Jammy Chicken

Glutney, and November already.

Yikes. November already.

I had this whole list of things to do in October, and I got none of them done.

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Nuffin.

That's just the way it is sometimes, and it is one of those times.

I am slowly working my way through the very alluring salt sugar smoke by Diana Henry. The British cover is here, and the American here - I like the plump and mouth-wateringly tart cherries burst open and strewn across the page of the rumtopf or bachelor's jam recipe featured on the American version best.

I got a lovely email from Ms. Henry, who aptly surmised that I like a little tipple now and again, and directed me to head straight to the booze section of her book.

She was not mistaken.

I have apricots in muscat and pear ratafia lined up for some much anticipated kitchen dabbling this weekend.

I made up a batch of chutney before I headed out to New Jersey in a race with Sandy to see who would arrive first. Hugh's affectionately named glutney recipe is a lifesaver when the garden is heaving with veg, or in this case, lots of tomatoes rescued before the first killing frost sitting on the counter threatening to turn to slime before they get even remotely ripe. Add in one butternut squash, bits and bobs of dried fruits (sultanas a.k.a. golden raisins, regular old raisins, dried currants), some cider vinegar and a gigantic pot to hold it all, and 4 hours of slow simmering later I had 5 pints of glorious tart, sharp chutney. I am keenly observing the jars as they sit and mellow on the shelf.

I am making the last tweaks on gluten-free chocolate cupcakes and almond flour carrot muffins, which will be ready to share soon. Until then, the chutney in action.

Day after a hurricane lunch.

I had been planning on visiting my parents in NJ this week ever since the end of the summer, and as it turned out Sandy decided to arrive in town on the same day as my flight. American Airlines willingly - eagerly - assisted me in changing my flight plans, and I decided to leave early Sunday to beat the storm to the east coast. I snuck in to Philadelphia just as the rain started to fall that evening, passing scores of glum, sober travellers piled into airport gate sitting areas watching their flights out disappear. We were in the path, a direct hit, here in south central New Jersey, but 53.3 miles from the coast and every single foot counted. Backyard trees, 40-footers, were blowing around like an over-caffeinated cheerleader's pom-poms. I thought for sure we'd have some trees ripped out of the ground, if not splinter into toothpicks first, especially after the inches of rain dumped ahead of the wind front. 

Last night, we feared the worst and were filling pitchers with water for coming days, cooking large batches of chicken so we could still eat if - when - the power went out, expecting the food in the fridge to spoil and wondering exactly how many days we could last on cans of soup. 

Amazingly, luckily and totally unexpectedly, we have nothing more than a serious pile of wet fall leaves covering everything. We were without a doubt some of the luckiest ones affected by this natural disaster. The power is still on. The cable TV cooking shows I usually watch with my mom (talkin' about you, Ina) seem like even more of a luxury now, knowing how many millions of people were hit hard, flooded out, snowed in, without electricity, without homes.

Our grasp on the magnitude of this event is still unfolding, Sandy continues to impact the country and is likely to do so for another day or more. We think about the 10's of millions of people who are struggling through this, and send well-wishes to them all.

For lunch today, that hurricane-prep chicken, anticipated to be eaten in candlelight, and not the romantic kind, with no heat and no modern conveniences. We are indeed lucky.

Lucky Chicken Quinoa Veggie Salad for Sandy.

1 chicken breast, cooked
1 small zucchini, raw
1 carrot, raw
3-4 roasted artichokes, from a jar and packed in oil
1-2 cups cooked quinoa

Chop the chicken into small cubes or shred into pieces.

Cut the zucchini in half the long way and slice into thin half-moons. Cut the carrot the same way.

Chop the artichoke into small pieces.

Mix together in a large bowl, with generous salt and pepper and a drizzle of whatever chicken pan juice and artichoke oil you have around. 

Serves 4, and best served room temperature.

Fall is my favorite.

Hi there - I'm back from Australia!

Exciting stuff - jumping from summer in Iowa to winter in Australia to fall in Iowa, plus or minus 15 hours of time zone change and 5 weeks or so.

Jet lag: much worse coming back than going out, I have to say.

Melatonin is my new best friend.

I hope you enjoyed some of my travel piccies I put up while I was gone. We're almost caught up, you and I, on my best piccies, but there's still Prague and Vienna, and of course Australia, to share. I should get them out and up soon to be ready for upcoming trips - I am looking forward to Dorset in winter and Italy next summer.

Other stuff has happened besides travel.

I submitted my tenure package.

What's that, you ask?

Well, basically it means that all my work colleagues vote - anonymously - on whether I deserve to get promoted or get fired.

Hoping for the former.  

On a slightly less depressing note - I got a major haircut.

Love the shorter hair. So swishy and flippy.

See photo above. Compare to about page.

A big birthday has just passed.

One with a zero. Trying to ignore it.

Unsuccessfully.

The arrival of a pressure canner, and with it, the potential for canned tomato sauce in 10 minutes instead of 40.

Love it.

The British Guy was left her in Iowa to deal with the tomato harvest - 85 pounds while I was away.

He learned to roast tomatoes pretty fast. You must, when the only other option is being smothered in an avalanche of tomatoes.

We've gotten at least 50 more pounds since I got back.

Hence the profound love for the pressure canner.

I've canned chopped tomatoes, sauce, made my own ketchup (from HFW River Cottage, posted there on the Paupered Chef blog. I'll get my version up soon...it's all about the spices).

Also tomatilloes. I'm busy making this on an industrial scale.

And we had a frost watch yesterday night so I had a yard-wide herb chop and am madly drying basil, parsley, sage, and tarragon.

Finally, deciding to really, completely go gluten-free.

Once and for all, for everything I eat.

Honestly - it's a pain. Especially when travelling.

Airports are grim places to find food that's verifiably gluten-free.

I do tremendously miss my favorite bread and cookie foods.

Pasta.

Sigh.

GF baking is tricky.

These non-wheat flours behave badly.

I am not the master of the kitchen anymore and it makes me grumpy.

Despite all that, I feel completely good. Which makes it all totally worthwhile.

And I will eventually crack the baking thing.

I hope.

Pickled Eggs and Beetroot.

Shockingly, electrically, remarkably pink eggs and pickled beetroot make a vinegary, tangy and decidedly moreish snack.

Moreish being the British way to say that you can't possibly stop eating this tasty treat, you crave more.

It's just a little bit magic how deep ruby beets stain pristine whites what might be considered a lurid color on anything less down-to-earth than a pickled egg.

Pink pickled eggs elevate the regular pickled egg from common, even a little rough-and-tumble, pub snack to something decidedly more fun.

How can you not be fun when you are a pink pickled egg?

These pickled eggs would not be out of place  sliced or quartered alongside some crustless cucumber finger sandwiches.

Strewn across a fresh green salad. In a chicken salad sandwich.

If you simply can't fight it, eat straight with a nice cold beer. Sprinkle with a generous shower of crunchy, flaky salt.

Try it the British way, liberally covered in freshly ground pepper or sloshed with some Worcestershire sauce.

If you're daring, drop one into a packet of potato chips (that's crisps to you Brits) and scrunch around, for a crunchy, salty, pickly, eggy treat.

For reals.

Pickled Eggs and Beetroot.

1 tablespoon peppercorns (pink if you have them, for the color theme, or black)
2 sprigs fresh tarragon (I used Mexican tarragon)

6 small to medium beets, roasted (7 ounces, 200 g total)
6 large eggs, hard-boiled and peeled

For the pickling juice:
1 cup cider vinegar
1 cup water (including any beet juice from roasting)
1 tablespoon sugar

You will also need a sterilized, quart-sized canning jar.

To roast beets: wash the beets thoroughly to remove any dirt, and trim the greens to within an inch of the beetroot. Reserve the greens to eat like spinach. Rub each beet generously with olive oil and place in a small pan that they can all fit easily, but relatively snugly, into (for example, 7 or 8-inch square by 2 inch high). Add a slosh of water and cover the pan completely and tightly with aluminum foil. Roast on 350 degrees F for 45 minute to an hour or more, until a knife slides easily into and through the beet. If you check, and the beets are not done, recover tightly with foil and put back into the oven. When roasted, remove from the oven and cool until warm. While still warm, rub the beets and the skins will slide off. I wear rubber gloves for this, as te beets will stain your hands pink.

Cut the beets into quarters, if small, and eighths if large.

Measure the peppercorns into the bottom of a quart-sized canning jar. Layer the beets and eggs into the canning jar, starting and ending with beets and making two layers of 3 eggs each. Add the  tarragon sprigs to the canning jar, pushing them down the sides of the jar so the tops are even with or below the highest layer of beets.

Mix the vinegar, water and sugar in a small pot and bring to a simmer. Stir until the sugar is just dissolved, then pour over the beets and eggs, making sure all the beets and eggs are covered completely.

Allow to cool on the counter, cover with a vinegar-resistant lid (plastic or coated metal), then store in the refrigerator.

The eggs and beets are pickled and ready to eat after 2-3 days, but the pickling will continue to get stronger and the pink color will continue to get darker and soak deeper into the eggs the longer they are left to pickle.

In British pubs, these are kept, unrefrigerated, in giant vats on bar counters for God knows how long. If you prefer to have some measure of food safety about you, keep refrigerated and eat within 2 to 3 weeks.