That's Just Poppycock!

Every once in awhile, I’ll come across a recipe that looks so delicious, I can’t wait to try it. In this case, I wanted to try it immediately, but dragged my feet a little because I knew it would be a little bit of a pain in the butt. I was right, but it was so worth it!

The September issue of Bon Appetit magazine contains a recipe from Colt & Gray restaurant in Denver. Why couldn’t Colt & Gray have opened when I still lived there? I would’ve been there every night for their bacon and cashew caramel corn. Alas, they were not, and I was left to make it myself.

Bacon and cashew caramel corn? I saw the recipe title and my heart skipped a beat. I read it to LA, and I think his may have skipped a beat, too. Everyone loves caramel corn and everyone loves bacon (except you silly vegetarians who are missing out on the “meat candy”), so how could we not love bacon caramel corn? As far as I’m concerned, the cashews are just filler. The bacon and caramel are the real stars.

I bought all of the necessary ingredients, a bit horrified at the thought of actually having to cook popcorn in a pan. I grew up in the era of microwave popcorn. Now that I don’t have a microwave, I have to go old school. I was justly pleased with myself when the popcorn came out unburned and fully popped. The patron saint of popcorn popping must have been watching over me.

I’ve made caramel enough that it doesn’t even phase me, but there’s still a small voice at the back of my head that says “It’s going to crystallize and you’re going to have a bit pot of rock candy.” Take that, little voice in my head—my caramel was perfect!

The hardest part was waiting for the popcorn to cool enough so it wouldn’t burn off my fingerprints. Once it cooled, I couldn’t tear myself away from it. It’s sweet, it’s salty, it’s spicy, it’s the best caramel corn ever. I would describe it as Cracker Jack for adults, but that would be selling the bacon caramel corn short. Even though it will take 3-4 pans, the task of making caramel, and having on the oven in the middle of summer, I still recommend making this popcorn. You’ll never eat Fiddle Faddle again.

For the recipe, click here.

That IS a Tasty Burger!

At some point during my magazine-flipping or internet-surfing, I came across a photo of a pimento cheese bacon burger.  It looked heavenly.  I didn't read the accompanying article or recipe.  I just figured I'd make my own with pimento cheese, bacon, and a burger.  So I began planning.

With this recipe in mind, I bought some pimento cheese from Sandra with Harvest Catering.  I've had good pimento cheese and bad pimento cheese.  The supermarket variety is sweet and bright orange.  I'd love to say that it qualifies as bad pimento cheese, but I can't.  I happily eat it.  But Harvest Catering's is very good pimento cheese.  Grated cheddar, cream cheese, and pimentos.  I didn't have any bread, and my ground beef was frozen, so I ate the pimento cheese with crackers.  Until I ran out of crackers.  Then I ate it with my finger.  The point is that I'd eaten all of the pimento cheese by the time the ground beef had thawed, so I didn't get to have my long-desired pimento cheese bacon burger.

I was counting the days until I'd run into Sandra at the farmers market again, and today was the day!  Sandra has two varieties of pimento cheese: mild and jalapeno.  For a change of pace, I opted for the jalapeno.  While I was out, I also picked up some Arnold's Select Whole Wheat Sandwich Thins, which look like really thin English muffins.  I prefer to use English muffins as hamburger buns, so I figured the Sandwich Thins would work just as well. 

Dinner time had finally arrived.  I was using ground beef from Scally's Natural Beef for my burger, with some bacon from my freezer, and Harvest Catering's pimento cheese.  I also added lettuce, pickle, and mayo to make it a traditional burger.  Before final assembly, I toasted the bread.  Just as protection against sogginess.  So how was the burger?  More heavenly than the original photo had led me to imagine!  I almost cried when I finished eating it, because I didn't want the deliciousness to end.  I was even tempted to make another one, but that would just be gluttony.  I think I've discovered my new favorite burger.

Harvest Catering is at the Winecoff School Rd farmers' market on Tuesdays and Saturdays, and at the Kannapolis Research Campus market on Thursdays.  The Scallys are at Winecoff School Rd on Saturdays.

He's a Real Fungi

When I was growing up, my parents were of the mindset that simply warning a child of the dangers of society is not enough. No, a far better option is to create a phobia. I will only begrudgingly go into the ocean, as the potential for a jellyfish attack is so great. Don’t even ask about hitchhikers, although my mother will gladly tell you all about that if you’re truly curious. These dire warnings even extended to the foliage in the backyard. “Don’t eat the mushrooms! You could die!” I was an intelligent child, but I was still unable to make a distinction between the wild mushrooms that would lead to my horrible and mouth-frothing death and the canned mushrooms that my mother put in the spaghetti. Mushrooms are mushrooms. Why take chances? In France, autumn brings to the forest scavengers for the best mushrooms. They then take their hard-won selections to the pharmacist, who tells them which are toxic and which are not. No, thank you. Everyone, be it a passing acquaintance or a dear friend, knows that I do not eat mushrooms. As I sat picking the mushrooms out of the above-mentioned spaghetti, my father would say, “I hope you don’t do that in public!” Well, Dad, if I’m given mushrooms in public, I will, in fact, still pick them out. If Thomas Keller handed me a plate of mushrooms that he’d sauteed especially for me, I would take a bite out of politeness. One bite. And I would probably spit it into my napkin when he wasn’t looking. I know many people who feel the same way I do, and many more who think I am crazy for the disdain I feel towards mushrooms.

I would like to clarify my true feelings toward the fungus. I am not generally offended by the taste of mushrooms. I am offended by the texture. I imagine an eyeball would have the same textural qualities. I do not eat eyeballs, therefore I do not eat mushrooms. I often make mushroom gravy to accompany meatloaf. While my dinner companions are raving about the gravy, I am busy pushing the mushrooms to the side of my plate. You know, where the parsley used to be. (Maybe I’m dating myself with that statement, but anyone my age or older remembers the sprig of parsley, and sometimes a lemon wedge, that was sitting at either 1 o’clock or 11 o’clock on the restaurant plate.) Beef bourgignon would not be the same without the mushrooms. But I don’t have to eat them. Stuffed mushrooms are delicious—I can often be found eating the stuffing and leaving the base.

“Have you ever actually eaten a mushroom?” I get asked this all the time. Yes, I have eaten a mushroom. The cause of this is usually someone who feels that they alone have the power to change my mind and cause me to love something that looks and feels like a small, spongy hat. They tell me that they can make me love a mushroom, that they have the recipe that will cause me to shout “Eureka!” and bless them and their mushroom strudel. To that I respond, “Better people than you have tried and failed.” In a battle of wills over mushrooms, I always win.

I wish I liked mushrooms. The variety is overwhelming. Wild mushrooms. Cultivated mushrooms. Dried mushrooms. Chinese mushrooms. The list goes on and on. The vegetarian option at most restaurants invariably involves mushrooms in some form. Even fast food restaurants are beginning to offer portobello “burgers”. That’s not a burger—it’s a salad on a bun. I just can’t do it. I have been told that your taste buds change every 7 years, so you may now enjoy foods that you detested a few years ago. While this may be true in some cases, my taste buds have gone through many revitalizations, and still I cannot eat mushrooms. With one exception.

I was flipping through a Japanese cookbook a few years back, when I came upon an odd-looking creature wrapped in bacon. It looked a bit like a space alien, or maybe an anemone like you would see on the Discovery Channel in a program about the weird and wonderful species living on the bottom of the Marianas Trench. But it was a mushroom. An enokitake mushroom, to be exact. I had never seen anything like it. They were so intriguing. I knew I had to find some immediately.

The enokitake get their name from the tree (take) on which they grow, the enoki (hackberry). In Japan, wild enokitake may still be found in markets. These look similar to the cultivated variety, but the caps are a darker color. In the US, wild enokitake are rarely available. The cultivated variety are much more common, with a flavor that matches the wild variety. Enokitake mushrooms are, in fact, very subtle in flavor. While often cooked in Japan, in dishes such as shabu-shabu, they are frequently eaten raw in the US. I have occasionally seen enokitake mushrooms in the supermarket, usually on the top shelf of the produce section, with many other foreign and infrequently-purchased items. They are more easily found in Asian markets. This is where I first was able to find the mushrooms. I bought them, as well as a package of bacon, so I could make obimake enoki. This is a wonderful and unusual dish that is great for parties. The unusual appearance will appeal to your guests, and the ease of preparation will appeal to you. I guarantee that even die-hard mushroom-haters will be impressed!

Obimake Enoki
Enokitake Mushrooms with a Sash
Makes 24
Adapted from The Cook’s Encyclopedia of Japanese Cooking, by Emi Kazuko (Anness Publishing Ltd., 2002)

1lb fresh enokitake mushrooms
6 strips smoked bacon
lemon wedges and ground pepper, to serve

Cut off the root part of each enokitake cluster ¾ inch from the end, making sure that you do not separate the stems. Cut the bacon strips in half lengthwise.

Divid the enokitake into 12 bunches. Wrap one halved strip of bacon around the middle of the enokitake, so you have an equal amout of mushroom showing on either end of the bacon. Tuck any short stems into the bacon . Secure the ends of the bacon with a toothpick. Continue wrapping each bunch with one halved slice of bacon. You should have 12 wrapped bunches when done.

Preheat the broiler to High. Place the enokitake rolls on an oiled wire rack. Broil for 10-12 minutes, turning as needed, until the bacon is crisp and the mushrooms begin to burn.

Remove the enokitake rolls from the rack. Cut each roll in half in the middle of the bacon belt. To serve, arrange the top half of the enokitake bunches standing up, with the lower half lying on the platter. Serve with lemon wedges and ground pepper.

Why is the mushroom the life of the party?  Because he's a real fungi!