beer-oche

Since the last loaf survived drying out in the oven and did not kill me when eaten, I decided to use more of the flat beer to make brioche.  Using Tartine-ish proportions:

Continue reading

Advertisements

flat beer? make bread!

If I die, arrest this loaf for involuntary manslaughter, but let it plead down to a lesser included offense:



The genesis of this loaf can be pinpointed to July, when I went on a kidless mini-break and BackupMom held a BBQ at my house.  A pan of leftovers sits in the fridge commemorating the event (ewww), but that’s not the point.

During the BBQ, the partygoers stored lots of beer in my outdoor mini-fridge and drank it all.  Except one.  Which I found, open but otherwise unmarred, when I got a yen to make Breadtopia’s version of Jim Lahey’s no-knead bread featured in the New York Times…but had no beer in the house.

It’s been in a closed environment.  Alcohol is a preservative.  We won’t die when we eat bread made with it, right?

Right?

Continue reading

magic-enough-for-me sauce



I like The Flame Broiler, which is to say, I am addicted like a smack addict to the marinade and magic sauce used on the meat.  They aren’t giving up the recipe; until then, a simple Korean(ish) BBQ sauce will do.  I was going to research a shitload of recipes and test them all out, but the first one I found was close enough to the stated ingredients and taste of the smack that I have called off the search.

Continue reading

this chocolate cake is not a lie

The vast appeal of a boxed cake mix, besides not having to measure dry ingredients, is that it’s a one-bowl operation.  Dry mix goes into the bowl; liquids go into the bowl; presto, cake batter.

I can get that down to a bowl, a bag and a drinking glass, with the advantage of reusing the bag – as soon as one cake’s worth of dry mix is emptied, scale in the next cake’s worth, re-seal the bag and smugly reflect on your water conservation skills and environmental conscientiousness.  Or toss the bag, preferably whilst lighting a contraband legal Cuban cigar with a Ben Franklin and laughing maniacally.

Continue reading

dirty rice (my daddy would not approve)



I’ve been noodling over The Food Stamp Challenge, again.  Nope, still not taking it; looking at it from a home ec perspective, though.  For a family of three in Los Angeles County, the maximum monthly SNAP benefit is $511/month.  The Hillbilly Housewife has two meal plans that could take the challenge – one devoid of meat (but with eggs) and the other with a bit more variety.

The last time the author updated the meal plans was in 2009, but the core items in the lowest-cost plan can be purchased from Amazon Fresh, in most of the quantities indicated, and come in at the $511 price point for the month.  (My basket for the week was $96.81 – $20 to spend for the last two days would be pretty slim pickings).  So, in theory, one could buy through Amazon Fresh on a food stamp budget without starving.   But I think I could do better, for my specific situation, with that monthly allotment.

Continue reading

the best fucking meatloaf, ever (imo)





I love Deb Perelman.  She is a goddess in the kitchen, who is not afraid to publish her failures as well as her successes.  Her book contains a recipe for meatballs which was meant to be the Anti-Meatloaf. . .but makes the best fucking meatloaf I have ever tasted.  If you buy her book (please do!) and follow the recipe, outstanding.  If you want a simplified version of it, read on.

Continue reading

cheating on Chad is fun

I got very tired of paying too much for too little tasty bread ($5.72/lb!), and I wanted meatloaf with fresh bread crumbs tonight (recipe to come later, and it is the Best Fucking Meatloaf, Ever).  So, after a very long hiatus (and happy to have gotten my cooking groove back), I forged once again into Tartine territory to prep a starter.

But a fresh, anal-retentive starter will not get me bread tonight.  What will get me bread tonight is cheating on Chad, with my Kitchen Aid mixer and commercial yeast.  Next week I will cheat less on him; this week, I am a perfidious little bread whore.

Continue reading