Cuisine

Tonight is a good night to sit down to a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup.  Our anomalous weather patterns are torturing us with 18 degree mornings followed by rain and wind at night. It makes no sense. Officially at the mid-point of January we have yet to see snow, much to my chagrin but not to that of many others, so I’ll leave it right there. Suffice it to say that, as a teacher and a parent, I love snow days for my kids’ sakes.  Who doesn’t love to see the joy on their faces when the phone rings at 5:30 in the morning? They will sleep in on any other morning, but that phone call has the kids out of their beds and as active as bees in a shaken hive. They are ready for action. But no, there is no chance of that happening any time soon, so the upturns and downswings in the mercury will leave us wondering what is in store next week and the one after. But one thing is certain; chilly or downright cold, soup is a welcome friend as it soothes us to ou...

 And now for another edition of Up Close and Personal with Chef Paul. I like to smell my food. I really like to smell my food. Many a time I can remember a coworker looking at me in great wonder as I opened a Snickers bar and gave a whiff before devouring the masterful munchie in only a few bites. Sure, it may seem bizarre to some, but if you only knew the trammel in which I found myself a mere handful of years ago, it would make sense. As many people have speculated, our region is a hotbed of allergen activity.  If you didn’t have any allergies prior to living here, there is a good chance that they will develop over your years of residence. I won’t offer any conjecture as to why this might be the case, but I have heard it from several sources, at least two of which are well-embedded in the medical field. About four years ago, something terrible happened to me as a chef; I started to notice that I was losing my smell and taste due to my allergies. No matter ...

 It was with great suspicion and disquietude that the Salvadoran women agreed to allow me to help them make tamales for Bellehaven’s employee party.  I didn't think it prudent or appropriate to ask whether this was a tradition bestowed among the traditional housewife, but only assumed it as the women kept laughing at either my ineptitude or presence in general; I preferred to think that it lay on the latter. “No, Paul!” said Sylvia in her thick accent, “Foil too small!” she scolded as my aluminum foil wraps were apparently too thin. Karla laughed in agreement. Now situated with the correct width, Sylvia again chided me; “No, Paul!  Foil too big.” More laughter. Finally, she showed me a strip of foil, the size of my first attempts and said “perfecto!” And so I began to cut and lay out the foil. Also on my to-do list was cutting the banana leaves which would lay in the foil, in which the maseca mixture and fillings...

 I ate molten chocolate cake with homemade berry marshmallows for dinner. The kids ate leftover pizza. I’m not sure what my wife ate.  After a long weekend at the Country Club, it was a day of taking kids to the doctor and dentist, and what better way to end a visit to the dentist than with a big, bubbly pile of chocolate? After ‘dinner’ it was off to my trusty laptop on the back deck to write this masterpiece while mom and a couple of the kids tortured the others by locking them out of the bedroom in order to wrap Christmas presents. With so much evidence on and in the house, it is becoming increasingly harder to avoid the fact that Christmas is but around the corner. It is annually amazing to me to realize that, while my wife is typically done shopping for the holiday in June, I start right about now. I assure myself that, as it is in cooking, consistency is the most important part of any relationship. As I sit out here on the deck, something else stri...

I’ve been eating like an animal since Sunday afternoon. My body needs the reparative subsistence as it overcomes our wrecked weekend. No, my self-demise was not a punishment for self-destructive Pub-style drinking.  Well, there were a few beers involved, but stop…you’re throwing me off track. This past weekend I was part of a team that participated in one jackass of a race; one which I will be happy to participate in for years to come. The Tough Mudder; a 12-mile, 37-obstacle paramilitary gauntlet designed by the British Special Forces (Since the US Special Forces specifically noted that they wanted no liability whatsoever in the making or execution of the course). I believe that there is an article somewhere else in this paper to note what happened and who the race ultimately benefited, so I will only focus on the after-race food. And good god was there food. Never one to shy away from a tailgate party, I brought precooked, heat-n-serve flank steak, roast...

I cringe as I sit to write this article. We broke down and bought a slow-cooker, AKA a Crock Pot.  When ours broke a number of years ago, I went back to the more traditional manners of making pot roast, chili and other family favorites on the stovetop and in Dutch ovens. But, as time went on, the yearning was there to replace the easy cooker and so it has happened.  And here I am, writing about Crock Pot (Hamilton Beach to be more precise) chili and cornbread, an easy and delicious dinner that makes me smile while I think of all of the extra time that I had to spend on the back yard.  It’s about time that I picked up all of those widow-makers from Hurricane Irene.  It’s about time. As you venture down the page, you will notice white beans in the chili recipe, and I don’t want to receive any hate mail about beans in chili again.  Just deal with it.  Again, there are beans in this chili, much to the chagrin of true chili aficionados the ...

It is not often that someone calls me to help out with their parties.  Usually I am cooking them myself or traveling to Virginia to work for friends up there, but when a friend recently called me for some aid, I jumped at the chance. With a beautiful menu on hand, I found myself midday Saturday working for Guy Bayshore, prepping for the soiree.  It was imminent that I would have had a great appreciation for the effort that he had put into the design and purchasing, as I remember his work at Solstice General Store.   Cheeses were purchased from an artisanal shop in Alexandria, and Bison purchased from a farm in Hurlock.  Duck was flown in from a farm up north and the Coppa, Toscano, Serrano, et al were bought at a store which had taken great care to shingle the meats in a painstaking fashion.  The latter made my life infinitely easier as I peeled them apart and set up trays to be served with Raclette. As we finished the prep, we found ourselves at the museu...

Digging through the twisted passageways and deep sepulchers inside my trivial foodie brain, I reminisce on something I have not addressed in years; Deviled Eggs or Eggs Mimosa, Russian Eggs or any other name that may have been applied over the years to these gems. The glorious and ubiquitous finger-food of every gathering under the sun (well, pot-luck gatherings that is) is recognizable by all, and loved by most. So simple to make, the deviled egg makes me stop to wonder why everything can’t be this easy to create.   I would be remiss if I didn’t note that I learned how to make these as a wee lad from me dear ole mum.  She can whip these out with the best of them, and as there were eight children in our family, the gatherings were typically large and out of control, so there was always plenty of practice. Usually situated at the front of the buffet, the deviled eggs were always the first thing to go, and as they were so rich, they seemed to place a temporary...

So before I get started, I understand that an apology is in order.  It would seem that upon writing a previous article on pumpkin bread, I omitted an only slightly important ingredient: flour. One of my faithful readers made the pumpkin bread, or more to the point, pudding, and realized after the fact that the inadvertent omission cost her an afternoon’s work, and for that I am dreadfully sorry. My wily fingers want to try to blame my editor, but I don’t want to get fired. I’ll take the hit, and again I am sorry to anyone who may have fallen victim to my oversight. To answer the question of how much flour since we’re on the topic, it would be somewhere from 3-4 cups depending on the pumpkin (less flour if canned and more if fresh-roasted). Which brings us to another chilly morning full of breakfast breads here in Alexandria at the Club. I just finished a pumpkin muffin and I am halfway through a blueberry muffin when I realize that this unhealthy eatin...

“Good god I ate a lot of food.” Not a moment had elapsed from the muttering of these words that I realized that it’s not even October yet; that we’re just practicing for the Thanksgiving feast and yet the words are there. My stomach is stretched beyond capacity. Having just supped at our in-laws’ house (the Mighty Fine Hesselbeins) a mere mile from our driveway, four of the six of us decided to walk home to get rid of that over-stuffed Turkey Day feeling. It was a well-needed walk and our bodies thanked us for at least burning off a few calories. At home, it was time to continue our Sunday deep-clean but all I could think of doing was lying down on the couch. ‘Yes, let’s just pretend that it is Thanksgiving’ I told myself. Short of the horrifying tradition of having to sit through the Macy’s parade on that fateful Thursday, Turkey Day is always one of my favorite holidays. And so the season starts; the year of school well in-gea...