Bits and Scraps (Christmas 2012)

It’s a rare joy for me to do something whimsical without even the tiniest bit of effort expended to make it come out “just so.”    Here’s the product of the scraps from the Gingerbread Bass Project. It was never intended for public viewing, but what the heck.  It amused me greatly as I avoided my "to do" list for a few hours last weekend. I hope it brings you a smile, too.



The last time I made a gingerbread house I was in high school. I remember it distinctly, because as I stood at the kitchen counter, measuring cup* poised in the air, my father walked in the back door and grimly announced that our dog was dead.  She was not just a prize winning bird dog in the prime of her athletic and perfectly healthy life,  but the absolute apple of my eye.  I have no recollection of the finished gingerbread house (or even if I actually completed it), but I do recall crying as I opened my Christmas gifts a few days later.  Anyway, I say this only to have the happy occasion to report that "Miss Molly," who you met here, is alive and well, and, now that I think of it, quite a bit svelte-er than she was two months ago.

As much as I love to cook, I am not spending today up to my elbows in gingerbread, whipped egg whites and lobster, or soapy dishwater, but instead, am out riding at this very moment (isn't scheduled blog posting clever?) and am looking forward to having a lovely trout dinner appear before me upon my return.  My only task is to assemble the already made components of the pumpkin pastry requested by my host tonight.

Oh Joyous Christmas!

* I think there was Crisco in the cup, which makes no sense, since I (thankfully!) grew up in an All Butter Family.  They say trauma can affect the formation of memories.  This is my only explanation.

The Last Supper

So, the world is ending tomorrow, eh?  If there ever was a time for a “ de luxe” dinner, it is now.

Le Menu (you supply the fun French accent) is specially designed to be knocked out after tonight’s 7pm symphony rehearsal.  I sincerely hope we can consume the vast majority of it before the stroke of midnight, because I'm not entirely sure how the Mayans accounted for that whole time zone thing.

Seared Foie Gras* with spicy apricot thyme compote on crouton, Jean Albrecht 2010 Alsatian Gewürztraminer
Steamed Lobsters,* fresh green salad, artisan bread, Lous Bouillot Grande Reserve Perle de Vigne Sparkling Wine  (need I mention the vast quantities of melted butter?)
Cheese Course - it took some discipline to skip it, but I figured with the late hour, my guests might be flagging. In the end, my European culinary sensibilities revolted, and I pulled some gorgonzola out of the fridge for at least a bite before dessert.
Eight-layer Thunderbolt Dobos Torte (the extra layer for luck?), coffee

Tres snooty, n'est-ce pas?

Four more layers hiding in the background, but the proportions would have been just silly! I left it at eight, plus the caramel end-of-the-world decor.

Okay, so it's the end of the world for someone.

Surely there will be thunderbolts (and scary Mexican masks) when the moment arrives, no?

The deconstruction begins.  Now I know I can safely stab the lightening INTO the cake.  I'll do it that way next time the world threatens to end.

What would you eat for your final meal?  And, more importantly, with which special people would you spend your final hours?  It’s an enlightening question.  My own answer surprised me.

If the world does end, I'll be happy not to pay the terrifying charges on my Mastercard incurred by this dinner.  If the world doesn’t end, I’ve got an excellent plan for the weekend. Leftovers.

*  Yes.  I said it. Live lobsters and foie gras.  Concerned about animal cruelty?  There’s a heck of a lot more in your average grocery store egg, even before you consider the sheer numbers of commercial laying hens. (News flash - “free range" ain’t what you think.  Read about it.)  And yes, every single one of the thirteen eggs in the torte was from a happy pastured hen and “certified humane.”
EDIT 12/22/12  - So, yeah, the world didn't end. I updated a few things on this post, including actually giving you a photo of the finished cake.  It also means I still might see my Ducati again, which is in the shop at the moment.

The Daily Special: Gingerbread Double Basses

You say you’ve got two rehearsals and five performances over the next few days?  It's only sensible to say to yourself at such a time, "I think I'll bake and decorate some gingerbread double basses." It’s the least you can do for your bass playing, motorcycle riding, knowledgeable mechanic pen pal who has gone above and beyond the call of duty in helping you get your Ducati running. (You, dear readers, still don’t know the story on that, but I am getting to it very soon.  Really.)

Decidedly amateur piping, and not exactly anatomically correct, but definitely good for some laughs between Nutcracker performances and church gigs.  Note the classy yard sale bakeware.

Recipe: Make your standard gingerbread recipe, but double what you think the normal amount of spices should be. Then add a bracing dose of finely ground black pepper.  (Decide next time it needs more spices, more pepper, and wonder why you didn't add cardamom to the mix, since you add it to everything else.)  Decorate with standard issue royal icing (sturdy enough for the USPS, even if its taste is less than ethereal), the preparation of which is not recommended on humid days.  Fly in the face of danger, because today of all days, it's raining in Tucson, AZ.  Naturally.

In a flurry worthy of a chick-flick, run down the street to the post office, half packed box of cookies in hand, icing in hair, trailing packing materials, because (obviously) you ran out of tape and it is 4:15pm.

I really, really want to make a gingerbread house this month.  Except instead of walls and roof, it will have two wheels and say "Ducati" on the red candy gas tank.

The Daily Special: Roasted Pumpkin Mascarpone Pastry Strip

Pumpkin (or butternut squash) is a frustrating ingredient for me, because as much as I love sweet things, I want them after dinner, not for dinner.  So while most people love things like pumpkin (or butternut squash) soup, I really don’t*. Today I thought I’d highlight my CSA sugar pumpkin’s sweetness rather than try to disguise it.

This is what I came up with.

 I'm calling it my Roasted Pumpkin Mascarpone Pastry Strip.

Want one of your very own?  Then read on.

Make (or buy) some puff pastry dough, roll it out to a size and shape that fits your cookware and intended serving platter, trim it and bake it blind.  The number of recipes for this on the internet may very well rival the number of “Look at Me! I’m So Awesome!” motorcycle wheelie youtube videos, so you really don’t need another one from me**.  “Rough Puff” is fine for this purpose, but if you are so inclined, go right ahead and make the classic version.  As the dough is resting peacefully in the fridge between “turns,” practice your flute.  Unless, of course, you are planning to ride to Baja later this month, in which case, leave the flute in its case and spend some time working out various details, gazing at maps, and consulting Captain Google.  (Can over-excitement induce a seizure?  Because if it can, I'm a high risk case right now.)

Prepare your pumpkin or squash slices.  Brush them with butter, sprinkle with sugar and roast them, but don’t let them get too brown.  Think about the timing of this step, because you really don’t want to heat up your kitchen right before you plan on working with your pastry.   I’d wait until the formed but unbaked pastry was safely in the fridge, if I were you.   But then again, I'm the one who attempts croissants when my kitchen is 95 degrees, so go ahead and do what you want.

Mix some mascarpone cheese (or cream cheese***) with a little bit of sugar and a leetle pinch of wintery spice (cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, ginger or… gasp! black pepper?) and gently spread it on your cooked and cooled pastry.  Top with the pumpkin slices, glaze with some barely warmed honey (or apricot preserves, or… caramel?) and sprinkle on some walnuts or pecans or hazelnuts.

Because you spend your money on motorcycles, rather than a wide selection of serving platters, take the cardboard box your most recent motorcycle accessory arrived in, cut it into the perfect shape, cover it with parchment paper, and serve your elegant pastry on this elegant platter.

I would absolutely make this again.  It was, quite simply, a knockout.

*Unless it’s full of roasted, smoky chiles, but, hey, that’s a different story. And pumpkin ravioli. They’re a different story, too, but I omit the traditional crushed amaretti cookie.  Because that would make them – yes – too sweet.
** I did offer a few tips in my croissant post, however.  Croissants slightly more complicated (they contain yeast) but the basics of working with butter pastry remain the same.
***Mascarpone is about five times more expensive.  And at least ten times more delicious.  Choose wisely, because once you try mascarpone, you will never go back.

A Good-Tempered Valentine’s Day (Chocolate Bonbons)

When the soufflé of life disappointingly deflates and it seems no one’s got your back, well… what girl doesn’t turn to chocolate?  I take comfort that in an uncertain world, the crystalline structure of chocolate will, if carefully heated, cooled, and heated again to exacting temperatures,* reliably return to its subtly lustrous yet cheerfully snappy state.

Chocolate dipped quince hearts, hazelnut Nutella bonbons.

Life’s grandest adventure is found not on the open road, but within the mysterious alcoves of the heart.  This Valentine’s Day, let your own heart rise to its challenges.   What’s the worst that could happen?


* There are several ways to temper or encourage “Type V” crystal formation in chocolate, but the most sensuous and beguiling (although also the trickiest) is to pour a portion of 115F degree melted dark chocolate onto a marble slab, work it until its temperature drops to 80F, then add it back to the pot and gently seek a final temp of 90F.  If you have the technology to plug your electric vest into a wall outlet, it’s a fine tool to keep the chocolate at this temperature while you work with it.  Failing that, bring your appropriately wired motorcycle into the kitchen.

Mission Not So Very Impossible At All (CSA Harvest)

My local Community Supported Agriculture group invited me to write a small article in their weekly newsletter detailing how I used my most recent produce haul.  I thought I’d share it with you, too.

The mission? (I joyously accept!) Turn a bicycle basket of produce into 14 days of sustenance.

The resources at hand?

Belgian Endive, Broccoli, Beets, Collard Greens, Endive, Dill, Fennel, Purple Cabbage.

I have 14 days to complete the task.  (Since I am generally the sole diner at my table,  my weekly pick up lasts me two.  I alternate shares with a friend.)

In the maddening annual scheduling mishap that is the month of February, the heartbreakingly beautiful weather arrives simultaneously with the bumper crop of work we symphony musicians depend upon to finance our leaner months.  Since it’s all I can do to keep up with the notes that arrive with alarming rapidity on my music stand, cooking becomes a call for efficiency. The days of experimentation and creativity are temporarily set aside.  Now is the time to draw upon trusted standards and the contents of my freezer.

I find it a wise investment of time to wash, trim and ogle the entire harvest as soon as it enters my front door.  When you’re racing to get to work by 7pm, you’ll feel quite clever indeed having already checked one task between you and dinner off the list.  Besides, it all fits into the fridge more easily in tidy little packages, the chickens next door enjoy the windfall of trimmings, and even my plants benefit from the leftover bowls of greens washing water.

This week’s delights were dispatched thusly:

Belgian Endive:  Steamed briefly, wrapped in ham, napped with a Sauce Mornay (kitchen-ese for that cheesy saucy goodness one puts on homemade mac ‘n cheese) and run  under the broiler.  If you’ve got your kitchen kung-fu going strong, you can make (and eat) this in 30 minutes.

Purple Cabbage: Great piles of Asian slaw at the ready (toss shredded cabbage with a what’s-in-the-fridge version of Asian dressing:  peanut oil, rice wine vinegar, hot sauce, soy, sesame oil, garlic, ginger, sesame seeds) make a meal when consumed with sandwiches, soup, or the potstickers made and stashed in the aforementioned freezer some weeks ago.

Escarole: Salade Lyonnaise, non?  This biting green is perfectly complemented by the richness of bacon and eggs.  Toss the escarole with warm bacon pieces and a mustardy vinaigrette (make it right in that bacon pan!), top each portion with a poached egg.

Collard and Beet Greens:  Wilt the entire lot of it at once and toss it with lots olive oil, chile flakes and raw mashed garlic. (Dirty Little Secret: I pureé four heads at a time, freeze it, and shave the amount I need off the brick with a paring knife.)  Prepared as such, it’s the foundation of two of my favorite quick meal standards:  pasta, greens and beans (the parmesan goes, I hope, without saying) or heaped atop a cheese melt sandwich.

Broccoli: a simple soup made in the off hours is – ding! – reheated in an instant.  Some serves to replenish the freezer.

Dill:  One big handful in a loaf of no-knead, no effort bread, the other handful in a dill garlic yogurt dip.

Beets: Roasted while the no-knead, no-effort bread was in the oven.  Plunged directly into that garlic dill yogurt dip, leaving a pink streaky sunrise in the bowl.

Fennel: still pending.  I’d like to try candying thin slices, but my schedule will likely insist I mound those thin slices atop a piece of salmon, wrap the lot in foil and bake.  The chopped fronds will find their way into that Sicilian classic: pasta with finnochio, sardines, pinenuts and raisins.  Strange but true.

Over a week to spare, and the refrigerator is stocked with mighty meals!  Mission accomplished, thank you very much!

The Beautiful Simplicity of Carbs (Carburetors and Freshly Made Pasta)

Funny, I have not one post about disassembling the carburetor of the Kawasaki into all its tiny pieces. The first time was quite the learning experience, but I’d gotten pretty quick about it in my later Kawi ownership years.  Should the day come when I need to do so on the Yamaha, it’ll be twice as efficient, no doubt, as it has half the cylinders (and bodywork).   That being said, I'm not looking forward to the day I stare down the Ducati, with its computerized fuel injection and desmodromic valves.  Perhaps sometime soon I’ll simply take off the gas tank, peek at the sophisticated machinery hiding beneath, and then put it back together again, quickly, before anything bad happens.  I love the Monster, but I’m secretly thrilled to own Eeyore, the slow but sturdy Yamaha, a bike I’m not afraid to work on.

Fresh pasta is another example of beautiful simplicity, this time in carbohydrate form, even more so when making the pasta of southern Italy.  With a few exceptions, the pasta of northern Italy, all about seductive silkiness, is formed from delicate sheets of finely milled white flour rich with eggs.  The pasta of the south is what I make when there are no eggs in the house.  Semolina and water alone, manipulated with kneading and deft finger work (no fancy Italian machinery needed) come together into highly effective sauce trapping shapes full of lively springy chewiness.

While videos of motorcyclists riding barely hold my interest (shrug, it's just not the same, yanno?), I can lose myself for hours watching Italian nonne magically spin out pasta shapes or Jacque Pepin debone a chicken (I adore this man).   I’ve included the pertinent youtube links in the captions.

Trofiette - the name doesn't mean "twisted little string beans," but that's certainly what they look like.  Eat these with Pesto Genovese, and you shall be transported to Liguria.  (This pasta is the exception: Liguria is a bit too far north to be in the land of semolina.)

Orecchiette ("Little Ears"), from the heel of Italy's boot, are inside out cavatelli of sorts.  The rough surface is no accident, it serves to hold the sauce.  Serve with olive oil, broccoli or rapini, garlic, chile, and just enough mashed anchovy to give it all a mysterious savory quality.  Or grated butternut squash, walnuts and ricotta salata.

Busiati, or fusilli al ferro, hail from the deep south (Sicily) and were traditionally rolled around thin knitting needles. (I use a bamboo skewer; knitting is definitely not in my skill set.)  Delicious with with rich meat or fish sauces or the tomato almond pesto of Trapani.

Recipe (of my usual vague sort):

Per smallish Italian sized serving:
generous 1/2 c. semolina
3 tbsp water (or more, or less)
Combine then knead for 5-10 minutes until you get a soft, smooth but not at all sticky dough.  Form the shapes according to the youtube links.  Or however else you feel like it.  Have fun!  It's play-doh destined for your dinner plate.
Cook them in boiling water salty enough to make you reminisce about the ocean.
Although you can  dry this pasta, it's better eaten the day it's made.  It's thick enough that if cooked from dry, by the time the inside is done, the outside is overdone.
For the record, factory dried pasta is neither better or worse (although it's certainly easier.)  It's a different beast entirely.

Happy New Year! (Triple Chocolate Cake)

I spent New Year’s weekend with good friends in Scottsdale, AZ.  Of course, I was hoping to ride the motorcycle. I’m always looking for an excuse to ride Oak Creek Canyon or the Apache Trail, two of my favorite day trips from the Phoenix area.

But instead, I drove this…

Yep.  My new-to-me wheels after this debacle.

…so I could bring this…



…to make this!

Triple Chocolate Cake*:  chocolate genoise soaked in a Frangelico syrup, frosted with chocolate ganache, and decorated with free form chocolate praline sheets that shatter as soon as you cut the cake (or sooner, if you move the cake, even as carefully as you would move plutonium), leaving your creation resembling the Roman Coliseum.

Also on our community project menu:  Midwestern Relish Tray, Dungeness Crab with assorted dipping sauces, Cream of Mushroom Soup, Roast Beast with Potatoes, Spaghetti Squash and Basil Gratin, Freshly Baked Bread, Green Salad with Toasted Hazelnuts and Gorgonzola, and freely flowing champagne.

*From Rose Levy Beranbaum's The Cake Bible.  A tricky cake (a few misleading points in the recipe, in my opinion), with tricky decorations (knowing what I know now, I would handle the chocolate praline sheets a little differently), and undoubtedly the most delicious chocolate creation of all time, as far as I can tell.  If you get a yen to give it a try, leave a comment, check back, and I'll give you the details.  Well worth the indignity of taking the car.

Merry Christmas! (Tiramisu Tart*)

It’s been a while since I’ve made an “impractical” dessert.   I’ve had no shortage of delicious sweets, mind you, but when your work hours double and your income, the number at the dinner table and your oven size all decrease by half, well, it’s only natural to simplify.  These days I’m more likely to turn to this cabinet, or my CSA haul (remember the beet cake?) for ingredients rather than stand on a loading dock in a sketchy part of town, looking to score exotic items before the local upper crust restaurateurs nab them.  (Yes, I’ve actually done that.)  Although this little tiramisu tart doesn’t quite compare with the towering showcase confections of my younger years, I’m happy to present it to you.





What you can’t see from the picture are the layers within:  a sweet cookie crust, the barest brushing of dark chocolate, the creamy noggy mascapone Marsala filling, a wafer thin disc of chocolate sponge cake soaked with an espresso syrup, then more filling, all hiding under the cocoa dusting and chocolate curls.  I can safely say I could have easily ridden three hundred miles and had lunch at a diner in the time it took me to make this tart for dessert last night.  But I had great fun doing it, and I’m already gleefully plotting and shopping for ingredients for a New Years Eve dinner finale.  Many thanks to my dear friends who provided the rest of Christmas Eve dinner, along with their gracious and loving company last night. I could not be more blessed.

Tonight’s dinner left me plenty of time for a ride on the the sleigh.  Magret (seared duck breasts with coarse sea salt - "the other prime rib" if you ask me, with the bonus of a sinfully rich crispy skin), crusty bread, cranberry sauce and a salad. So quick, so few dishes to wash, so elegant – I can’t think of anything else I’d want to eat more.  And what did Santa bring?  Do I dare divulge?  Sing along!  “Itsy bitsy, teeny tiny, red Ducati, string bikini!”  I’m not sure which I’m surprised to own more – the motorcycle or the swimwear!  Perhaps I should reconsider that second slice of tart…

Joy to the world for 2012!  May you all find happiness in the here and now!

* I used the recipe for the "Tiramisu Black Bottom Tart" from The Pie and Pastry Bible, by Rose Levy Beranbaum.  You could use bits and pieces from other cookbooks or recipes, instead, to create your own spin on the idea, if you wanted.  That opens up a lot of doors, doesn't it...

Let Us Give Thanks...

 ...for red motorcycles, blue skies, mountain roads and...

 ...pork shoulder braised in milk!

Give thanks for all those loved ones and experiences that make your heart soar.
Alleluia and Amen.

Canyon Carving without a Motorcycle? (Eaton Canyon, Haven Gastropub, Stone Brewing Company)

Wow, my quads are really sore…

…FROM RAPPELLING DOWN FIVE (or was it six?) SLIPPERY RUSHING WATERFALLS!

Yes, that’s me, demonstrating truly exquisite novice form: awkward, tense, and really slow.  But I’m still standing and I had fun doing it, so I consider my day in Lower Eaton Canyon a smashing success.

Here my host and his GoPro helmet camera provide a glimpse into what it feels like to rappel down (and through) a waterfall.

I found myself in Orange County earlier this month in early September, graciously hosted by the Ducati Instigator aka my Most Excellent Tour Guide.  The trip was mostly a work thing (i.e. failed job search) along with a quick trip to Motorport* to have some adjustments made to my motorcycle jacket, but I was able to reserve one day for an adventure.  Naturally, I imagined that day would involve a motorcycle.   Naturally, I was wrong.

The motorcycle gear I had packed would not serve for this escapade.  With borrowed clown shoes (at least two sizes too big), borrowed wetsuit (also way too big), borrowed bicycle helmet, gloves, backpack, and harness, and borrowed waterproof camera that malfunctioned in the first hour, I was about as well suited as I was on my first motorcycle tour.



Fear is such a funny, irrational thing.  Although I had a few successful practice rappels off my host’s porch the night before, I had no idea how I would react when staring down a 60 foot waterfall.  And once you’re in, there’s no going back.  I have no idea why, but my heart pounds a lot harder when I’m riding on gravel or loading my motorcycle on its trailer.  Go figure.

Oh glorious Nature!  It’s a good thing I was up to the task, because it’s the only way one can experience the daisy chain of magical intimate pools of crystal water, the water slides, and the waterfalls that make up this beautiful (and dangerous**) canyon.  How wonderful it would be to go back with a quality camera, tripod, and some more time on my hands.

Notable Food Finds in the area:

I met my host in Old Towne Orange for lunch and touristy wanderings. 

 

Pork Sandwich and Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse at the Haven Gastropub.

Just up the street, a windowful of restored vintage stoves at Antique Station.

As we went our separate ways, my host found the helmet latch on his Goldwing had broken. Broken locked, that is.  The options?  I ride it home for him (I happened to have my gear in my car), he wears my helmet, or we both go home in my boring Toyota.  Someone else's 800 lb motorcycle I'd never ridden before in SoCal rush hour?  I really did laugh aloud.  I think his head still hurts from cramming it into my leeetle helmet.

The next day, after our ride to Motoport (I guess I did get on a motorcycle that weekend!), we dined at the nearby Stone Brewing World Bistro.

Mac n' Beer Cheese, with Smoked Porter Sausage tossed in for some real excess.  Yeah, it was fantastical.  I can't remember which beer I opted for, but it sure looks like another hefe-weisse.  Love a good hefe in the summer.

Chocolate pate surfeit Medjool Date dessert.  Beautifully presented, every component delicious - candied kumquats, currant coulis, cocoa nibs - yum! - but I'm not sure the cocoa pate is the best match for the dates.  At home, I stuff 'em with mascarpone cheese, and I see no reason to change that now.

And, notable for another reason, the pasta dinner I prepared for my host.  In what could easily be one of my top three kitchen failures of all time, I ended up throwing out my pasta dough and acquiring “fresh pappardelle” from the corner Trader Joe’s.   Either I shouldn’t talk and knead at the same time, or the flour I used was gluten-free***.  No matter how much I kneaded (it typically takes 5-10 minutes), the eggs and flour refused to become that smooth elastic mass that allows itself to be rolled and stretched into those silky satiny sheets you wish you could sleep in.  I’ve made pasta more times than I can count, but this time the dough simply tore into pieces if I flattened it any thinner than my Ducati owner’s manual.  I even toted my 32” pasta rolling pin to California for the occasion.  Go figure.  At least the wine (provided by my host) was good.


Funny.  Sometimes you are tossing a no-brainer dinner into the trash and other times you are Jane Bond, rappelling down a towering foot waterfall into a string of secret grottos glimmering with sparkling cool water.  You just never know.

* I’m even more impressed with this company after my visit.  Every single point of design of their gear (even those that I had, at first, questioned) is so thoroughly thought out, they spent a generous amount time with me discussing the alterations on my jacket, and charged me nothing for this service.
** Two deaths and 48 rescue operations for the year at the time of my transit.
***The flour on hand was Gold Medal brand.  It has lower protein content that other brands which makes it an excellent choice for some things (a delicate butter cookie, perhaps), but is less than ideal for recipes that require the formation of a strong web of gluten (say, bread or… pasta)  Still and all, that was just weird, especially given that the Italian “doppio zero” flour traditional used for fresh pasta is not all that high in gluten.   I did manage to make maccheroni alla chitarra  when I got home a few days later without drama.  Clearly it was an astrological phenomenon.

The Daily Special – Keeping the House Warm in Winter (No-Knead Bread)

Ahh, the change in seasons…  Motorcycle jacket vented panels are replaced with thermal liners and electric vests.  One begins to wonder if perhaps riding halfway up Mount Lemmon twice is a wiser tactic than riding all the way up, once.  Or an even better idea - head west and ride Kitt Peak, instead.  As the temperatures drop from triple digits (and then some) to more in the frost on my car, snow in sight, plant killing range, my morning muesli gets a hit in the microwave before breakfast and my daily bread shape-shifts from tortilllas to hearty loaves.  Because, while having your oven roaring at 500 degrees in the summer is a bad idea, it’s a fine way for those of us without central heating to warm up the house!*

So, the first day snow hit the Catalinas and I found myself feeling like a character from Puccini’s Boheme (yes, I was wearing a scarf and hat indoors) while cursing my high tech low solar heat gain coefficient windows, I knew it was time.   Here's the result of my version of the “No-Knead Bread” method that took the world by storm back in 2006.  The one that purports even a six year old (or four, or eight, depending on your source) can make bread better than almost any bakery.  It’s true.  See?

Making this bread is less work than running out to the bakery.  Cheaper by a long shot, too!

Basic Recipe:
(My favorite tweaks and variations not shown, since you'll find your own soon enough.)

Make yourself a really too wet dough by slinging flour, salt, yeast (1/4 tsp per three cups flour) and water in the bowl, mix it ‘round, oh, maybe 10 times and walk away.  For 18 hours.

Use a bit more flour as needed to form the dough into a loose roundish kind of boule shape, spending no more than 30 seconds doing so. Walk a way for an hour or two more.

Now, here’s the good part:  twist that oven throttle all the way to 500 and put in an oven proof pot to preheat.  If you have my  silly little easy-bake sized and quality oven, it will take at least an hour to reach the proper temp.  The house is a few degrees warmer already, isn’t it?

Take your blob of dough, toss it in the pot (plop!), cover said pot (don’t forget, the pot has been in the oven, so you need an oven mitt!), and walk away for a half hour.   The covered pot, a clever method of approximating a professional steam injected oven, is the genius of this recipe.  Everything else – the no-kneading, the wet dough, the low yeast percentage, the long cool temp rising periods - has already been done.

Uncover and cook ‘til done. (Another 10-15 minutes).  So, yeah, it took you almost 24 hours to make the bread, but hands on time was probably less than five minutes.

Consider peeling off that scarf and hat.  And start the next loaf now, since this one will be gone by tomorrow.

*Yes, it routinely freezes in Tucson (last year we hit a low of 18F and pipes all over town were bursting like it was the Fourth of July, okay?), and no, I don't have central heating.  And, are you ready for this?... I don't have central air conditioning either. Which is why there's no way in hell I'll make this bread anywhere between March and October.  Tortillas are much better for the environment during the summer months.

Other Fine Italian Machinery (Homemade Pasta)

Remember when I bought my Ducati?  I never got around to telling you, but that wasn’t the only fine (and expensive!) Italian luxury item I acquired in August of 2010*.

Pasta guitar, garganelli comb, and corzetti stamp

The fresh pasta of northern Italy is made with white flour and eggs.  Nothing more, nothing less.  And if you use eggs from pastured chickens (chickens that live a normal chicken life and eat a normal chicken diet, unlike those who lay the eggs you find in the grocery store), your pasta will have an especially lovely golden color to it.

For each (small Italian sized) serving, mix together 1 egg and 1/2 cup flour.  Forget all that nonsense about putting the flour in a heap on a big wooden counter top, making a well in the center, breaking the eggs in the well etc., etc.  Do that, and I guarantee the eggs will escape from your flour volcano caldera and make a fine mess.  Just mix it in a bowl, like you’d do anything else, okay?  Hold back a bit of the flour at first, and add that remaining portion a bit at a time as you finish your mixing until you judge the dough to be soft, but not sticky.  Now you must knead.  And knead.  And knead.  For eight minutes, according to the irrefutable Marcella Hazan, whose recipe I adapt here.  Until the dough is satiny, silky, deliciously smooth.  Dust the ball with flour, wrap it in plastic wrap, and let it rest a bit while you wash the bowl, the counter and prepare your pasta rolling surface and equipment.

Next, pick your pasta dough flattening weapon of choice.  If you own a hand cranked pasta machine by all means, use it.  Or, if you lost your hand cranked pasta machine in your divorce, and/or you want to make pasta the traditional way and/or you don’t have any money to buy a hand cranked pasta machine (especially after shelling out the big bucks your funky pasta shaping toys), get thee to Home Depot and have them cut you a 32” by 1 1/2” diameter wooden dowel.  That shall be your pasta rolling pin.  But don’t use it to roll the dough.  Use it to stretch the dough.  Like this: (excepting the awful music, which would most certainly ruin the pasta).

This is my method, and although I don’t take the trouble to make my circle of dough so perfectly round, I do it quickly enough to finish the job before the dough dries out (no small task here in the desert), which is all you need to get the job done.  It’s really not terribly difficult, and once you get the hang of it, I think it’s actually quicker than the hand cranked machine.  And a bit better, too, as it works more texture into the pasta, which is a good thing.  For the record, I think this video is from a restaurant is in Japan (!!).  They have a whole slew of pasta making videos that fascinate the kitchen nerd in me.  The thickness of your sheets will vary in according to your personal taste, skill, and shape of pasta you are making.  Aim for sheets as thin as, you know… pasta!

Finally, as delightfully fun as working play-doh, but (for those of you who ate your play-doh as a child) infinitely tastier, make your pasta shapes!**

Corzetti stampati - I served them with pesto.

Garganelli - Their classic pairing is the the three P's. Peas, Peppers and Prosciutto.  In a cream sauce.  Which clings delightfully to those ridges supplied by the garganelli "comb."

Roll your pasta sheets over the wires of the "guitar..." 

... and automagically, you have the square cross section of  Maccheroni alla chitarra!  Yum yum with a simple sauce of meat drippings, rosemary and garlic.

After all that creative manipulation, do pay attention when you cook your fresh pasta.  It cooks much more quickly than dried. Your sauce of choice*** should be completed before you ever put the pasta in the pot.  Walk away from the pot at your own risk.

Edit:  Wouldn't you know it?  Oct 16 was "Blog Action Day," and the 2011 topic was food.  Looks like I unknowingly complied!

* I got (and photographed) my Rosle food mill around the same time.  It was quite the spending spree.
** No special gadgets needed to make ravioli, farfalle (bow ties), most ribbons (tagliatelle, pappardelle, fettuccine, etc.) cavatelli, orecchiette, tortellini,  and countless other pasta types.
***Which sauce with which shape?  Oy, that’s a long discussion.  Ask Marcella.  Or do what feels right.

The Daily Special: Spicy Potato Matchsticks

Recipe:

1) Decide you will have gnocchi for dinner.  Purchase the wrong type of potato since you haven’t made gnocchi since last winter.  Let the two accidental baking potatoes sit around while you are busy with other things.

2) The potatoes need to be eaten.   You’ve been traveling more than not this month.  There is nothing else in the house to eat.  This potato shall be dinner.  How to best capitalize upon the situation?

3)  Drag out the mandoline slicer with which you sliced off an alarming amount of your finger last year.  Discover you do not have a waffle blade, so figure out how to install the julienne blade, instead.  (This may take several minutes.)

4)  Slice up your potato(es) into delightfully teeny tiny matchsticks, and deep fry them only a small handful at a time, since you can not stomach the thought of using an entire dollar’s worth of oil to cook one potato.  Poke at them with a fork if you want to keep them separated while frying (drying them in a paper towel first helps), but it won’t really work, and they’ll stick to the fork if you poke them immediately after their submersion.  Does it really matter if they come out as a charming birds nest instead of individual sticks?

5) If you can resist the temptation to eat them all as they come out of the pan (impressive!), allow them to drain while you prepare a paste of aromatics (onion, garlic, ginger, shallot, whatever), spices (cumin, chile, coriander, again whatever), and salt. Use your mortar and pestle if you wish to avoid food processor rage.  Or use the mini food processor.  It’s entirely up to you. 

6) Slowly fry this paste in a tablespoon or two (or more, depends on how much paste you’ve got) of oil (yes! more oil! or use leftover from frying the potatoes) until it’s nearly dry and nicely browned.  You can cook the paste and fry the batches of potatoes simultaneously, but you better have your kitchen kung-fu goin’ on, because if you look away from either for more than a few seconds, something is going to burn.  Add your fried potatoes to the cooking paste, gently stir ‘round and mash up the bits of spicy goodness.   Don’t try too hard to get it perfect, because who knows?  Perhaps you’ll be the lucky one to hit the jackpot glob of spiciness in your mouthful of potatoes.

7) Enjoy with a cold beer.  (Do not open the beer until the mandoline slicer is safely put away.  No, really.)  Turn on some Bollywood and pretend you are in Mumbai.

8) Oh, the glorious crunchiness of it all!

Dining While Stranded (The Daily Special) – Grilled Salmon with Garden Harvest

Let’s just say you were driving home to Tucson from your summer job in northern Utah.  And let’s say that your car overheated, but didn’t bother to warn you.  So you kept driving.  Until… kaput!  You need a new engine.  Pretend it’s the same car you just spent $1,300 on replacing the drive train, amongst other things.  And one whose registration you just renewed last week.   Let’s pretend there’s no way/no how that (a new engine) is going to happen, so you tow to Salt Lake City and find yourself stranded for a few days while you figure out what to do.

Hmm, that’s not a great scenario, so I’ll add to it. Say you had some good friends in SLC with whom you can stay.  They’re off in the mountains, so you have the run of their incredible home and yard.  Say the kitchen has a Viking Pro stove and granite counter tops, the yard and house have an amazing mountain view, and there are fresh veggies to harvest for dinner every evening.  And squash blossoms.  And, yes, even a grape arbor, delightfully hung with tiny sweet-tart dark purple flavor bombs.  Oh, and say your friends left a luscious piece of fresh salmon in the fridge for you.  And a beautiful porch on which to dine and enjoy the view.  And a telescope to watch the full moon rise from said porch.

Sound better?  I thought so, too.  So while I practically (okay, really) cried when I sold my car for a whopping 300 dollars today, dinner was a delight.

Take your slab of salmon and adorn it with what you find to harvest as you amble about the garden.  Colorful tomatoes (save the beefy red one for a tomato salad), basil, peppers, summer squashes… whatever is ripe at the moment.  Salt, pepper, olive oil, garlic, onion.  Use the fancy camera at your disposal to take a photo, since, despite the two weeks of exhaustive research you just did on cameras, you will  not  be buying one anytime soon.  You’ll be buying an extremely used car, instead.  Wrap the salmon up in foil, toss the package on the awesome barbecue on the awesome porch.  Grill some bread, too, for bruschetta.  Rub a halved garlic clove over the crispy browned bread, pour on a thin stream of olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper, for the simplest version, or top it with anything else delicious you can think of.  Eat the salmon when it’s juuust barely done.  That determination is up to you, but depending on the thickness of the fish, the heat of the grill, your personal taste, it could take 5-10 minutes. Or more.  Or less.  I didn’t check the clock, because, as usual, I wasn’t planning on writing about it until after dinner.  Just poke at it until it looks like something you want to eat.

Consider your luck, both good and bad this week, and decide your good fortune wins, hands down.  Worry about that whole car thing tomorrow.

Hmm, aluminum foil adds an entirely new lighting issue.  Whatever, I had dinner to make!

The Daily Special – Garlic Scape Pesto

Because I  get my produce via a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture group), I eat what is grown locally.  This means I have no choice but to dine “in season.”  If it doesn’t grow where I live at the moment, I generally don’t end up eating it.  Well, almost.  My preserving projects are an exception, and, wouldn’t you know it, today happens to be strawberry jam making day.*  It’s jam day only if I stop eating these berries, that is.  Hull one, eat one, hull one – Crikey, this one is way too big - down the gullet it goes…  And so on.

In any case, it stands to reason that a year might pass since the last time I made baby artichokes - sliced thinly, tossed in lemon juice and slowly cooked in an amount of butter only the holder of a French passport would dare use (thankfully I have dual citizenship), until they just start to turn golden on the edges.  I think sometimes I would toss them with pasta, other times sprinkle on a bit of Parmesan Reggiano, run them under the broiler, serve them with little toasts and call them bruschetta.   I’m not exactly sure.  A lot happens in a year, you know?   Soooo, when the baby artichokes came around this spring, and my friend asked me, “How did we make those artichokes last year?  They were soooo amazing,” I said something along the lines of “uhhhhh….” 

I gotta start writing this stuff down.**

My annual arrival in Utah almost always coincides with that of garlic scapes. This is the only place I’ve seen garlic scapes, come to think of it.  Scapes are simply the green shoots that mark the place where a garlic bulb is forming under the ground.  The farmer wacks off the shoot to encourage the bulb, and, somewhere along the line, decided we should eat them.  It was a good idea.

I think I used about half this many to make a mini-food processor sized batch.

You’ve got to slice the garlic scapes up before putting them in the food processor. (So much for saving me the task of washing a knife and cutting board, my frustrating little friend, baby Cuisinart).  Whirl them with some olive oil and grated parmesan (another task I do separately, although I guess you could grate it in the food processor first.  I, personally, will do no such thing with stuff as expensive as Parm Regg).  If you find yourself needing more liquid to make it all go round and round, but the pesto is verging on too oily, add a bit of water.  (This is one of the few recipes where I’m willing to do that.)  A judicious splash of lemon juice would work, too. This spring I didn’t use any sort of nut in the pesto, pine or otherwise, and I don’t think I did last year either.  You certainly could.  But I like it with all its fiery garlicky simplicity.  When you’re done, you’ll end up with something approximating guacamole colored mashed potatoes. 

Although its original destination was pasta (for this purpose, you’ll want to thin it ever so slightly with some of the starchy pasta cooking water), I find myself as often as not, eating it on crackers. Topped with a sundried tomato if I’m feeling fancy.  Or an olive.  It’s a great sandwich spread too.  Uses and variations are limitless.

* That, my friends, is a bald faced lie.  I should say "preserves," since I am using whole fruit.  But I like the word "jam" better.

** You do see the irony here, right?

Adventures in a Foreign Kitchen

When I say foreign kitchen, I do not refer to the ethic designation of the Middle Eastern banquet my summer roommates (who are not my roommates this summer, long story) and I prepare each year, but to the fact that we’re working in, um, a less than ideal, certainly not our own kitchen.  Our company-provided (thank you!) student apartment typically comes equipped with a bent fork and foil pan.  Some years, we luck out and get a cutting board, too.  Sure, I bring a few things, but there’s not much room in my two door hatch back after I pack all my motorcycle and canning related accoutrements.

It’s amazing how clumsy I feel cooking my first few meals here.  The work flow is way off, and each year I have to re-learn how to function using an electric stove top.  But soon it becomes a batterie de cuisine iron chef challenge.  Just what can we put out using only a garlic press and wine bottle-cum-rolling pin?

Falafel, for one thing.  But not without a few (or more) cursewords.   As much as I hate food processors (they don’t do things well, and they don’t save me time, I don’t care what Mark Bittman says), I do bring along a mini Cuisinart.   You know that handy feature when you’re processing something thick, and you spend more time taking off the cover and scraping the contents back towards the blade than you do actually processing?  Gawd, I hate that.*  Now multiply that  entire procedure by six when you’re making a large batch of falafel in a tiny food processor.  Saying “I’ll just knock out this falafel before I go to bed,” when it’s already almost tomorrow is akin to saying “I’ll weld my motorcycle side stand before I ride out to Colorado in the morning.”  I don’t care how many times you’ve made falafel, you can count on being stuck in Oklahoma for three extra days.  I wasn’t exactly cooking with love at that moment.  I finally bailed, and finished it in my even smaller mortar and pestle.  It was quicker.  And better.  But I still had to wash the damn food processor.  Will I ever learn?

Falafel patties await immersion in a hot oil bath.

Making pita reminded me that the short leg disadvantage is not limited to motorcycle riding.  The counter tops in my 1916 house are blessedly below regulation height, but here they are not. I stood on a chair to knead the dough.

Still and all, we did pretty well.  Here are a few samples from our feast, hastily snapped as my low battery light blinked like an angry red eye.

I never really liked hummus all that much until I tasted Gil’s. There's tahini there in the center, hummus around the outside.  Do note the stylish serving plate.




We all know Gil's started preparing his mushrooms when the fumes of the smoking chiles drive us, coughing and choking, out of the apartment.  It's worth it!





We can not stop eating Nadine’s Sucre a la Creme (aka penuche, for you New Englanders out there).  Even after we've made ourselves sick, we have to have just one more piece...





The banquet is not complete without Turkish coffee prepared in the ebay ibrik.  (Say that 10 times fast.)




Not shown:  roasted potatoes, marinated peppers, kabobs with warm spices, garlicky yogurt sauce, watermelon...

* Please do not tell me to add (more, or any, depending) water, oil whatever.  I don’t want to.  And no, I refuse to grate expensive Parmesan Reggiano in a food processor.  There’s only one way to do it.  And it does not involve a rasp grater, people.  Sorry, but I have a strong opinion on the subject.  Harrumph.

The Daily Special (Pumpkin Feta Strudel)

I've been wanting to make my own strudel dough (primarily because I am too lazy to go to the store and buy phyllo), I had a little bit of CSA pumpkin left in my freezer, and it's that time of year when I try to clear such odds and ends out of said icebox,  so...

Stretching the dough.  Not quite thin enough yet in this photo, but I was pushing my luck messing with the camera.  This thinner than paper dough dries out fast, especially in the land of single digit humidity.  Put the camera away!  Keep stretching!

You can use pre-made frozen phyllo dough to wrap your strudel, if you like.  This would make you a normal person, unlike the kitchen freak that I am*.  In either case, lay out your dough, brush with melted butter (clarified, if you are so inspired), spread on some of the pumpkin you cooked and froze this fall (first drain it and cook it again to ensure it's really dry**, then let it cool), sprinkle with crumbled feta, perhaps some pepper, oregano, and pine nuts if that sounds good to you, roll it up like a super-sized Austrian burrito (folding in the sides of the dough as well), brushing with more butter as you go, give the final product a final brush, and bake at 400 in the upper portion of your oven for 30 minutes or so.  I used a scant two cups of filling for a 12 inch roll.  You need less than you think.  Or I needed less than I thought. The key in this process is speed. Don't worry how the roll looks, don't worry about any holes in the dough, just work fast enough to finish the whole process before the leaves of dough dry out.  The crispy crunch is to be enjoyed after it's baked, not before!

Oh, aren't you clever?  Make up your own filling, just be sure it's not too soupy.  I think an apricot one will appear in my household very, very soon.  I take that back. I am going to make a miniature apricot one from the left over dough scraps as soon as I hit the "publish" button on this post.  Apricots from this source .

I have a little extra feta on the side.  The strudel needed a bit more.  It was an experiment***, okay?

* If you are a kitchen freak, then make your own strudel dough. It's magic with gluten, and super fun and easy.  I followed a recipe by Rose Levy Beranbaum.  More or less.

** A little insurance against a too wet filling.  Use the traditional "brusel."  Brown a few tablespoons of bread crumbs in a pat of butter, let cool, and sprinkle half of them on the dough where your filling will go, then the other half on top of your filling.

***An experiment.  Meaning I'd do it a little differently next time.  I'd do it the way I wrote it in this post!  So yes, I am, basically, giving you an untested recipe.  In reality, I mixed the pumpkin, seasonings and (not enough) feta together and then spread it on the dough.  And I only thought of the pine nuts after the fact.

A Rainbow in My Kitchen

You can’t help but think about color when you’re painting your living room.  Or cooking with beets.  In an orange and cobalt blue kitchen.  All of which I did this week.  My living room walls are now the color of a brown egg.   Brown eggs are anything but plain.  Take a look next time you open up a carton.  Each one varies slightly with differing tones of pink, orange and gold beneath what we think of as brown.   Eggs laid by chickens that actually eat and live as chickens should are a thing of glory. Brilliant orange rather than the pallid yellow of eggs lain by factory farmed (and extraordinarily cruelly treated) laying hens, their yolks always have me oohing and aahing at the electric color they lend to my crepes, my omelettes, my fresh pasta.

I just made a chocolate beet cake.  Yes, a chocolate beet cake.  The ingredients had as much color as an electric blue Suzuki,  a neon green Kawasaki, or, of course, a 1930's lipstick red Ducati.

In motorcycle related news, I’m leaving on a little trip.  When I look at the backlog of blog posts I have half written, I wonder if I’ll ever get around to telling you about it.





 
 
 
 



Roll the credits:

• Beets and eggs compliments of my beloved CSA.
• Beets pureed with my German Wheels.  I can’t believe I ever lived without them.  I don’t need no stinkin’ food processor.
• Recipe compliments of Ross Burden (well almost, I changed a few things), chosen after exhaustive research consisting of perhaps five mouse clicks.   I had my reasons, actually, but I don’t feel like typing out the higher culinary math involved in that decision right now. I’d rather go eat a piece of cake.
• Sour cream ganache (of my own design) not shown.
• Happy Earth Day!  How lovely to celebrate mother nature's edible colors.

The Daily Special: Croissants

I’ve noticed that whenever I do post a recipe (which is rare, I know), it’s usually for  a dish I’ve unthinkingly concocted in 10 minutes or less, about which I think as I sit down to eat,  “Huh.  Not bad for not paying attention.” This is not to say that I don’t enjoy spending two days roasting bones in order to make beef stock to then make a brown sauce simmered for hours to go with a pastry encased mushroom stuffed beef Wellington.  Or a different two days individually roasting and frying a multitude of aromatics and chiles, grinding them each by hand to make Thai roasted chiles in oil, then making my own coconut cream by cracking open a coconut, prying out the meat, shredding it, squeezing the flesh in water the traditional minimum of 89 times and collecting the sweet smooth cream that rises to the top of the mixture, both of which are then used (along with other ingredients) to make the best sate sauce you’ve ever imagined.  Or spending a half day pulling each nub off of dried posole grains so it “blooms” properly in that cozy winter stew.  Or peeling a mountain of fava beans.  Twice.  First the pods, then each individual bean.   I just never write about that stuff,  I don’t know why.

Yesterday morning I woke up and decided to make croissants.  If I started at that very moment, I might have them for a late night snack.  It’s a 10-12 hour project, although in this case, most of that time the dough is rising or resting and you are doing something else.  Like working on your Kawasaki.  Or painting your living room.  (Both of which I’m doing this week.)

Croissants are an ingenious trick of culinary origami.  With just a few simple foldings of yeast dough spread with butter, you end up with 54 thin layers of butter separated by 55 thin layers of dough. With a slightly more ornate folding system you can make fine puff pastry – 729 layers of butter lovingly sandwiched between 730 layers of dough.  So you see, the name "mille-feuille" ("thousand leaves") is not too far off the mark.  In case you were wondering.  Anyway, as your pastry cooks, the water in the butter turns to steam, puffing up and separating those ever-so-thin layer of dough.   What that means to you and me is light, buttery, flaky goodness on our breakfast plates.  Clever, huh?

Les croissants avec le latte.  How cross cultural of me. Yes.  I had two.  What of it?

Here’s the recipe:
Go to your public library and check out “Mastering the Art of French Cooking,” by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck.  Turn to page 96 of Volume Two and follow the directions printed there.  It’s that easy.*   Well, almost.  Don’t use 1 1/2 tsp salt.  Use only one tsp.  Just my opinion, but I thought I’d pass it on.

Really, if you are at all serious about learning to cook, this is the one cookbook you should actually own.  Anything else is, you know, gravy.  Over two decades ago I bought my own copy at a bookstore in Cambridge.  I probably had to skip dinner for a week to afford it.  (It’s not expensive, it’s just that pesky starving artist budget of mine.)  It was my only cookbook for a good five years thereafter.  Fumble your way through as I did, and you will learn everything you need to know.**  You’ll know why one does this, why  one does that, and soon find yourself able to improvise at will with whatever is in your refrigerator.   Funny, I rarely pull it (or any cookbook) out of the shelf now, but I use what I learned in it for every meal.  Will you feel as awkward as I do trying to get my back wheel back on after a tire change without having someone else hold everything in line as I slip in the axle?  Probably.  At first.  But no kitchen toy or extra set of hands replaces the skills and knowledge you can not help but learn from these absolute timeless masterpieces.

* A few tips about working with butter in pastry. Slow and steady does not win the race.  Haste makes flaky pastry.  Be quick about everything you do, forgoing any urge to make things neat.  Leave your tape measure in the toolbox. The butter needs to stay quite cool as you work.  Although it is by no means necessary, you can spring for “European style” butter.  Its lower water content makes it more malleable (i.e. easier to bend to your will) when cold.  Don’t be a hero and try to do this in a 95 degree kitchen.  That’s akin to, oh, I dunno, tightening bolts using the wrong torque wrench.  You make do, but without experience…  well, you all know it can end badly.  I don’t have much of a choice in the matter with regards to kitchen temperature, living in Tucson without the aid of air conditioning, and I have been known to do delicate chocolate work with one hand as I balance a heavy cake with the other in front of the open refrigerator.    Yesterday, my kitchen was a good 90 degrees with the western sun blasting right onto my counters. I had 15 seconds working time, max, to form each croissant before it got too soft and after that the downhill slope is fast and steep.  “Real” pastry kitchens are climate controlled to arctic conditions.  Be sure to save the step where you beat the butter with a rolling pin for the moment you’re about to start hauling tools at the fence in the the back yard because you can’t reach the place where the hose clamp between the fuel filter and carburetor is supposed to go. It’s much more productive than breaking that expensive torque wrench.

** Yes, yes, there’s that movie, but I’ve mentioned that already once before.  I did laugh, though, as I caught myself reciting, word for word, after all those years, bits of “Mastering the Art…”  along with the protagonist during the movie.