Miss T's Mystery House of Yarn & Horrors

Polynesian Chicken Wings

Polynesia!  I have never been to Polynesia, but I suspect it is not below freezing there.  I also suspect that Polynesian cars are not decorated with gray ice chunks which fall to the street like giant turds, and with ugly dustings of salt which exist only to jump off onto your coat.  Polynesia sounds good, doesn’t it?  The cars there are probably neat and clean.  Sigh.  If we’d gotten a proper January thaw this year, I might not be so cranky.  January snow just isn’t pretty like December snow.  The pretty is over, and my feet are cold despite handknit socks.

Alas, these wings are as close as I’m going to get to the South Pacific.  They’re nice and Polynesiany, though, and make for a very cheerful dinner on a cold winter night.

Easy, too.  You prep the wings:  cut off the wing tips and freeze them in a plastic bag for stock-making day.  (Our freezer has accumulated quite a few such bags, so stock-making day is coming soon!)  Get the wings all nicely laid out on a baking pan.

Aren’t they well-behaved?  That’s because they don’t want to be put outside in the freezing cold.  The oven is nicer.  More like Polynesia.

Then, while they’re baking, you make sauce.  Again, easy.  You dump a bunch of stuff in a pot and cook it for a few minutes.  (What stuff?  Click on the recipe link!)  We used pineapple juice instead of the water that the recipe calls for.  Because it was there, and why not add more flavor when you can?  I’m sure they believe in lots of flavor in Polynesia.

When we did this, the wings took quite a bit longer to bake, after being glazed with sauce, than the recipe alleges.  So allow for that.  If you’ve made rice in your rice cooker, it will wait for you.  While you’re waiting, you can make drinks.  Use Tiki cups to create a proper atmosphere.

Once a few Tiki drinks have made you forget about the freezing temperatures outside, you’ll be happy and ready to eat.  And these wings are worth waiting for.

They’re sweet and spicy and delicious.  I’d wait for them again any day.  Even a blustery, gloomy, ice-encrusted, below-zero, non-Polynesian day, with filthy snow and black ice and cold, forbidding skies. 

It’s below zero AGAIN this morning.  I think we’d better make more wings.

All Over But...

The shouting, you say?  No, no, I wish it was shouting.  That would be easy.

Grafting.  Garter stitch.  Sigh.

Moroccan Cubanos

I’m not making that up.  No, the making-up was performed by two of the contestants on Top Chef (Season 1).  The M.E. and I are addicted to Top Chef, so I was beside myself to receive Top Chef:  The Cookbook as a hostess gift last summer.

The book is almost as much fun as the show, being full of gossip, bios, behind-the-scenes tidbits, a bazillion photos and some first class foodstyling.  Oh, and recipes, too.  Lots of them, both winning and non-winning.  There are oodles that I’d like to try, but why not start with a winner?  And with a recipe that doesn’t involve tracking down truffles or black chicken or something?  I promise, no geoduck -- this will be a nice, safe recipe that won’t make anybody scream.

Tiffani and Dave won the Episode 5 Elimination Challenge with this one.  They were supposed to concoct a dish that fused two traditional San Francisco food cultures into a new street food.  If that makes any sense.  And truly, nothing makes sense about the notion of a Moroccan Cubano.  But it certainly looked good, and since we've started a new tradition of having interesting sandwiches for dinner on Sunday nights, well, it sounded perfect.

So, in the spirit of messing with things -- because what is a Moroccan Cubano but messed with other things? -- I immediately changed the recipe.  The recipe in the book (the original is even more complicated; I love seeing how the recipe changed for publication) starts with roasting a five-pound pork butt for five hours.  Not for two sandwiches, noooooo.  I figured that any spices that taste good on a pork butt would taste good on a tenderloin, too.  Pork tenderloin is quicker and cheaper to deal with, and if Dave and Tiffani and the entire team of fussy judges turned out to be wrong about how good this was, I wouldn’t be stuck with a big honking chunk of leftover blechy pork.  Tenderloin it was.  Here’s what we did:

Pickled vegetables first.  Gotta have something pickled, because a real Cubano is made with dill pickles.  Again, I cut the recipe down quite a bit.  The original calls for three cups of red wine vinegar!  For six sandwiches!  You can do silly things like that if a TV production company is buying your supplies.  But for a couple of sandwiches, this is all you need.  Honestly, I think this might be enough pickling liquid for more than that, too:

1/2 c. red wine vinegar
1/6 c. sugar
1/2 tsp. fennel seed

Bring that mixture to a boil, and pour it over:

1 carrot, julienned
1/3 of a red onion, thinly sliced
1 jalapeno, seeded and thinly sliced

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let it hang out for about 20 minutes while you work on the pork.

The M.E., who is in charge of all things meat in our kitchen, mixed up a batch of Ras Al-Hanout.  Which is not as complicated as it sounds, but it sure does smell good.

Ras Al-Hanout

2 tsp. cumin
2 tsp. ground ginger
2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. cayenne (or, in our case, 1/8 tsp., since we use triple-strength cayenne--it was the right amount)
1 tsp. ground coriander
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ground cloves

Coat the tenderloin with oh, maybe a third of the mixture.  A one-pound tenderloin will be enough for two big sandwiches and a third leftover one to fight over. 



You’ll have Ras Al-Hanout left, but there are worse problems to have.  It smells amazing.  Hours after you’re done cooking, your kitchen will still smell amazing.  I mean, you’ll want to lick the walls.

But before the wall-licking, you have to cook the tenderloin.  Put it under the broiler, seven minutes a side, then take it out and let it rest.

In the meantime, warm some pita.  Not the pocket kind, the Greek kind.  Why not throw a touch of Greece in there, along with Morocco?  Might make up for the fact that this Cubano doesn’t have a trace of cheese in it.

Once the pork has had its little rest, all that’s left is assembly, which goes quickly.  Slice the pork, pile it on the pita, and top with pickled vegetables. 

Eat.

 
What’s that extra pita for?  Very sensible of you to ask.  All it took was the word “Moroccan” for me to decide that I should give a nod to the rest of the Middle East, too.  So I picked up some Holyland hummus. 

Because I’ve never had better hummus -- theirs is so perfect, it’s silly to even try to make it.  And that’s me talking.

Was this good?  Did Tiffani and Dave deserve their victory?  Yes, and yes.  (Although, good they both got eliminated later, I say, because Dave didn’t quite have the chops, and Tiffani was irritating.)  The sandwiches were scrumptious.  Really nice, complex flavors, with a perfect pickley touch from the vegetables.  And I must say, I was right about the tenderloin.  Worked very well, and was actually less labor intensive than the original version.  But no, the M.E. and I are not going to try out for the next season of Top Chef.  We’re quite content to sit on the sofa and eat sandwiches and watch the show.  We're rooting for Carla!  And we can't stand Stefan and Fabio!

Color Shift

I go through phases with colors.  Lately, it’s been mostly blues and purples; those are the hues I’ve gravitated to for projects.  But a change is coming, I can feel it as strongly as a drastic shift in the wind.

Brown.

You may be saying, Brown?  Ho hum.  But brown is a sneaky sort of color, more interesting than it initially lets on.  It’s the hue of chocolate, tree bark, rich coffee, a perfectly seared steak, fine leather boots, caramels, cookies, and the occasional Navajo folk art chicken.

Brown works subtle magic, insinuating itself into your consciousness without your quite realizing it’s there, and then surprising you with its depth.  It allows other colors to parade around and show off while it sits back, biding its time until you become exhausted and want nothing more than to curl up in a deep leather club chair, swaddle yourself in an afghan and sip hot cocoa.  Go ahead, try to tell me you don’t like brown.

Perhaps it was the call of that brown sweater which wants to be finished, perhaps it was a need for a sharp contrast, or maybe a desire for something classic and neutral to wear.  I don’t know.  But brown has been tempting me with its chocolatey self everywhere I go lately.

And, of course, being mere inches away from finishing my Stonington shawl -- which is deep purple -- I’m getting antsy to start something new.  Two very different browns immediately launched campaigns for attention.

Elizabeth Lavold Silky Wool in Coffee Bean Brown, for this.  (Also here.)

Buffalo Gold #11 laceweight, in, well, buffalo color, for this.  (Also here.)  All those rumors you’ve heard about this yarn being incredibly soft and gorgeous?  True dat.  This was an extra special Christmas gift from the M.E, who gets quite a few extra Great Husband Points for buying it for me.  Especially since I was already spoiled rotten.

It’s really hard to choose.  They’re both beautiful.  I’ve swatched the Silky Wool and it seems nice to work with.  I’m torn between diving right into the Buffalo Gold, or hoarding it in my stash to smoosh and moon over for a few more months first.  One’s a warm brown, one’s cool.  My other brown project is a cool brown, so should I start something that contrasts?  Or not? 

By the time I figure this out, I might have something else finished!

Inauguration Knitting

Yesterday was a good day for knitting.  Knitting, eye wiping, ear-to-ear beaming, feeling hopeful, loving the First Lady’s dress and the Queen of Soul’s hat (I know you saw them already, but did you read about them?), cherishing the history that was being made right there on my own TV screen.

I had an ideal project for the day, one that clicked along quickly and without fuss, with ultra-soft yarn in a color as bright and luminous as the our new President’s grin....and I can’t show it to you.  You can see the needles, though.  There they are in front of the Inaugural parade.  Size 9s.

Such a beautiful day.  Beautiful.  And in our lifetime; in my mom’s lifetime.

And then, to get up this morning and see this.

Photo from Wikipedia

At last.

He Knew.

Roasted Leeks & Apples

Ah, the winter vegetable rotation:  broccoli, brussels sprouts, kale, cauliflower, start over with broccoli again, slit wrists while pining away for a real tomato.  Something needs to break that up, and I found just the recipe in a wonderful book I got as a gift. 

The Philosopher’s Kitchen is written by food historian Francine Segan, and it’s both gorgeous and interesting.  She’s taken recipes from ancient Rome and Greece and updated them.  I’ve already assembled a long mental list of dishes I want to try, but let’s start with an easy one.  Because it is still January.  I just don’t do complicated food in January.

So.  Side dish.  Vegetable.  Not one of the above vegetables.  Nothing that’s even a close relative of one of the above vegetables.  Something like...roasted leeks and apples.  Doesn’t that sound like it would be great with pork chops?  I don’t know whether it’s from Greece or Rome.  She doesn’t say, although she does go on about Virgil and something about gathering roses and apples, and cutting hyacinths, in the introduction to the recipe, so I’m assuming Rome.  In any case, it was great with pork chops, and you should definitely drop that broccoli at the store and pick up some leeks instead.

Leeks.  I love leeks.  You know how to wash them, right?  Split them down the middle and rinse all the sections really well, because they’re full of dirt.  Then cut them up.  (Don't use the really dark, tough parts of the leeks.  Those are known as "compost.")  Cut up an apple or two as well, depending on how many people you’re feeding.  I used a Honeycrisp.

By the way, all these shots were taken by a special guest photographer, the Knight in Shining Armor With His Trusty iPhone.  Because my camera battery was dead, and there was no time to recharge it before making dinner.  Love that iPhone.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees, and throw together the sauce.  It’s ridiculously easy for something that has such a nice, complex flavor.  Just stir these things together in a baking dish:  olive oil, a couple tablespoons of white wine, honey, marjoram, fennel seeds, salt and pepper.  That’s it.

 

Handy tip:  The best way to lay your hands on two tablespoons of white wine is to pour yourself a glass, and then take a little out of it.  This is so much easier than pouring directly into a tablespoon measure, believe me.  And it makes the cook happy.

Okay, now dump the leeks and apples into the dish and stir it all around while you’ve still got your wits about you.

In the oven it goes, for about half an hour.  You’ll want to peek at it and stir it a couple of times.  I left it in the oven, on a lower rack, while the pork chops broiled, then finished it for a couple of minutes under the broiler.  Worked just dandy.

Yum.  Very yum.  This one will definitely make another appearance before winter is over.  And I’ve got my eye on a recipe for chicken with date mustard, from the same book. 

Determined

I. Am. Going. To. Finish. This. Sweater.

The Station at Alnmouth, a Classic Elite pattern from 1995.  Which I’ve been picking away at for years.  Possibly since 1995.  I don’t remember; I don’t keep track of things like that.

The back, both fronts, and all but an inch of one sleeve are done.  That’s the sleeve, above.  I know, it’s hard to tell what the pattern is in that photo, but the whole thing is encrusted with vines and bobbly-flowery things.  There’s a complicated chart, which involves lots of squinting.  That’s not why I stopped working on it. 

Sometimes, I put things down and turn them into UFOs for silly reasons.  With this sweater, the task of measuring the back (which is quite oversized -- it’s a one-size pattern) to figure out how long to make the drop sleeves seemed annoying.  Into the UFO bag it went.  And stayed there until I realized that I really need another cardigan, and this one’s almost finished.  So I measured.  Which took all of five minutes, including running downstairs for my favorite sheep tape measure. 

I can be dramatic sometimes.  The rumors are true. 

Now that the Drama of the Measuring is over, I’m ready to finish it.  Watch this space!

Blocking

Sad, but true.  I finished Totally Autumn nearly a year ago, but never blocked it.  My excuse was that I didn’t have a space big enough to block it in.  (True.)  We made space, this summer, by fixing up a knitting room for me.  It’s also the guest room, but guests don’t come to stay all that often, so it’s a knitting room.  A pretty, pink knitting room!  With floor space!

So, finally remembering that poor old Totally Autumn was still jammed in the closet, I got to work.

Um, this thing is big.  I ran out of clean towels.  (No, I didn’t check how many there were before I got started.  This is me we’re talking about.)  I ran out of foam mat real estate.  I damn near ran out of floor.

Those are washcloths stuck under the end of the shawl so that it’s not directly on the floor.  Quite the cobbled together piece of nonsense, isn’t it?  This does not bode well for the even bigger piece of lace that's in the works.  I will most certainly have to buy more foam mats.  And I may need to rent a bowling alley.

Antidote for a Gray, Snowy Monday

Chocolate Cherry socks, finished last week.  Yes, the toe on the right sock is funky in the photo, but it’s all fixed now.  Loooove those colors.

Here’s the start of the M.E.’s sock:

I’m delighted with the way the colors are spiralling.  The K2 P2 rib is nicely mindless, perfect for TV knitting.

And I just can’t get enough TV knitting right now, what with all the knitting I have to do.  The current roster includes the sock above; two lace shawls; three scarves (two of which are rather boring); a Top Secret Project; the second half of yet another lace shawl which really should get underway soon; and an old, cranky UFO sweater which has been making plaintive wails for me to come and get it and finish it.  Plus I’m itching to start something new.  What makes those people at BBC America think I can wait until spring?