BrokeAss Gourmet

BrokeAss Gourmet

Mazel Tov Cocktail

  • Prep Time 3 minutes
  • Cook Time 15 minutes
  • Estimated Cost $14
  • 28 Comments

I don't normally break this recipe out until Passover (you may recognize it from the time I shared it on my dear friend Tori Avey's website), but, in case you haven't been online yet today, Trump surrogate Scottie Nell Hughes referred to the the Molotov cocktails in the Jay-Z and Kanye West video, "No Church in the Wild" as "Mazel Tov cocktails," and, well, I couldn't help myself. 

I won't comment much on the election here (if you follow me on Twitter, Instagram, or my personal Facebook page, you know exactly where I stand), but I think we can all agree that, regardless of what happens tomorrow, we're all going to need a big icy cup (or three) of what I am now officially dubbing the "Mazel Tov Cocktail." 

Tip: make the syrup today (a nice reprieve from refreshing political polls all day), and you'll be ready to make a big batch of these on election night.

Start by reducing some classic Concord Grape Manischewitz in a small pot over medium-high heat.

We're making a syrup here. Yep, that's right: we're making cloyingly sweet Manischewitz even sweeter (trust me).

Next, we need to get out our cocktail shaker and fill it with 2 teaspoons of the syrup, plus blood orange juice (you can use any kind of orange juice you like -- have fun with the symbolism), and vodka. 

Then shake that sucker up, strain it, and serve it in a pretty glass.

L'Chaim!

Oh, and in case you haven't done so yet, MAKE A PLAN TO VOTE! 

 

Ingredients

  • 1 cup Concord Grape Manischewitz wine $5 for 24 ounces
  • 2 oz vodka $8 for 12 ounces
  • 1 blood orange (or regular orange) (half juiced, half sliced) $1
  • Ice

 

Directions

To Make the Syrup

  1. Pour the Manischewitz into a small saucepan and place over medium-high heat.
  2. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and let cook until thickened and syrupy, about fifteen minutes.
  3. Let syrup cool completely.


To Make the Cocktail

  1. Fill a cocktail shaker with ice, then add the Manischewitz syrup, vodka, and blood orange juice.
  2. Shake well until mixed and well-chilled.
  3. Strain into a glass and garnish with the blood orange slice.
  4. Serve immediately.

Cast Iron Bibimbap + Wedding Pics

  • Prep Time 45 minutes
  • Cook Time 20 minutes
  • Estimated Cost $14
  • 38 Comments

One of the weirdest questions I was asked multiple times during the year I spent planning my wedding was whether I would be doing the food myself.

My response was similar to how I felt when my grandmother, confused as to how I managed to book a plane ticket for a trip we were going on together without using her travel agent, asked me how I had "hacked into the Alaska Airlines ticket system."

In both cases, I was a little shocked to be asked such a question, but utterly flattered that the asker thought I was capable of executing such a feat. I know some people cater their own weddings, and I tip my veil to them because that is incredibly impressive. But I am a mere mortal and so hired a catering company. (I also did not hack into the Alaska Airlines backend, in case you were still wondering).

Park Avenue Catering and Patisserie Angelica in Sonoma County did the food, cake, and desserts at my wedding, and they both did a phenomenal job.

Oh yeah. Sorry to bury the lede, here. I'm thrilled to tell you that Evan and I got married this summer.

It was wonderful. We held the wedding at Kunde Family Winery in Kenwood, CA on July 3rd, atop a hill overlooking the entire Sonoma Valley. If you're the wedding stalker type, and want to see the whole album, here it is. Meanwhile, here are a few highlights.

Our ceremony was held under a chuppah constructed using poles made of wood from Camp Tawonga, my childhood summer camp, and a talis (prayer shawl) that Evan bought in Jerusalem last summer.

We have a special place in our heart for sunflowers (Evan brings me a bouquet of them every week--I know, we're nauseating), and we wanted them to be the only flowers at the wedding. Everyone thought this idea sounded crazy, but our wedding planner Ali Diluvio and Anita from Wine Country Flowers made it work perfectly, by pairing the sunflowers with blue glassware and rustic yet refined decor.

As I said, I didn't do the food, but it was delicious and beautiful. Obviously, I asked for lots of photos of food, and our wedding photographer, Jennifer Bagwell delivered big time.

 

I know everyone says this, but it was truly the best day of our lives.

Another reason why you haven't heard from me is that after the wedding, we went to Maui, where we ate all the poké on the island and drank more mai tais than we should have.

I cooked a little on Maui, in the oceanside condo we rented (so much better than staying in a hotel, as far as I'm concerned), but I was mostly making grilled fish with fruit. Seriously, we each ate at least one mango, guava, or dragonfruit per day. There is no fruit like ripe, local tropical fruit.

But now we're back. And there are books to write (I have 2 coming out in 2017! More on that soon), a schoolyear to dive into (for Evan), and, of course, cooking to be done. We're slowly readjusting to our real life and new matrimony. And of course, I'm back in the kitchen.

I've alway loved Bibimbap, a Korean dish of rice, meat, and vegetables, typically served in a stone pot, which serves to keep it hot and also to crisp the rice. I had never made it at home before, because I assumed I needed an actual stone pot. But a few weeks ago, as I was garnishing a panful of crispy roasted chicken legs, it occurred to me that my cast iron frying pan could probably produce the same results. I am so happy to tell you that was right. 

The not-so-secret ingredient to a good bibimbap is gochujang, a Korean fermented chili paste. Look for it at Asian specialty grocery stores, or in well-stocked supermarkets.

This particular variety is too thick to pour, so it needs to be diluted a little bit with water.

Classic bibimbap recipes call for bulgogi (Korean barbecued beef), but I didn't have any beef, so I used chicken breasts, which I marinated half of the gochujang. You could also use chicken thighs, tofu, or some really meaty mushrooms.

 

This dish works well with leftover rice, but if you don't have any, now is a good time to make some. You will need about 3 cups of cooked rice. Pretty much any grain will work. I have also used quinoa and millet with great results.

I made some garlicky spinach with sesame seeds as one of the components. You could also use raw kale salad, pickled Asian pear, or just about any vegetable lingering in your produce bin.

I should say that you could probably make this dish using a regular nonstick frying pan, but since cast iron gets very hot all over, and is similar to a stone pot in that respect, I think it's better. Also, why don't you have a cast iron pan? They last forever and are very affordable. This one is my favorite

I topped my bibimbap with a variety of vegetables, kimchi, and a couple of eggs. You'll want to gather everything up and have it completely preppred before serving.

Regarding the eggs, I like them fried with a runny middle, as the yolk adds lovely richness to the whole dish. But cook them however you like your eggs.

Once your pan is nice and hot, you add a litle oil and then use wet hands to carefully pat the cooked, cooled rice into the pan.

Let it cook until the rice begins to brown and get crisp, then top the rice with your toppings. and drizzle on the sauce.

Stir it all together, spoon it into bowls, and top each bowl with an egg.

Smash that yolk, stir it all together, and dig in. Note: Gochujang stains like a mofo. Do not eat while wearing white.

Ingredients

  • 1/3 cup gojuchang paste $3.50 for 16 ounces
  • salt and pepper Pantry
  • 2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts or 4 boneless, skinless chicken thighs $4 
  • 3 cups cooked brown rice (about 1 cup uncooked) $1.50 
  • 5 tablespoons coconut or vegetable oil divided Pantry
  • 1/2 pound frozen spinach $1.50 for a 16-ounce bag
  • 4 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped Pantry
  • 2 eggs (or more, depending on how hungry you are) $2.50 for 6
  • 1 tablespoon sesame seeds, optional
  • 6 green onions, white and green parts, chopped $1 for a bunch
  • 2 carrots, sliced with a peeler or shredded, optional
  • kimchi to taste, optional 

Recipe Serves 2

Directions

  1. Mix the gochujang paste with enough water to make it pourable (3-4 tablespoons should do the trick.
  2. Pour half of the gochujang mixture into a gallon-size plastic zip-top bag. Reserve the second half for serving.
  3. Season the chicken with a big pinch of both salt and pepper, add the sesoned chickend to the bag, and mix well to coat. 
  4. Marinate for at least 30 minutes (or as long as overnight).
  5. Heat a cast iron pan over medium-high heat and add 1 tablespoon of the oil. 
  6. Cook the chicken for 5 minutes per side, until cooked through and slightly charred on the outside.
  7. Remove from the pan and let rest.
  8. Wipe the pan out using a paper towel.
  9. Add a second tablespoon of oil to the pan over medium-high heat, and add the spinach and garlic. Stir well to combine and cook just until the spinach is hot and the garlic is softened, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.
  10. Scrape the spinach into a bowl and set aside.
  11. Heat a third tablespoon of oil in the cast iron pan. Fry the eggs to your desired doneness.
  12. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil to the pan over medium-high heat.
  13. With wet hands, carefully pat the rice into the hot pan, being careful not to touch the pan itself with your hands.
  14. Let the rice cook for 4-5 minutes, just until it begins to get crispy.
  15. While the rice cooks, slice the chicken into strips.
  16. Remove the pan from heat and top with all the toppings. Drizzle on the reserved sauce.

Personal Peach Pies

  • Prep Time 30 minutes
  • Cook Time 25-30 minutes
  • Estimated Cost $9
  • 79 Comments

Everyone tells you the month leading up to your wedding will be crazy. There will be RSVPs to wrangle, seating charts to sweat over, a million little details to communicate to a large group of people, many of whom live far away. You don't eat enough because you are stressed, but your dress has been tailored exactly to your body's current state, and you've been told that if you lose more weight, it won't fit. For the first time in your life, you worry that you will lose weight, instead of worrying that you won't. 

But nobody tells you that, in the midst of everything, you may feel compelled to comb through your life thus far with a fine-toothed comb. You try to determine if you are actually qualified to get married, as if that were a thing possible to determine. You wonder if you are you smart enough? Successful enough? Beautiful enough? Nobody tells you about the self-doubt. You find yourself wondering if any of your previous boyfriends know or care that you are getting married, and should you maybe reach out and tell them just in case? (Answers: maybe, no, and definitely not). 

But then, in the midst of this, you remember, of all things, a pie. A rustic, palm-sized peach pie you bought at a bakery somewhere in the East Village ten years ago, when you were twenty-four, just before you left the East Coast for San Francisco. You were about to uproot a five-year existence in Boston, to move back to your home state for a new job and an apartment you rented without visiting, when your best friend insisted you at least see New York City once before you go. So you loaded up a borrowed car and hit the road. You got bagels and slices of pizza (and you finally understood what the big deal was), and you even managed to run into someone you knew in high school (surely that was some sort of omen). But it was that peach pie, procured just before you drove back to Boston, and eaten in the car, that stayed with you the most.

You had been ridden with anxiety throughout the trip, and were scared and excited about the start of the next chapter. But for just a moment, your heart palpitations slowed when you bit into that pie. It was sweet like summer, encased in a crust that was buttery and flaky, but still sturdy enough that you could eat it without a plate or fork. All of its flavors were familiar and identifiable, and yet the combination tasted unlike anything you had ever eaten before. 

Now that you have this recipe, you can eat these pies whenever you need a little taste of the sweetness ahead. Or, you can top them with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or freshly whipped cream, and eat them simply because there is nothing more perfect on a hot summer day.

Ingredients

  • 1 pound sliced fresh white or yellow peaches (about 4 peaches -- leave the skin on) $4
  • juice of 1 lemon $0.50 for a whole lemon
  • 4 tablespoons sugar, divided Pantry
  • pinch of salt Pantry
  • 1 recipe Perfect Pie Crust, or 1 store-bought piecrust (make sure you buy the kind that comes rolled up in a cylinder, not the kind already pressed into a pie tin). $3
  • 1 egg, lightly beaten $1.50 for 6 

Recipe Serves 4-6

Directions

  1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.
  2. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, a silpat, or a light sprinkling of flour, and set aside.
  3. Combine the peaches, lemon juice, sugar and salt in a bowl. Stir gently to combine and let sit for 20 minutes.
  4. Roll the piecrust out on until it is about 1/6 inch thick, a floured surface.
  5. Use a 6-inch bowl to punch out 4-6 circles. If necessary, re-roll the scraps and punch again.
  6. Arrange 1/4 of the peaches in the center of a dough round, leaving a 2-inch border.
  7. Gently fold the border of dough over the peaches to make a loosely decorative edge. 
  8. Transfer the pie to the prepared baking sheet.
  9. Repeat with the rest of the dough and peaches. 
  10. Use a pastry brush to lightly coat each pie's crust with egg.
  11. Sprinkle the top and edges of each pie with the sugar.
  12. Bake the pies for 25-30 minutes, or until the crust is golden-brown and the peach filling is bubbly.
  13. Let cool slightly, then serve plain, with whipped cream or a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Buffalo Cauliflower

  • Prep Time 10 minutes
  • Cook Time 21 minutes
  • 61 Comments

I've been thinking a lot about adaptation lately. And also about cauliflower. But...I am pretty much always thinking about cauliflower.

Anyone who follows my blog or knows me in person is familiar with my tendency to rhapsodize about the magical transformative abilities of humble cauliflower. From pizza to rice to tortillas to this layered lasagna thing I make every week (which I promise to eventually write about here) lower-carb, cauliflower-ified versions of high-carb starchy foods are my jam (and usually, my dinner). 

The thing about cauliflower transformation is that, even as a chewy tortilla, or in crispy-edged pizza form, its true flavor and texture never actually, truly disappears. No cauliflower creation ever ceases to truly be cauliflower...it's just presented in a different, gussied-up form. Sort of like when I have my hair and makeup done: the results are different, fancified, maybe prettier, but at the core, essentially the same as before.

Or maybe like when I get married in just six weeks? I'll be transformed to an extent then, right? I'll wear a special dress, have my hair and makeup done. Put on a ring made especially for me? And then, in front of friends and family, Evan and I will make our union legal. After the wedding, as he and I have been doing for the past four years, we'll continue to adapt. To married life, to permanent love.

But underneath it all, after the ketubah and marriage license have been signed, after my dress, with its intense boob-securing infrastructure (I have been promised several times that the dress won't require a bra. I am suspicious of this.), has been exchanged for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and Evan's dapper suit has been replaced by a more casual (but still extremely dapper) get-up, we'll find that, at our respective cores, we are still the same as before. Transformed, adapted--maybe with a few new ingredients added, as it were--but essentially the same as we've always been.

Kind of like this Buffalo Cauliflower: decorated, adapted, transformed...but at its heart, still cauliflower. 

 

Ingredients

  • 1 medium cauliflower, cored and cut into florets $2.50
  • 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil Pantry
  • 1/4 teaspoon kosher Pantry
  • 1/4 cup hot sauce, such as Tabasco, Frank's or Crystal $2.50 for 12 ounces
  • 2 tablespoons butter, melted $1 for a stick
  • juice of half a lemon $0.50 for a whole lemon
  • freshly ground black pepper, to taste Pantry
  • ranch or blue cheese dressing, for serving optional

Directions

  1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F.
  2. In a mixing bowl, toss the cauliflower florets with the oil and salt.
  3. Spread in an even layer on a rimmed, greased baking pan, and roast until they start to brown, about 15 minutes.
  4. While the cauliflower roasts, whisk together the hot sauce, butter, lemon juice, and black pepper.
  5. Remove the cauliflower from the oven, but leave the oven on.
  6. Using a spatula, scrape the roasted cauliflower into the hot sauce mixture, stir well to coat, then scrape the whole thing, sauce and all, onto the pan.
  7. Return to the oven and roast for an additional 15 minutes, then remove from oven and transfer to a serving platter.
  8. Serve with blue cheese dressing or ranch dressing

Mushroom Steaks

  • Prep Time 35 minutes (including marinating)
  • Cook Time 20 minutes
  • Estimated Cost $2.50
  • 107 Comments

I spent last week in NYC. I had a few meetings, caught up with old friends, and went to the set of The Rachael Ray Show to shoot a few scenes for Young & Hungry (tune in on March 9th at 8/7 Central on Freeform to see it--I'll also be in the episode!).

One evening after working all day, I met up with my NYC-living friends, Jocelyn and Lisa for dinner in Brooklyn at a great restaurant called Flatbush Farm. As the name suggests, the menu was focused on farm-to-table dining; seasonal, fresh, and rustic. 

We decided to share a few entrees, and one of them was a "Carrot Steak." When the dish arrived, it looked to be some thickly sliced carrots that had been roasted, and topped with a hearty grain and kale salad. It was a delicious vegetable dish (and one which I would probably order again) but it did not in any way resemble steak.

I don't have a problem with calling foods something they are not (I often call cauliflower everything from tortillas to rice to pizza), but I do feel strongly that if you are going to do that, you should at least make an effort to serve the food in the same manner as the food you are referring to. Even though the carrot steak we ordered was quite tasty, the restaurant hadn't quite accomplished this.

With this in mind, I was inspired to turn the enormous King Oyster mushrooms I bought recently into the steaks I knew they could be. I first discovered the meaty potential of King Oyster mushrooms when I turned them into mushroom bacon a few months ago.

Because mushrooms are meaty but not naturally juicy enough to resemble steak, I knew I needed to add moisture and a bit of umami flavor. To accomplish this, I plunked them, halved, into a simple marinade of soy sauce, smashed garlic, brown sugar, black pepper, olive oil, and water.

After marinating for about 30 minutes (I could have left them in for longer but didn't want them to start to break down), they went into a hot cast iron (my favorite way of cooking steaks of any kind).

After getting a good long sear, the steaks get flipped and topped with about half of the marinade, just ensure they get as much flavor and moisture as possible.

After a good long sear, the get a little fresh parsley. Not required, but adds lovely color and flavor.

If you really want to put it over the top, add a little vermouth or broth to the empty pan and scrape up those delicious brown bits to make a quick pan sauce (this is optional but quite recommended).

And over the top it goes, giving the 'shrooms a steaky glaze.

These "steaks" make a great side dish, but I dare you to try them as an entree, maybe with some mashed potatoes and seared broccolini or creamed spinach. I think you'll find that the steaks' meaty texture and juicy, umami flavor is more than enough to satisfy carnivorous cravings. 

Ingredients

  • 1/8 cup soy sauce or tamari Pantry
  • 2 cloves garlic, smashed Pantry
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper Pantry
  • 1 tablespoon brown sugar or honey Pantry
  • 1/3 cup water
  • 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil, plus more for cooking Pantry
  • 2 very large or 4 medium King Oyster mushrooms (the ones pictured measure about 9 inches in length), halved lengthwise $1.50
  • 1 small handfull fresh parsley, chopped (about 1 tablespoon chopped) $1 for a bunch
  • 1/4 cup vegetable broth, vermouth or other wine (red or white) optional

Recipe Serves 2

Directions

  1. Stir together the first 6 ingredients in a wide, shallow dish.
  2. Place the mushrooms in the dish, flat-side down.
  3. Cover the dish and let marinate at room temperature for 30 minutes.
  4. Heat enough olive oil to thinly coat the bottom of a large frying pan (preferably non-stick) over medium-high heat.
  5. Remove the mushrooms from the marinade and shake off excess. Reserve marinade.
  6. Cook flat-side down in the pan for 8-10 minutes, until very brown (check periodically to avoid burning).
  7. Flip and let cook for another 2-3 minutes to sear.
  8. Add about 1/2 of the marinade to the pan and cook until it is almost completely absorbed.
  9. Remove the mushrooms from the pan and top with the parsley.
  10. If you want to make a pan sauce, add the broth, vermouth, or wine, and stir, scraping the brown bits off the pan and into the liquid. 
  11. Once the sauce has thickened (about a minute), pour it over the mushrooms. 
  12. Serve warm.