Pineapple Chipotle Salsa & Salsa Verde -- Holy Mess (Temporary) Bachelor Edition

As some of you have read (and if you haven't, you should, at least this), my beloved wife is in la República Dominicana on a seminary cultural immersion trip. I am immensely happy for her on this occasion of spiritual and linguistic renewal, but I miss her very much.

However, her absence has created some opportunities: More comic book movies, for instance, have been playing in the new Saylor-Oliver Blu-ray player. I finished Avatar: The Last Airbender (thank you, Alex Moreschi and Benjamin Hart). I am on a Herculean reverse-chronological blitz through back episodes of Pop Culture Happy Hour (thank you, Randall Curtis; oh, and Holy Mess, meet Holy Geek). And I have been eating nothing but Mexican food, or what passes for Mexican food when I'm cooking it.

I'm not sure that this fact has yet become apparent on this blog, but my chief responsibility in our spousal-cooking-tag-team is sauces. So I've really been enjoying the food processor Kristin's mother bought us for Christmas (as opposed to the food processor my mother bought us for Christmas, which she graciously replaced with the Crock Pot also pictured below). I've had limited luck creating salsa recipes in the past, but I think I've now hit upon a couple good ones. So let me share them here, along with the unremarkable dishes I've used them in (my usual seared fish and sauteed cabbage bit was ruined by over-scrupulous observance of recommended cook times and unnecessary food processor techno-joy).

Pineapple Chipotle Salsa

• 12-15 pineapple-chunk-sized chunks fresh pineapple
• 2 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce (a wonderful [to me] discovery)
• 3/4 of a large white onion
• 1 medium slicing tomato
• 1 medium jalapeño
• juice of 1/2 of a small lime
• 2 cloves garlic (I think I may have added more)
• cilantro, salt, pepper to taste (I also used a little chopped green pepper I had lying around)

 Process. Eat while cooking other food, and with it if there's any left.

The ingredients

How did we live without one of these?

The cabbage should have been sliced, not slawed

Really let down by the suggested cook times on the Trader Joe's
 swordfish steaks. Should have gone with my gut.

Looks better than it tastes, and that's saying something. The salsa
is dynamite, though, I swear.

Salsa Verde

• 4 medium tomatillos (my first time using these)
• 2 large jalapeños
• 1/2 of a large white onion
• 4 cloves garlic
• cilantro, salt, pepper to taste (I forgot lime juice, but you probably shouldn't)
• cayenne (or something else?) to taste if more heat desired (it was)

Cook other food. Process. Add to other food and eat immediately.

Delicious "slow cooker carnitas" from Give Me 

Some Oven (I used Newcastle)

Simple tacos with carnitas and salsa verde

Tomorrow: carnitas taco salad with one of the two salsas above. And several more episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

(How was I not obsessed with this show when I used to watch it in middle school? Darling, I hope you're game, because I'm not gonna be able to finish this one before you return.)

Vanillekipferl (that's German for the best Christmas cookies EVER)

My family, being extremely German, has a venerable tradition of baking endless quantities of German Christmas cookies. My beloved Mutterland is, of course, most famous for its yuletide tradition of Lebkuchen, many of which can now be found on American shelves. But what most Americans don't know is that Lebkuchen are only the beginning of German Christmas deliciousness. The trouble with German Christmas cookies (as I discovered to my dismay when I first tried to recreate them in my own kitchen) is that they a) are time-consuming and messy to make, b) often require specialized equipment, c) are difficult if not impossible to convert from metric to imperial, and d) are anything but low fat.

But fear not! It so happens that the most delicious variety of the hallowed cookie collection also happens to be the one kind that is duplicatable in an American kitchen! I have been making Vanillekipferl (there is no real translation, though Vanilla hornlets is close) every year since I fled the nest, and to great success. All you really need in the way of equipment is a metric scale, and the only tricky-to-find ingredient are packets of vanilla sugar, which are mercifully available at most mainstream grocery stores (you can also find it at Penzeys and other spice stores, but because German recipes are so wedded to the unit of a packet, it's harder to know how much to use). 

Lest the idea of vanilla hornlets, whatever those are, doesn't motivate you to go running to your kitchen, let me explain. I am, normally, completely uninterested in a cookie unless it contains chocolate. Yet these cocoa-less gems are, without any doubt, the most delicious cookies that have ever crossed my palate. Think crumbly, buttery, almondy, vanilla-y morsels of heaven. They redefine what it means to melt in your mouth, and I look forward to them year-round. So, without further ado...

Vanillekipferl

For the dough

200 g flour

2 egg yolks

80 g powdered sugar

innards of 1 vanilla bean

1 packet of vanilla sugar (e.g. Dr. Oetker)

pinch of salt

100 g almond meal (store-bought)

     OR (preferably)

100 g raw, whole almonds with which to make your own meal! (see below for instructions)

200 g butter

(additional flour as needed for the surface)

For the coating

50 g white sugar

2 packets vanilla sugar

But before I tell you how to make the cookies, let me make a plug for homemade almond meal. Sure, you can go to Trader Joe's and buy a bag of it, but fresh almond meal? Tastes 800 times better and is quite fun to make. 

Mass your almonds, dump them in a heat-proof bowl. Boil some water, pour it over the almonds and let them sit for 5-10 minutes, or until nice and wrinkly. 

Drain them, then (the best part) start peeling them - just pop the skins right off (be warned - almonds will definitely ricochet across the room on occasion. There's a reason this blog is called Holy Mess...).  

If this is too tedious for you, I apologize. Having been raised to expect almond peeling as the precursor to delicious Christmas cookies (Pavlov, anyone?), I find it ridiculously enjoyable. I also have the benefit of a frisky feline companion who, inexplicably, thinks almond peels are the most scrumptious thing ever. 

Run the peeled almonds through a food processor until they become nice and mealy (be careful not to process for too long, or you'll get almond butter). 

Having made almond meal, you can now move on to even more thrilling pursuits: constructing a cookie dough mountain. Find the largest flat surface you can (if you're a clean freak, throw down some parchment paper) and sift the flour onto it so it forms a heap. Take your fist and mash it into the flour mountain so that you get a small crater (flour volcano?).

Into the crater go the powdered sugar, egg yolks (make sure the crater walls are high enough, otherwise they'll run all over the place), vanilla sugar, vanilla bean goo, and salt. 

vanilla beans: so gross and cool

Gently distribute the almond meal around the flour mountain and sprinkle small chunks of butter all over the top. Pause and admire your handiwork. I mean, come on! It's baking and sculpture in one! What's not to love?

And then, you knead. From inside out, as best as possible. It will take a while. Flour will get everywhere. It will be glorious. When the dough comes together into one lump, wrap it in Saran wrap and stick it in the fridge for an hour. 

holy mess indeed!

When the dough has chilled (yes, it actually is important, even if you're as impatient for cookies as I am), break off small chunks and roll them between your palms until they're about 4 in. long. Pinch them at the ends and bend them into crescent shapes. Pop them on an ungreased cookie sheet and stick them in a 390 degree oven (sorry, C-F conversions are inexact...) for 10 minutes. 

While they're baking, mix the remaining sugar and vanilla sugar in a shallow bowl or dish. When the cookies come out of the oven, immediately (or as soon as you can stand to touch them) roll them in the sugar mixture and cool on racks. 

Heaven. Amen. 

Cold rice noodle and sesame chicken salad -- or -- How I spent my time before and after the gym

Like a giant Americanized spring roll dumped into a bowl. 

Evening workout schedules tend to dominate dinner considerations in the Saylor-Oliver household:

• prep time versus Episcopal High School sports team practice (seminary families can't use the gym 'til the high schoolers are done with after-school practice)
• electrolyte loading or replenishing requirements (bikram yoga is at 6 or 8)
• caloric balance of pre-workout snack to post-workout feast (don't eat too much too soon or too little too late)

You get the idea.

Today's constraints were 6 p.m. yoga for Kristin and 6:30 gym opening for Kyle. Dinner had to be close to ready before leaving for the gym, so we wouldn't be too famished by the time we finished preparing it after arriving home.

The other relevant constraint was my complicated relationship with Asian food: I love it, but I have no idea how to cook it. We don't have any Asian food cookbooks, and I've never had an Asian-cooking role model (not much Asian in the Oliver household or in the Boy Scouts, which are the two places I learned to cook).

In particular, I always want to make spring rolls, but it's never as convenient as I think it should be to find the rice-paper wrappers (even at Fairway!). Tonight was my second attempt at a sort-of deconstructed spring roll, in salad form, with noodles replacing the wrappers. It turned out to be an easy dish to "stage"; I cooked the chicken, made the sauce, and assembled the cabbage-based salad before I left, which left only the noodles to cook in our sweats and pajamas when we got home.

See below for the recipe, such as it is, and some illustrated commentary. Let me add, in closing, that rice noodles remain a mystery to me. They tasted fine when added to the crispy salad, but I have absolutely no idea if they were over- or under-cooked. Any rice-noodle experts out there?

Sauce (inspired somewhat by my memory of this incredible dipping sauce, which I've just re-found)

• 4 tablespoons sesame oil
• 1 tablespoon reduced sodium soy sauce
• 3 tablespoons water
• 2 tablespoons rice vinegar
• juice from one small lime
• 2 green onions, chopped
• salt, pepper

Whisk all ingredients together in bowl or measuring cup. The sauce seemed to really benefit from an hour or so in the fridge.

Humming "green onions" while chopping and shouting "wheeesk"
like Eddie Izzard are strictly optional.

Salad

• 10 ounces (i.e., one pre-washed bag) shredded cabbage
• 2 medium carrots, grated
• 1 red pepper, julienned (I omitted because ours was moldy inside--gross)
• 4 chicken breast "tenderloins" (aka chicken strips)
• 6 ounces rice noodles
• cilantro and crushed peanuts for garnish

Season the chicken and cook over medium heat in a frying pan (I used sesame oil and added some sesame seeds). Remove chicken from pan and shred. Add some of the crushed peanuts, then return to the pan and cook for about a minute. Deglaze (would you call it that in this case?) with just a bit of the sauce, enough to pick up some of the browned goodness and give the chicken some flavor. Cook another minute or so. 

Shredding chicken is, inexplicably, one of my favorite cooking tasks.

Out of the frying pan and ... back into the frying pan.

Remove from pan and layer with cabbage, carrots, and pepper in some way that seems good to you. Cover and refrigerate as you like. When ready to finish, cook the noodles about  two minutes in boiling water, then drain and rinse in cold water until chilled.

Really excited about the food processor we accidentally found
out we're getting for Christmas.

Ready for the gym.

Add cooked noodles to salad, dress, and toss. Garnish with cilantro and chopped peanuts, preferably from this tiny little garnish bowls. Also some Sriracha.

This is how I crush peanuts. I wish we had a meat tenderizer.

Kristin call these "my little bowls." They make me feel like I'm
on a cooking show.

Beer after a workout? "Who can argue with science?"

Tonight's prayer: Thank you for food, for fitness, and for the end of finals (almost!).

Pork Loin Cutlets with Moroccan Spiced Apple Sauce

Every once in a while you stumble across a recipe so stupendous that you need to make it again immediately. This is that recipe. After I impulsively bought a package of pork loin cutlets with no specific destination in mind, Mark Bittman came to our rescue yet again with a recipe for Moroccan-spiced, apple stuffed pork loin. We decided to see if his genius could be modified from a whole tenderloin to cutlets to great success. If you have a well-stocked spice drawer (which, as food-obsessed newlyweds, we most assuredly do), and a few onions and apples floating around your kitchen, all you need is some pork and you're golden. Boom: easy, delicious weeknight meal, especially when served over orzo or Israeli couscous.

we won't need to worry about bland food for the next 20 years or so

the magical spice blend

bonus: your kitchen will smell like heaven

aaand the finished product!

Pork Loin Cutlets with Moroccan Spiced Apple Sauce

(modified from Mark Bittman's Apple-Stuffed Pork Loin with Moroccan Spices)

3 tablespoons butter
2 medium apples, peeled, cored and thinly sliced
1 large onion, chopped
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
1 lb pork loin cutlets
3/4 cup apple juice (more as needed)

1/4 cup white wine (more as needed)

nb: the apple/onion/spice sauce is SO RIDICULOUSLY DELICIOUS that we recommend doubling it for increased enjoyment. It goes well with (almost) everything.

1) Melt 1.5 tbsp butter in a skillet and add apples, onion, and all the spices. Cook, stirring occasionally, until apples and onion are soft, about 8 minutes.

2) Deglaze with 1/2 c apple juice and white wine. Bring to a simmer. Add more butter as needed to thicken. 

3) Season pork cutlets with salt and pepper. Heat 1 tsp of oil or butter in a skillet and cook a few minutes on each side, until juices run clear

4) Return pork chops to skillet with apple mixture. Add remaining 1/4 c apple juice and reduce until it reaches desired consistency.

We'll all have chicken and dumplings ...

At our house, we do not cook, eat, or even talk about chicken. It's not chicken, not to us. It's cheeeeeeeken.

Let me explain: Our friend Tiffany is an opera singer. And one of her directors was (probably still is) an eccentric man and also a man of Eastern European descent. This director once brought to rehearsal—we kid you not—the following snack, to share with his company:

1. two rotisserie chickens
2. one jar of mayonnaise

As if that weren't odd enough, he then announced to the group, in an accent characteristic of his heritage, "I brought cheeeeeekens." What can we say? We heard the story, and it stuck for us, so now that's how we say the word. (Thanks, Tiffany.)

So when you see (for space) the word chicken here, assume we're really saying cheeeeeeeken. We humbly submit that it will improve the experience of reading this post.

Tonight's dinner, for a change of poultry pace this Thanksgiving weekend, is "Chicken and Dumplings, the Easy Way," from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything (Kyle's go-to cookbook).

I ❤ Mark Bittman 

I, Kyle, had never worked with a whole raw chicken, and I can now join the ranks of those who have learned what a hilarious ingredient they are. A turkey, of course, is big, which limits the amount of silliness one can commit. A chicken, on the other hand, can be held in that hand, leaving the first hand free to take a picture of the rather silly tableau (an "Alas, poor Yorick," perhaps). Unfortunately, my first hand would have been holding an i-Phone, so I wasn't nuts about the prospect of actually trying this. I got it on the counter instead:

I didn't even mean for the wings to look so silly.

After taking a stab at trimming the "visible fat" (I took that to mean extra skin around the neck and cavity), I put the bird into the stockpot with the carrots, onions, leeks, and liquid (mostly water, with some canned chicken stock to help out a bit). 

I added the spices (allspice berries, whole black peppercorns, thyme, bay leaf) a little late, so I was generous with them (blogging does take one's head out of the game). The chicken, and so also the amount of liquid, was on the large side of Bittman's suggested range, so that seemed sensible.

Thanks for the stockpot, Adam and Melissa! It has contributed
immensely to our quality of life.

I have never made biscuits, so getting the dumpling dough ready was a bit of a challenge. It felt to me like the ratio of buttermilk to the other ingredients was a little low, but I ended up with the "ball of dough" that Bittman describes, so I guessed I was good to go (my professional baker sister is probably rolling her eyes).

Next came the transfer of the chicken, which I found to be easier said than done and would certainly be tough to do with a (single!) slotted spoon, if I might beg Mr. Bittman's pardon. (This was, conveniently, when Kristin arrived home from yoga, hence the action shot.)

Somebody with two thumbs and a Mark Bittman cookbook
has difficulty estimating onion size.

After removing the chicken, I reduced the broth for a bit—partly for the tastiness of the broth, and partly because I had a hard time deciding what "bubbl[ing] vigorously" but not "rolling" meant.

When I could dither no more, it came time for the dumpling drop, which (even after a sentimental holiday weekend) brought back all kinds of warm fuzzy memories of dumpling making in the Oliver household (it wasn't a fixture or anything, but I remember it well because I think the way they cook is nifty).

How can you not love this?

Twelve minutes, one foam-over, and several toothpick pokes later, our little babies were ready to go.

Yes, that is a Manhattan subway map
spoon rest.

That's about all there was to it. We served the chicken and vegetables in deep bowls with a couple dumplings and some broth (which by the end was indeed pretty tasty).

Kristin is a beautiful photographer, no?

Our grace this evening: "Thank you God, for the cheeeeeeeeken." Amen.

What's been cooking

We're still trying to get our schedules to line up enough to do our big inaugural cook-and-post effort on this new blog. In the meantime, you can see some of what we've been cooking lately on our Pinterest recipe boards (Kristin, Kyle). Enjoy!

What a mess

We live in a fishbowl. Some people call it the Holy Hill, but we try not to and would prefer that you didn't. We are two aspiring priests in the Episcopal Church. We live a couple blocks away from the seminary where Kristin has just begun three years of study for ministry and where Kyle has just begun working after three years of study himself. We love the church, love our school, and love the people we live, work, and study with.

But sometimes it all makes us a little crazy.

We're recently married, and our worlds have not only collided, they have been more or less reduced to the size of a couple of big suburban blocks in the hot, sprawling traffic-fest that is Northern Virginia. It's a far cry from Madison, WI, where we met, and New York City, where we've spent a majority of our time together in our young relationship.

And so we cook together to stay sane. It wasn't even our idea. Kristin's mom threw us a little engagement party after we popped the question about a year and a half ago. At that party, a couple gave us a copy of The Joy of Cooking and said it was the best marriage handbook they knew of. That seems like better advice each day as we adjust to life in the fishbowl.

This blog is where we invite you into that holy mess, and the messes we'll create as we cook for pleasure and sanity in the weeks and years ahead. Welcome to our blog.