cheaphealthygood

Selasa, 15 Februari 2011

Ask the Internet: What's Not Worth Doing Home-made?

Today's question comes from Laura and Karen L., who brought it up in the comment section of last Wednesday's Triangle of Compromise post. It's a really solid one.

Q: There are something that are just *not* worth the time. For me, that includes homemade noodles and gnocchi. Homemade bread is a treat. Perhaps and interesting ask-the-audience: What is not worth doing home-made?

From Cyclone Bill

A: Loooove this one. Here's what I do:

Worth it: marinades, rubs, spice mixes, salad dressings and vinaigrette, all baked goods, most dips, soup, gnocchi. (That last one is subjective, but I love the stuff, you can make a ton at once, and it keeps forever in the fridge.)

Not worth it: pasta, crackers, bread (We don't eat bread fast enough, and crackers and pasta take soooo long.)

Up for grabs: pasta sauce, chicken stock, salsa (I make them all from scratch when I can, but we use them so frequently, I usually just buy pre-assembled.)

Readers, what about you? What do you make from scratch? What just isn't worth the effort?

Want to ask the interweb a question? Post one in the comment section, or write to Cheaphealthygood@gmail.com. Then, tune in next Tuesday for an answer/several answers from the good people of the World Wide Net.

Senin, 14 Februari 2011

A 14-Carrot Valentine's Day Recipe: Marinated Celery and Carrots, Chinese Style

For Valentine's Day, my cat bit me in the face. I like to think he was going for, like, a weirdo human-kitty show of affection, and got overzealous. Or maybe that my face is actually quite delicious, and its secrets should be marketed to professional flavorers as some kind of replacement for corn syrup. More likely, he's a psychopath with a brain the size of a walnut, and my face got in the way of his biteyness.

(Note: It wasn't bad at all, and he barely broke skin. It's just weird to be injured in the face if you're not in a vampire movie or shooting birds with Dick Cheney.)

(Ha! My cultural references are the timeliest!)

Anyway, HOTUS made me feel better with a lovely Middle Eastern-style dinner, as well as my very own label maker. I never thought the day would come when I'd be all, "Sweet Bea Arthur, a LABEL MAKER! WOOOOO!" as if it was front-row tickets to a U2 concert. But it's here. And I am going to label the everloving hell out of my house. (Cat included.)

I bestowed upon HOTUS a Kindle cover, as well as these Chinese-Style Marinated Celery and Carrots from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything. It's an Asian-style twist on veggie sticks, and a nice changeup to regular ol' ranch dressing. After one bite, I was all, "Hm. Okay." Ten sticks later, I would have bitten a cat's face off for another bowlful.

The one negative: The marinade begins to funkify after 48 hours, meaning the dish doesn’t keep for more than two or three days. So serve it quickly, carrot lovers!

~~~

If this looks tasty, you’ll quite like:

~~~

Marinated Celery and Carrots, Chinese Style
Serves 4
From Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything.

1/2 pound carrots
1/2 pound celery stalks
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons sesame oil (not toasted)
2 teaspoons rice vinegar or cider vinegar
1 garlic clove, minced

1) Chop carrots and celery into 2-inch sticks. They should be bigger than a julienne, but smaller than the average crudité dipper. Stick them in a bowl and mix with salt. Let stand at least 10 minutes, and up to 1 hour. Rinse thoroughly, drain, and dry.

2) Meanwhile, mix sugar, soy sauce, sesame oil, vinegar, and garlic in a large bowl with a pretty flat bottom. (You can use a regular bowl. It just works better this way.) Add carrots and celery and stir thoroughly. You can eat immediately, or let marinate for at least 1 hour. I prefer to let it marinate. Store for up to 2 days in the fridge. (After that, it starts getting weird.)

Note: For a more salad-like side dish, chop the veggies into 1-inch sticks.

Approximate Calories, Fat, Fiber, Protein, and Price Per Serving
108 calories, 7.1 g fat, 2.6 g fiber, 1.5 g protein, $0.62

Calculations
1/2 pound carrots: 93 calories, 0.5 g fat, 6.4 g fiber, 2.1 g protein, $0.44
1/2 pound celery stalks: 32 calories, 0.5 g fat, 3.6 g fiber, 1.6 g protein, $0.84
1 teaspoon salt: negligible calories, fat, fiber, and protein, $0.01
1 tablespoon sugar: 46 calories, 0 g fat, 0 g fiber, 0 g protein, $0.01
2 tablespoons soy sauce: 17 calories, 0 g fat, 0.3 g fiber, 2 g protein, $0.19
2 tablespoons sesame oil (not toasted): 239 calories, 27 g fat, 0 g fiber, 0 g protein, $0.81
2 teaspoons rice vinegar or cider vinegar: negligible calories, fat, fiber, and protein, $0.15
1 garlic clove, minced: 4 calories, 0 g fat, 0 g fiber, 0.2 g protein, $0.04
TOTALS: 431 calories, 28.3 g fat, 10.3 g fiber, 5.9 g protein, $2.49
PER SERVING (TOTALS/4): 108 calories, 7.1 g fat, 2.6 g fiber, 1.5 g protein, $0.62

Sabtu, 12 Februari 2011

Saturday Throwback: On Splurging

Every week, we post a piece from the CHG archives (located in our nation's capitol, right next to the Ark of the Covenant). This comes from February 2009.

My Pa is my idol. He’s a funny guy, with the patience of Gandhi and the work ethic of an Iditarod sled dog. Even on bad days, he makes Atticus Finch look like an angry slacker. And last week, he turned 60. This is significant for many reasons:

Senior discounts galore. (Hello, IHOP!)
He’s halfway through his quest to become the world’s oldest man.
Sandals! Over black socks! No one gives a damn anymore!
He’s the same age as Sean Connery in Hunt for Red October, Katharine Hepburn in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, and, er, Harrison Ford in K-19: The Widowmaker. Barring that last one, that’s pretty cool.
I wasn’t around to celebrate. Instead (with his blessing, but still), I was oogling mountains in the Pacific Northwest.

To make up for my absence, I needed an extraordinarily special gift: something better than anything he’d ever received, or could even dream up. For obvious reasons, gold-plated golf clubs were out of the question, as was a warm, fuzzy hug from Yankee shortstop Derek Jeter, who once sparked this conversation between the two of us:

PA: Did you see Jeter's catch last night? It was just like Willie Mays. He ran 50 feet into the outfield and caught it with his back turned. And THEN he nails the guy at second. It was great. Great catch.

ME: If you ever left Mom for a man, I'm pretty sure it would be Jeter.

PA: (thoughtful pause) … You think he'd have me?

That left one other option: Le Bernardin.

You need to know: Pa is a seafood fanatic. He inhales shrimp, and once, I witnessed him down two-dozen Maryland blue crabs in a single sitting. (To compare, I had four. Ma had eight.) Le Bernardin seemed like a good choice.

LB is Eric Ripert’s phenomenal seafood restaurant on the north end of Midtown Manhattan. It’s has four stars from the New York Times since 1986, and is one of only a trio of Big Apple eateries to boast three Michelin stars. Calling it a good place for fish is like saying the Pope only kind of digs Jesus. It’s a TEMPLE to fish, and Pa and I were eager to pay our respects. So, we chose a random Wednesday (coincidentally, the same night Ripert appeared on Top Chef), donned our best snow boots, and got subway-ing.

(SIDE NOTE #1: I worked in Midtown for nine years, on the SAME EXACT STREET as the restaurant, and never knew it was there. This is partially because the whole gorgeous, warm, wooden room is tucked modestly away in the first floor of a ginormous skyscraper. There’s a sign outside, but it’s easy to miss among Times Square’s shiny bustle. Also, I’m not very observant.)

Once we arrived and our coats were checked, the host ushered us to a neat, crisp table with more silverware than I've ever seen for two people. We settled in, and the meal began with an amuse-bouche, a tiny pre-appetizer that psyches your palette up for the rest of dinner. In this case, it was lobster cappuccino. Lobster. Cappuccino. Oh, it sounds bizarre and gross, but understand this: if God had come down from heaven and offered to rub my mouth with diamonds, I still would have opted for the shellfish coffee.

Next up was a choice between 14,000 different types of bread, served to us by one of our 17,000 suited waiters. On the side: butter, presumably churned from a cow they kept behind the bar. I’d never had fresher dairy, and Pa practically spread it on his tongue. So far, so good.

(SIDE NOTE #2: It was around this time we spilled a drop of … something [I forget what] … on the tablecloth. Like quicksilver, a waiter was over to brush it away, smooth the offending wrinkles, and hide the faint remaining stain with a snow-white linen napkin. Pa and I looked wide-eyed at each other: “Well, this beats the crap out of Olive Garden.”)

Soon enough, our sommelier (a lady!) visited the table, bearing our half-bottle of German white wine. She taste-tested the vino before pouring it, and finding it unpoisoned, gave us generous sloshes for the meals to come.

Which? Holla!

What followed were three courses of fish prepared in a variety of heart-stopping, face-melting ways. Organic raw salmon with green apple? Check. White tuna lightly poached in olive oil with dime-sized potato chips adorning each piece? Check. Crispy bass that dismantled our taste buds, rearranged them, and then built them back up into newer, better taste buds? Oh god, check.

And to top everything off, dessert. I had an architecturally stunning dark chocolate ganache with sweet potato sorbet. Pa had a hazelnut and banana combination that … I just openly drooled on my chest. Who discovered the hazelnut, and how can I give him my life’s savings? If anyone can answer this, please call me. Collect.

(SIDE NOTE #3: In the bathroom? Free tampons. Pa was not as impressed at this as me.)

In the end, we walked out full, dazzled, and with the understanding that this was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. Calories didn’t matter. Time didn’t matter. Money didn’t matter.

Oh, and about that bill.

Woof. It was big. A good portion of my monthly rent.

But it was also for Pa, and that made every cent worth it. Yeah, I save and scrimp and regularly frugalize my pants off, but I’d do Le Bernardin again tomorrow if I could. We value good food. We love trying new restaurants. We both knew we probably wouldn’t have that kind of opportunity again. And hell, you only turn 60 once.

And that’s when splurging is okay.

(Photos courtesy of Confessions of a She-Fan.)

Jumat, 11 Februari 2011

Kamis, 10 Februari 2011

Veggie Might: Lazy Weekend Gluten-free Pancakes

Penned by the effervescent Leigh, Veggie Might is a weekly Thursday column about the wide world of Vegetarianism.

Pancakes are the food of lazy weekend mornings with loved ones, be they boyfriends, friend-friends, or family. Breakfast, or more specifically, brunch, is the best meal of the day because lazy weekend mornings are the best time to be awake.

Brunch in New York is like church. Everyone has their preferred house of worship, and weekly attendance is compulsory. Congregants line up out front, no matter the weather, to say their prayers to the gods of maple syrup and challah bread.

After years of serving eucharist at one of Manhattan's most popular temples, I relish every Saturday and Sunday morning I get to have a leisurely breakfast at home. I'm nondenominational brunch eater, and I like to worship in my pajamas. Plus, it's way cheaper that way.

My pal and fellow brunch altergirl, Miss T is newly gluten-free. She recently spent the night at my pad, and the next morning, she, my boyfriend, and I contemplated venturing out for brunch. I told her about the whole wheat pancakes I'd been making for CB, and she wondered if I could come up with a gluten-free version for her.

"Sure," I said. "Let's try it now." Miss T was all smiles and agreement. Church bells were ringing.

We donned our aprons and cleared a space on the table. Starting with a recipe from The Joy of Vegan Baking, I had futzed around until I came up with a whole-wheat pancake that satisfied CB's morning sweet tooth and my fiber requirement. Making them gluten-free was as easy as substituting the wheat flours for a combination of chick pea, brown rice, and quinoa flours. We had a smashing success.

The alterna-flour gluten-free pancakes came out light, fluffy, and golden-brown—just like the wheat version. Miss T and I were so proud of our pancake improv. We looked to CB, our resident pancake connoisseur, for final judgment.

"Pancakes are just a vehicle for maple syrup and butter," he said. "These have the right texture, which is the important thing. They're good."

We took his praise with gratitude and laughter. These delicious, gluten-free vessels of maple and joy are worthy of lazy weekends and those you love.

~~~~

If this recipes warms your cockles, you may also enjoy:

~~~

Lazy Weekend Gluten-free Pancakes
3 servings
Adapted from The Joy of Vegan Baking

1/2 cup chick pea flour
1/4 cup brown rice flour
1/4 cup quinoa flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
2 tablespoon safflower oil (half for mix and half for cooking)
1 cup nondairy milk (I used almond)

1. Preheat oven to 200 degrees.

2. Combine dry ingredients in a medium mixing bowl or 4-cup measuring cup. Stir in 1 tablespoon of oil and milk until combined but don't overmix. It's okay if there are some tiny lumps.

3. Heat a small amount of oil in a cast iron or other heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat. Spoon or pour batter into 3" to 4" pools in the skillet. Cook until bubbles form in the batter.

4. With a plastic or silicone turner, flip pancakes and cook for another 2 to 3 minutes or until golden brown. Place pancakes on an oven-safe plate and keep warm in oven until all pancakes are ready. Repeat step 3 until you've used up the batter. The number of pancakes will depend on how big you make them.

5. Serve with your favorite toppings, like vegan butter and maple syrup, and enjoy with those you love.

Approximate Calories, Fat, Fiber, Protein, and Price per Serving
249 calories, 12g fat, 5g fiber, 6.3g protein, $.56

Note: Substituting 1 tablespoon of cooking oil with high-heat cooking spray will reduce calories to 209 and fat to 7g per serving. You can also substitute the quinoa flour for something a touch cheaper, like sorghum flour, to reduce cost.

Calculations
1/2 cup chick pea flour: 220 calories, 4g fat, 10g fiber, 12g protein, $0.32
1/4 cup brown rice flour: 130 calories, 1g fat, 2g fiber, 3g protein, $0.15
1/4 cup quinoa flour: 110 calories, 1.5g fat, 2g fiber, 4g protein, $0.50
1 tablespoon baking powder: 6 calories, 0g fat, 0g fiber, 0g protein, $0.06
2 tablespoon safflower oil: 240 calories, 28g fat, 0g fiber, 0g protein, $0.16
1 cup almond milk: 40 calories, 3g fat, 1g fiber, 1g protein, $0.50
TOTALS: 746 calories, 35.5g fat, 15g fiber, 19 protein, $1.69
PER SERVING (TOTALS/3): 249 calories, 12g fat, 5g fiber, 6.3g protein, $.56

Rabu, 09 Februari 2011

Cheap Healthy Good and the Triangle of Compromise

A few weeks ago, I was having dinner with a friend who works with computers. After our fries were finished, we started talking about his job. “Here’s the thing,” he said, “and I think it happens with a lot of different occupations. When you work with clients, they want your work to be quick, cheap, and thorough. And you kind of have to tell them to pick two.”

“Why can’t they expect all three?” I wondered.

He phrased his response carefully. “Well, you have other clients who demand your time. And competition is always pretty fierce.” He sipped his Guinness. “And it’s kind of the natural order of things, you know?”

“Explain.”

“Um, well. Think of it like this: If they want it done fast and cheap, the standard of work isn’t going to be very high. If they want it done fast and right, they’re going to have to fork over money for the extra manpower. And if they want it done cheap and right, it’s gonna take awhile.”

"Like a triangle."

"Yep."

“So getting all three is impossible?”

He shook his head. “Nope. You can get a little of everything if you’re willing to compromise. It’s kind of that sweet spot in the middle.”

“But getting people to compromise is tough.”

“Always.”

I nodded. The triangle idea made sense in a work context. And, when I though about it, it started to make sense in other contexts, too. “You know, it’s kind of like finding a New York apartment, except the parameters change a little.”

“Okay." More Guinness. "Go on."

“If you want a place that’s cheap and in a great neighborhood, it’s going to be a rat-infested hellhole.”

“Like your old place.”

“Right,” I continued. “And let’s say you have kids, and you want a place that’s cheap and nice. It’s going to be a gabillion miles from any subway stop. That’s why all our friends end up in Jersey.”

He finished my thought: "And you have to be making Derek Jeter-caliber money to live in a nice place in a good neighborhood."

"Right. Jeez. That guy."

Later that night, I tried to apply the idea to Cheap Healthy Good. And it got harder. Because here's the thing:

People say you can buy cheap and healthy food, but it won't taste any good.
People say you can buy delicious, healthy food, but it will cost a bagillion dollars.
People say you can buy cheap, delicious food, but it will give you ten successive heart attacks.

I disagree with all of those conclusions. Like my friend, I believe that compromise is key to maintaining balance between the cheap, the healthy, and the good. I believe this is possible:

Paying a little more will get you healthier, scrumptious-ier food. Adding a little butter won't cost you much, and will keep food from tasting like lawn scraps. And actually preparing it yourself – not a ten-course State dinner, but y'know, a casserole – will cost less and give you a good chance of making it into your 80s.

(Of course, adding "time" or "effort" into the equation would be a logical extrapolation of this theory, but it turns the 2D drawing into a much-harder-to-understand 3D pyramid, which would simultaneously blow my mind and tax my pitifully scanty knowledge of graphic design to its breaking point, so we'll ignore it for now and get back to ruminating.)

So there you have it. The CHG Triangle of Compromise. It's exists to remind us of three things:

We need not engage in extreme, black-and-white thinking when it comes to eating inexpensively, healthfully, and well.
Compromise is the key to eating inexpensively, healthfully, and well.
I am bad at Photoshop.

Readers, what think you? If you have any geometrically-based theories, I'd love to hear 'em.

~~~

Like this? You'll love:

Selasa, 08 Februari 2011

Green Kitchen: Roasted Sunchokes and Broccoli

Green Kitchen is a bi-weekly column about nutritious, inexpensive, and ethical food and cooking. It's penned by the lovely Jaime Green.

Ever since The Glorious Return of Gas to My Oven, I have been making good use of my fully functional kitchen. I've been boiling water on the stovetop for tea, marvelling at how quickly the kettle whistles. I've roasted a chicken (you know, what with eating meat again). I've baked two versions of Chickpea Cake and even broiled salmon when my fish-allergic boyfriend was out of the house. But my favorite thing to do, the thing I missed most in my oven's time off, is to roast broccoli.

I am a full believer in the power of oil, salt, and high heat to transform almost any vegetable into a delicacy. Sauteed Brussels sprouts, roasted root vegetables or cauliflower, even oven-roasted kale – these methods all move their produce from tasty enough healthy choices to mouth-watering heaven, as if heaven is a thing you eat. And broccoli perhaps benefits from this treatment best.

This is a variation on Ina Garten's recipe, which I learned by way of The Amateur Gourmet (where it is called, accurately, The Best Broccoli of Your Life). It is rich and hearty, a little sweet from caramelized edges, good and salty from... salt. It's also super easy – you toss broccoli with salt and oil and throw it in the oven. Set it and forget it, basically. And then, after all that zero hard work, you get something amazingly, addictively delicious that is also, lest we forget, broccoli.

This weekend I took my dear broccoli to a new level, by way of a little greenmarket ~~desperation~~ curiosity. While strolling through with my friend J. for eggs, onions, and heavy cream (my new obsession) – the only good things to find in a February farmers market – I saw something intriguing between the onions and ten kinds of potatoes: Jerusalem Artichokes. They are neither Israeli nor artichokes, but rather knobby little roots that I conveniently – thank you for writing seasonal recipes, fellow foodbloggers – had read about just a few days before. (You can swing by that very Mark's Daily Apple post for more history of the sunchoke, and a couple more recipe ideas.)

Let's see. Roasted sunchokes, roasted broccoli. Creamy and nutty, toothsome and savory. Roasted, roasted. In my fridge, in my fridge. It obviously took a great feat of culinary inspiration and general genius for this combination to be conceived. (Thanks for sending me to college, mom!)

Note: Make sure to dry your broccoli and sunchokes THOROUGHLY. I'd even recommend not washing the broccoli. It's going to be in a hot oven for a long time – anything bad on there's gonna get killed, and anything that doesn't get killed in the oven is some sort of superpowerful freak germ that was going to get you anyway.

~~~

If this looks nice, you'll surely appreciate:

~~~

Roasted Sunchokes and Broccoli
Serves 4
Adapted from Ina Garten/The Amateur Gourmet and Mark's Daily Apple.

1 ½ lb broccoli (about 5 cups of florets)
1 lb sunchokes (about 4 cups sliced)
2 T olive oil, divided
salt to taste

1) Preheat oven to 400. Line two baking sheets with aluminum foil.

2) Chop broccoli into florets. (Put the stems aside for another use.) Toss in a large bowl with 1 T oil and a sprinkle of salt. Spread in a single layer on one baking sheet. Sprinkle with a little more salt if you like.

3) Slice or quarter sunchoked into relatively uniformly sized chunks, a little less than an inch thick. Toss in your large bowl with the remaining 1 T of oil and a sprinkle of salt. Spread on a single layer on the other baking sheet, ideally with each piece lying flat on a cut side (for optimal browning).

4) Cook broccoli and sunchokes for 30-40 minutes, until golden brown (or a little darker). Half-way through, swap them between the top and bottom racks, and stir/move around the veggies, adding salt if desired.

Approximate Calories, Fat, Fiber, Protein, and Cost Per Serving:
211 calories, 7.5g fat, 5.4g fiber, 6.2g protein, $1.41

Calculations:
5 cups broccoli: 155 calories, 1.7g fat, 11.8g fiber, 12.8g protein, $3.00
4 cups sunchokes: 438 calories, 0.1g fat, 9.6g fiber, 12g protein, $2.50
2 T olive oil: 252 calories, 28g fat, 0g fiber, 0g protein, $0.12
1 t salt: 0 calories, 0g fat, 0g fiber, 0g protein, $0.02
TOTALS: 845 calories, 29.7g fat, 21.4g fiber, 24.8g protein, $5.64
PER SERVING (TOTALS/4): 211 calories, 7.5g fat, 5.4g fiber, 6.2g protein, $1.41