversized martini glasses on the dessert table amid a fresh dusting of cocoa powder. That thought alone banished all yucky tangled work cobwebs clinging to my brain and psyche.

I realized that world peace could be achieved through chocolate confections.

Dogs and cats could live together in harmony.

And perhaps I could pitch my stinky mental baggage into a landfill and go shopping for a new Coach gym bag, tasteful and without any accumulated body funk smell.


CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN TRUFFLES

9 ounces dark chocolate, chopped
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup canned pumpkin, plus 3 TBS
3/4 tsp pumpkin pie spice
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa, sifted
1/4 cup powdered sugar, sifted

Place chopped chocolate into a bowl. Pour cream into a small saucepan and bring to a simmer. Stir in pumpkin and salt and return to a low boil. Immediately pour cream mixture over chocolate. Chocolate should begin to melt.




Stir mixture after a few minutes until all chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth. Cover bowl and place in refrigerator to chill for about an hour and a half.

Sift cocoa and powdered sugar together in a bowl. Use a melon baller to scoop small balls of chocolate. If necessary, dip hands into ice water periodically and roll balls between palms of hands until rounded. Dip into cocoa/sugar mixture until well coated and place on platter. Continue forming truffles and refrigerate finished candy.

IT'S NOT EASY BEING BLUE

I realize that a few, or perhaps all three of you, visitors to this site were slightly put off by my Blueberry Burgers piece last month.

Fair weather friends!

I wanted to follow up with the results of another who actually had the epicurian vision (okay, I'll admit that it's entirely possible she was on the losing end of a game of "truth or dare") to put the idea to a test. Kate of Ann Arbor Michigan, served her version of the burgers to her family and, as far as I can tell, her family is still on speaking terms with her. Kate posted the colorful results on her blog, Four Obsessions: Reading, Writing, Cooking and Knitting.

I wonder if Kate likes vodka?

TALKIN' TURKEY WITH SOME HELP FROM MY BUDDY RUSS PARSONS

Experimenting with new recipes before you plan to serve them to guests at important events is a good rule to follow. I doubt an experimental wedding cake was delivered to Italy's Odescalchi Castle for Tom & Kate's big moment. I can say for certain that only time-tested and proven recipes are employed for my special dinner celebrating the arrival of People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" issue. You just don't mess with sanctity.

That's why I have such reservations about deviating from my tried and true turkey recipe this Thanksgiving. But, I'm going to.

Yes.

I'm a wild man.

At least a decade ago I read a L.A. Times food article touting the newest way to prepare a bird that was flavorful and moist, with a deliciously crisp browned skin. The method involved roasting the turkey, unstuffed at a very high temperature. A thin insulating layer of dressing was placed between the skin and the breast meat to help it retain moisture while the darker meat had a chance to cook fully. It works beautifully. The only drawback to this method is that the high heat can sear the pan drippings, causing some smoking and leaving very little pan juices to use for gravy. If your smoke detectors are wired directly to your home security you may end up inviting the local firemen inside for pumpkin pie when they show up at your doorstep as your family is sitting down to dinner. But, whoever said having strong, strapping firemen on your doorstep was a bad thing? Come on in boys!

This year one of my closest friends and confidant, Russ Parsons of the L.A. Times (well, maybe he isn't my closest friend), hosted The Great Turkey Smackdown. This year Russ (okay, I suppose the label "confidant" may be a bit misleading) tested four turkey preparation methods and crowned a new winner. He borrowed a dry-salting method from Judy Rodgers, chef at San Francisco's Zuni Cafe, and found it produced the best-flavored and most evenly cooked bird.

Russ found (truth is that I haven't talked to Russ in quite some time) the winning procedure was to sprinkle the bird with one tablespoon of salt for every five pounds of meat, concentrating the salt on the thicker parts of the bird. The turkey was then sealed in a plastic bag and refrigerated for three days. The bird was taken out of the bag and left uncovered in the fridge the night prior to roasting to help dry the skin. It was then roasted at 425F for the first 30 minutes, and then reduced to 325F to finish. A final internal temperature of 165F was the goal (but removing from the oven at 160F and allowing the push to take it to 165F).

The problem with trying a new turkey recipe is that I'm not going to roast a turkey the week prior to Thanksgiving to test it. I'm not excited about the idea of running home from the office on a Thursday and preparing a turkey. The only worthwhile moment might be to see the look on Ed's face as he comes home from work to find a whole roast turkey on the table. I suppose if you are an Atkins fan the leftovers produced from the meal would have merits.

So, if Russ' dry-salted turkey method produces a dud on the big day, I'll have to cross him off my Christmas card list permanently (okay, I've never met the man but I did once have a friend with a Jack Russell named Russ). Wish us all luck.

What is your favorite turkey cooking method? Do you stuff, truss and slow roast? Seal in a giant Ziploc and steam the creature? Deep fry?

Or, do you prefer to do it the old-fashioned "Roseanne way"




"Here I am, 5 o'clock in the morning, stuffing breadcrumbs up a dead bird's butt."

BLD (Bring Leftovers for Dinner)

Judging from the throng of attractive patrons, Los Angeleans have embraced BLD (for breakfast, lunch and dinner) in a big way. Another (albeit slightly unsettling) gauge of its success is the number of times we, or our dining companions, have been treated to freebies to compensate for the time spent leaning against the expansive bar top. Comped drinks and appetizers are pleasant surprises, but watching fellow patrons systematically be dispatched to their table while you are left standing can dull the pleasure.

Perhaps it was too much Pinot Noir. Nothing about the appearance of the restaurant gave any indication of a bad evening. The interior is bubbly, inviting and comfortable in a polished casualness . The restaurant is the cheerful inspiration of the team responsible for Grace. We gave the hostess (or rather the off-duty Prada model) our name and we were told it would be about an hour for a table. We managed to dock ourselves at a highly coveted space at the bar and ordered a round of drinks and charcuterie. Servers (perhaps I should say other toned, Crunch-card carrying thespians) prepared a gorgeous arrangement of cheeses, crunchy marcona almonds (if you haven't yet nibbled them you MUST find some today), sticky fig loaf, quince paste, apples and fresh breads. Lush meats are cut on an impressive red slicer that commands attention across the bar. All of these were artfully balanced and slid across the bar toward us. The platter was later pried out of our hands with not even a tiny smear of Brie remaining to dull its finish. The pinot softened the wait somewhat, so we happily ordered a second round. If we had left at that point, I would most likely feel the urge to return.

The manager was actively touring the room and spied our companions. Their visit the previous week was in celebration of a friend's birthday. Their wait pushed the hour +++ mark so two rounds of drinks were comped for them. The manager recognized them and made a beeline for us, checking in and reassuring us that our wait would soon end. Lightning does indeed strike twice and our wait turned into about an hour and twenty-odd minutes. Once again the manager discretely comped our bar tab. By this time, my feet were no longer happy and the leisurely picking over of the charcuterie had pretty much killed my appetite.

The Prada model eventually flashed her pearly whites at us and we were ushered to a table. I ordered the pork burger that I had heard so much about. It eventually arrived but I took two small bites and it sat until our waiter eventually picked up the heavily laden plate. The burger, while juicy and served warm, possessed an overbearingly strong pork flavor. I do realize that this WAS in fact a burger made from pork. I am a big fan of pork and the burger has found its way into many positive reviews. But I found the flavor to be harsh and too overpowering...perhaps as if the ground meat was teetering on the far edge of freshness. Ed ordered a traditional beef burger and found its taste to be "okay."

Perhaps popularity is BLD's only fault. The manager's congenial attitude and generosity was certainly good form and did not go unnoticed. The problem is that perhaps this is the normal operating mode for the restaurant. They do not accept reservations and if standard Hollywood seating procedures are followed, those possessing a higher profile than yourself will find their way to a table long before you. Be forewarned that you should not walk through the doors accompanied by a hearty appetite. The clock will stand between you and the tempting entrees on their menu.

BLD
7450 Beverly Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA
323-930-9744

CHILLY HOT CHILIES

Unlike some, I do enjoy a bit of fire in the throat. I'm totally at ease chowing down on plates of pasta smothered with a spicy arrabiata sauce or lapping up bowls of juicy salsas studded with chunks of jalapenos or even habenero chilies.

Got capsaicin?

I say, "Bring it on!"

That's one reason I loved visiting Albuquerque, New Mexico this past weekend. The town is known as the Land of Enchantment. It's colorful and the food is served up piping hot.

The smell of roasting chilis, or simmering chile sauces is ubiquitous in New Mexico. We stepped out of the airplane and were greeted by the unmistakable aroma of chilies inside the terminal. At this point in time the smell was almost cruel in its lure as I had snacked only on a bagel and a cup of coffee before boarding our plane in Burbank. My stomach was growling audibly, my carry-on cutting off the circulation in my shoulder, and my nose was pulling me in the direction of the restaurant filled with travelers killing time while waiting for their delayed flights.


"Hello Mom?

Yeah, we've landed.

No, we haven't eaten.

Uh-huh, yeah, I'm starving!!!

What's that?

You made chili?

I'm hanging up--we'll be right there!"

I miss my mom's home made chili . She uses a light hand when adding the freshly ground New Mexico chile powder (she's more delicate than I am) but it is never short of flavor. We headed out into town and we indulged in other regional foods. They introduced us to sopaipillas. These are squares of fried dough which puff up into a "pillow." They are frequently served as the bread with a meal. A traditional way to eat sopaipillas is to squeeze honey (sometimes flavored with cinnamon or anise) into the hollow cavity. Sticky fingers usually follow. Sopaipillas can also be stuffed with various savory fillings such as shredded meats or refried beans. I scarfed down several that were served along with my hamburger, which was served open-faced, swimming in a deliciously fragrant red chile sauce.

We were guided through the square of old town Albuquerque, dodging in and out of nearly every shop. Albuquerque's first inhabitants settled in the area in the early 1700's as a colonial farming village and a military outpost along the Camino Real between Chihuahua, Mexico and Santa Fe. Today, the "old town" still consists of the traditional Spanish pattern where a central plaza is surrounded by a church, homes and government buildings. Most of the old homes are gone, but a few are still standing and many have been renovated into businesses.




We were all in a cloudy chile induced haze at the point when my mother announced our dinner plans for Sunday evening. My mom is a dramatic and adventurous kind of woman so these plans included digging out scarves, gloves and extra layers of clothing. Our reservations required us to make our way to the base of the Cibola National Forest. When we arrived we were greeted by the marvel of the world's longest aerial tramway.




Now, anybody who really knows Ed understands he possesses a lust for life that would make Auntie Mame blush and run for cover. He's celebrated birthdays by sky diving, has bungee jumped out of a hot air balloon and engaged in all sorts of activities that are not fit to blog about (I on the other hand, usually prefer to keep my feet squarely on terra firma, thank-you-very-much). It was therefore ironic that Ed proposed a little liquid courage as a pre-requisite to our dining adventure. Cadillac margaritas slid across the bar toward us and tequila warmed our throats and readied us for the 2.7 mile trip to the top of Sandia Peak.


During our chilly ride, the operator detailed the terrain we were covering and the depths of the gullies underneath us. He informed us at one point that we were about 900 feet away from the side of the mountain...or seven seconds.



The High Finance Restaurant is located at the top--10,378 feet above sea level. We stepped out of the tramway into 18-degree temperatures and ran toward the warm lobby of the restaurant. The menu includes pretty traditional steakhouse type items and we admired the view while eating fried calamari, Grilled Filet of Salmon topped with a mango—red pepper gastrique and New York steak with Boursin cheese mashed potatoes and a tasty roasted sweet corn relish.


When packing my bag to leave this morning I had to make room for:

A large bag of Chimayo chile powder (produced from de-seeded and ground roasted chile pods)

Blue corn popcorn

Roasted peanuts dusted with Habanero pepper (arguably the hottest pepper on the planet)

Cocoa powder with Pinon ( a nut from the Colorado pinon tree, a two-needled pine which grows wild in New Mexico).

This trip has re-ignited my passion for the flavorful food of the American southwest and I'm sure I'll create some new dishes with both green and red chili soon.

YOUR TABLE IN THE ARGYLE SECTION IS READY

Rarely does such a small table hold the weight of such abundant talent. Tuesday night I was delighted to join the remarkable Keiko, of Nordljus fame, and the irrepressibly inspiring Matt of Mattbites for dinner. Both of these often imitated, never duplicated (forget it--not even close!) bloggers have been sources of great inspiration to me and I wish I could have shared more time with them.

For those of you who are not familiar with Keiko's blog, I highly recommend that you point your cursor in its direction. To visit there is to walk down the halls of a tony art gallery showcasing intoxicating and luxurious photos of her culinary offerings and various travels. Her photography skills are only matched by her culinary prowess. I highly doubt that she will ever need a Trash Compactor Files section in her blog. Prepare to return to the site again and again as the content there is staggering and demands to be revisited. She and her equally engrossing husband Matthew are here on a trip from their home in the U.K. Soon they will travel up the coast to San Francisco from Los Angeles. San Francisco is a picturesque destination and I can't wait to see her vision of the city through her camera's lens.

Matt is an advertising director in the food industry and it's clearly visible in his blog. It's stylish, witty and each entry looks as if he hired a team of twelve people to produce it. I suppose when you create such inviting artwork for a living, spinning out more into your blog becomes effortless. His wit, humor and excessive talent color every photograph and illustration. Matt doesn't know it yet but I want to don a cloak of invisibility and secretly shadow him to note his creative genius and the processes he employs. *note to self--ask Santa for a cloak of invisibility next month* In addition to stories of his work adventures, Matt shares warm tales of his family, his home and some very treasured recipes making Mattbites a true expression of himself. I should mention that Matt is also a highly talented photographer who's images I study in hopes of picking up an idea or two.


Matt was accompanied by his delightful partner Adam who is a food stylist. *note to self--I'm also going to need more comfortable shoes if I am going to shadow both of these guys around under my cloak of invisibility.* Unfortunately we didn't all make it into one photo. Thank you Keiko for getting this great group of people together for an unforgettable dinner.

HEAVENLY BEEF TRIPE A LA HAGGARD

This has been a very bad weekend. Not only was my invitation to Laura Bush's birthday bash lost in the mail, but I just learned that the cookbook project I was co-authoring with the reverend Ted Haggard has been cancelled. We had such high hopes for this joint collaboration. The working title was, "The Joy of Massaging Your Meat."



I pray this project will eventually be resurrected. In the meantime I'd like to post this excerpt from the chapter, "Hell's Kitchen: Not Just for Braising." I hope you enjoy it.


However, I must comment that I personally found this tripe hard to swallow.

HEAVENLY BEEF TRIPE

Cut away excessive fat from tripe and marinate in saline filled baptismal to tenderize. Rinse well and transfer tripe to large stockpot set over damnation heat. Lower heat to "purgatory" and simmer for 3 to 4 hours or until all impurities have been banished and tripe is tender.

While tripe is simmering, combine one quarter of an ounce of high quality crystal methamphetamine with eighteen kilos of self-hatred. Simmer in hot water for eternity, or until the throng of CNN reporters camped outside your doorstep causes steam to whistle out of your ears like a teapot.

ZERO CELSIUS

One of Ed's associates was up for a WIN (Women's Image Network) award Wednesday night as executive producer of "I Want to Be a Soap Star" on SoapNet (this season is now over, but you can download it on iTunes). Ed went to cheer her on and I stayed home and read uplifting magazine articles about Darfur (a topic for another blog). Attending a lengthy award show can sometimes make you want to shoot yourself in the foot--it gives you a valid reason to leave early. If you survive the entire show without staining the upholstery with your blood you get a cool goodie bag on your way out of the theatre as a reward. Once he returned home I raided the bag. Among other items was a bottle of Celsius.

"What the hell is Celsius and why is it taking up valuable space in this bag?" I wondered.

Ed replied, "thapppth aoouuesh nuuwwetpth." He was brushing his teeth.

The following is taken directly from their website:

What if a soda could actually burn calories?
This simple question sparked more than two years of scientific research and taste trials that led to the development of Celsius™, the first calorie-burning soda that boosts energy levels.

Our double-blind, placebo-controlled clinical research confirmed its functional benefit. We discovered that Celsius:


raises metabolism by 12% and
significantly increases calorie-burning for three hours.

Celsius has created a whole new beverage category that burns calories without sacrificing taste. The benefits are obvious.




Obvious. Of course.

So tonight we are joining our bud for our traditional Thursday night out at El Coyote restaurant. Yes at 75 years, El Coyote is an experiment in the longevity of garish Mexican restaurants in Los Angeles. Eating there is the equivalent of getting stuck in the Mexican village section of the It's a Small World ride at Disneyland after having consumed too much tequila. Rainbow-colored paper mache parrots, luminescent taffeta dresses and Dia de los Muertos decor surround you in a glaring cacophony of Mexican tackiness.

God how we love it!

We typically enjoy margaritas, chips and salsa (lots) and cheesy quesadillas or greasy carnitas.

I'm so relieved to know that this tasty elixir exists! I'll down three bottles of Celsius before leaving for the restaurant. I'm sure that if one is good, more is better. I'll be a lean, mean calorie burning machine by the time we hit Melrose! I'll let you know tomorrow just how many pounds I lost.