Raccoon and Lobster

It’s not often that the boys get split up, but every so often The Boyfriend gets swamped at work and requires some help down at the office. Because of his heartless draconian employers, he is limited to only one office assistant, and so it was that poor Arthur was left at home to nap on the couch and collect canine unemployment while Rocky was hard at work helping to shred sensitive papers.

Being an office dog is hard work though, and sometimes a project comes up that requires more puppy power. Thanks to the wonders of modern videoconferencing technology, Rocky can brainstorm with a friend in the business and Arthur can enjoy a brief but highly lucrative stint as an independent canine contractor.

Farmer’s market days bring a bounty of food into the house when I remember to go. Today’s haul featured some potatoes, some vegetables, and a whole lot of fruit.

Of particular delight to me is the two foot long daikon that’s as big around as my calf and which cost two whole dollars. Unpictured is the giant 25 pound case of tangerines. Buying in bulk is the only way to keep up with the devastating speed with which I consume fruit. No risk of scurvy in the Raccoon and Lobster household, that’s for sure.

I also picked up an exciting new fruit that looks like a dragon and tastes like a pineapple mango papaya peach. Cherimoya! It deserved its own photo:

The cherimoya smelled so fragrant that the puppies couldn’t keep their little black noses off of it. Fast short sniffs followed by long sustained inhales, occasionally interrupted by little piggy snorts. I really don’t give the pups enough credit as foodies.

At first, Arthur was very happy to presented with the cherimoya.

But as the minutes passed, he became more and more unhappy that he was being put to work as a guard dog and not as a taster dog.

Who was Arthur guarding the cherimoya from? Rocky, of course. And himself. He’s a very hard working pup.

Poor Rocky left little droplets of drool on the floor as he gazed longingly at the exotic fruit he desired.

In a moment of weakness, Rocky made a play for the fruit, but a raised eyebrow and a gentle clearing of the throat restored his professionalism.

Being the curators of a food blog has its downsides, but the ability to study in great detail the olfactory profile of unusual produce is a perk not offered by many other canine media professions.

This is my first ever apple pie. Clearly, I am not very American. When it comes to the pie versus cake debate, I am pretty firmly on the side of Team Cake. There are those in the Cake Club that do not agree, however, and on their behalf, I agreed to attempt my first ever real pie. (Real pie being pie that involves two layers of crust and baked fruit, not things in pie pans that are called pie but are actually custards on a shell. French Silk Pie, while delicious, does not qualify.)

With a little help from Cook’s Illustrated, Smitten Kitchen, and Shuna Fish Lydon pastry chef extraordinaire, I managed to cobble (heh) together a lumpy heap of fruit wrapped in crust.

It smelled amazing. And seeing the steam rise out as it was cooling was pretty cool, I’ll admit. Very homey in a way that cake rarely manages to be.

The recipe called for 4 pounds of apples in two different varieties. Smitten Kitchen seemed to confirm this. The recipe instructions said to “mound slightly in center”. My pie pan was half an inch bigger than required. My apples were smaller than described so more of it was core and had to be discarded.

I was only halfway through the bowl of filling when I hit generously mounded status. Nonetheless, I was not about to question culinary gurus with far more baking experience than me. If the recipe says 4 pounds of apples, then by golly I am going to stuff 4 pounds of apples in that pie. The end result was an assertive high-rise of apples barely contained by a crust that was rapidly developing excess venting holes under the strain of enveloping such a load.

Of course, after it cooled and the steam escaped, the pile of apple filling collapsed to a reasonable height while the shell remained the original height. Hmph. I suppose that’s part of being rustic. Or something.

Superficialities aside, the crust was flaky and buttery, and the apple filling was tart and sweet and cinnamon-y and nutmeg-y in all the right ways . While the presentation may leave something to be desired, it seems as if the pie itself is a winner.

At every step of this recipe, the crust should be kept as cold as possible. If you are not actively handling it, it should be in the fridge.

All Butter Pie Crust via Shuna Fish Lydon (did I mention she used to be the pastry chef at The French Laundry?)

Makes enough for a pie top and bottom

2 cups of all purpose flour (I used 9.2 oz)
4 tablespoons sugar
8 oz butter, cut into equal pieces and frozen
½ teaspoon kosher salt (or about 1/4 teaspoon table salt)
ice water

Assemble all dry ingredients in the bowl of a stand mixer. Use paddle attachment on mixer and drop the butter in a few pieces at a time. When the chunks of butter are slightly larger than pea size, dribble in ice water until the dough just begins to come together. Do not wait until it forms a ball. It is ready when it stops looking dry and barely starts to bind to itself.

Stop the mixer and turn it on to a lightly floured work surface. Flour your hands and  just push the dough together into a ball. The dough is ready to use immediately without resting. Divide dough in half and refrigerate during other prep work.

Apple Pie via The New Best Recipe with a tweaks from Smitten Kitchen and Shuna

2 pounds Granny Smith apples
2 pounds McIntoch apples
1½ tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest
3/4 cups sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt (or ½ teaspoon kosher salt)
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground allspice
heavy cream for brushing
raw sugar for sprinkling

Preheat oven to 425°F and put your pie pan in the freezer.

Peel and core all apples and cut into 1/4″ slices. Toss with sugar, lemon juice, zest, salt, and spices.

Roll out a ball of dough onto a lightly floured surface. Dust hands and top of dough with flour and roll out into a circle about 12″ in diameter. Fold dough in quarters and unfold appropriately into the pie pan. Gently press the dough into the sides of the pan.

Move fruit mixture, including juices, into the pie shell. Refrigerate the pie while rolling out the top shell.

Place the top shell over the pie filling and trim the top and bottom edges of the dough to ½” beyond the edge of the pan. Tuck the rim underneath itself so it lies flat with the edge of the pan. Press with fork tines to seal. Cut four slits for steam to escape on the top of the dough.

Brush crust with cream and sprinkle with sugar. Bake for 25 minutes until the top is golden and reduce temperature to 375°F until the crust is deep golden brown and the juices bubble, another 35 minutes or so. Stick a baking sheet under the pie to catch any drips from the cream or the filling to make for easier cleanup.

Transfer to a cooling rack and let cool to almost room temperature, about 4 hours.

Mercilessly taunt the dogs moping under the table, hoping for pie.

I couldn’t allow this enormous head of cauliflower to remain where I found him, silently plotting whatever it is that giant cauliflowers plot. Look at the tendrils of his green cauliflower leaf-hands. Can’t you see them unfurling oh-so-slowly? No? Just wait. You will.

Cauliflower, like trolls, are well known for their ability to regenerate, and the only defense against them rising up is to attack with fire or acid.

I chose to do both, first pummeling them with a blast of heat from my burners, and then finishing them off with the slow burn of my stomach acid.

My good deed for the day is done. You’re welcome, universe.

Sautéed Cauliflower

Cauliflower
vegetable oil
salt
pepper
minced garlic
chopped chives
crushed cayenne pepper flakes
grated Asiago cheese

Tear off leafy cauliflower hands and trim the stem. Rinse the monstrous creature under running water and cut it into small florets of roughly equal size.

Sauté in a skillet over medium heat with vegetable oil until golden brown. Season to taste with salt and pepper and add in the garlic. Remove from heat when the garlic is softened and fragrant and toss with the chives, cayenne pepper, and cheese. Eat with the satisfaction of a job well done.

Rocky: With great chicken comes great responsibility

Arthur: Chicken is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do

So I’m taking Arthur for a late night poop walk and as I head out the door I grab the crust of the pizza that The Boyfriend was eating so I could give it to him later. “Him” meaning Arthur, not The Boyfriend who is fully capable of pooping without my assistance. As soon as he gets the pizza crust into his mouth he falters and looks to find a place to eat his prize in peace. Being the bitch that I am, I keep walking and Arthur, flummoxed, follows. He veers left and right trying to disappear into the bushes but I keep marching forward and suddenly it becomes clear to me that Arthur is incapable of eating his pizza crust while he’s still walking. I start walking even faster and now he’s scampering as fast as his little furry legs can go and there’s no detours to chase squirrels or stray cats or mark on trees because dear god there is a pizza crust in his mouth and he doesn’t know how to get it in his stomach while his legs are moving.

Of course I can’t just let this go without documentation and seeing as how I never take my cell phone with me when I go anywhere, I have to get a camera from home without stopping so that Arthur can swallow his pizza crust. So I turn towards the house and cruise past my front door at a brisk jog, ringing the doorbell and running off. All I need is for The Boyfriend to figure out that I  need him to go grab his camera and hand it to me while I’m running back and forth down the block and without asking inane questions like “What?” and “Why?” and “What the hell are you doing?”

If it is 1am and I am running back and forth dragging a dog behind me and gesticulating wildly for you to Bring. Me. A. Camera. Dammit. you should just go ahead and bring me the camera and ask questions later so I don’t have to wake up the neighbors and ask them for their camera because this is clearly a blogging emergency. Needless to say my outbursts of “Arthur! Pizza! Camera! Go!!” coupled with frantic shooing motions do not produce the desired effect and now Rocky is in the yard trying to get in on the walking action and so I just grab his phone out of his hands (The Boyfriend’s phone, not Rocky’s. Rocky’s phone doesn’t have a camera that works in low light. And he doesn’t have hands.) and run back to Arthur and dash for the end of the block but the jig is up and the little bastard has remembered how to chew. I reach my hand down his throat and grab the soggy bits of crust out of his mouth and start running, holding the phone in one hand and trying to take a picture while shoving the pizza back into his mouth with the other but it’s too late and Arthur swallows the pieces before he starts running. I curse and head back home and The Boyfriend looks at me like I am mentally ill.

But read over this story again and you tell me who the real idiots are in this story because one of them can’t walk and chew at the same time and the other one is Arthur.

The Most Delicious Hat (also serves as a pretty mean tortilla)
Makes 8 8″ hats

2 cups flour (9.2 oz)
¼ cup shortening
2/3 cup warm water
½ teaspoon salt

Cut shortening into the flour with a pastry cutter. Dissolve salt into the water and add to the flour mixture. Knead for 2-3 minutes until smooth, cover with plastic wrap and let rest for at least 20 minutes. Divide into 8 pieces for 8″ tortilla hats, or more for smaller hats. Cook in a cast iron pan over medium heat until dotted with brown specks and flip, cooking time will vary depending on tortilla thickness. Cover finished tortilla hats while cooking the remainder to ensure that they stay soft and pliable. Overcooked hats will be slightly crunchy and can be used to make kibble burritos and summarily disposed of or turned into kibble quesadillas.

The Boyfriend is actually home every day this week so I get to cook for two for a change. Crêpes have been on the list to make for a while, ever since I acquired an honest to goodness crêpe pan at Surfas many moons ago. Strangely, the pan keeps magically de-seasoning itself and moving around in the kitchen, which makes me think the puppies have been up to no good. The Boyfriend denies any involvement. Hopefully your crêpe pan is free of this crazy voodoo curse.

Crêpes!
Makes about 18 crêpes

2 large eggs
3/4 cup milk
1/2 cup water
1 cup flour (4.6 oz)
3 tablespoons melted butter
2 tablespoons sugar
splash of vanilla

Optional tweaks:
sprinkle of cinnamon
sprinkle of nutmeg
splash of liqueur

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and whisk until well blended and no longer lumpy. Let rest for at least 5 minutes to let the bubbles to subside. You can even go so far as to make the batter the night before you serve the crêpes. Heat your pan over medium-low heat and melt a small pat of batter to coat. Pour about 1 ounce of batter into the pan and swirl the pan to distribute evenly. Cook 30 seconds or so on each side. Can be served plain with a dusting of sugar, or with jam, lemon curd, nutella, fresh fruit, cream, or whatever else you can think of.

Teasing the dog is purely optional.

Many faiths and cultures have holiday celebrations in the coming weeks, but the truly faithful know that December is when a very important figure was born. And although he came from humble beginnings, word of his miraculous birth spread quickly and he grew to be a moral and spiritual leader with followers all over the world. Every year, the anniversary of his birth is celebrated with great fanfare involving the gathering of families, sharing of food, and gifting of presents.

I speak, of course, of the birth of Rocky Raccoon.

‘Twas the night of his birthday, and all through the house

All the puppies were squeaking, with toys in their mouths.

Foul beasties are shaken.

And shaken some more.

Until piles of toy carcasses cover the floor.

This poem I am ending, because it’s a struggle to write,
So Happy Pupmas, to all, and to all, a good night!