Stuff for your Dressing

With the Thanksgiving holiday fast approaching, I thought it was appropriate to have a little discussion about stuffing...or as my late grandmother used to call it, "dressing."
The general consensus, at least among my northern friends, seems to be that the bread and nut a giblet mixture served with your bird; is called stuffing...regardless of whether it's getting stuffed inside the bird, or served alongside it.
From what I’ve been able to find, stuffing has its roots in the early 16th Century, when the term “stuffing” first appears in print. Prior to that, it seems that anything that got stuffed all up in them (former resting place of the) guts, was called “farce.” Sometime around the late 19th Century, the hoity toity set felt that “stuffing” was too; shall we say common; and “dressing” became de rigueur. Interestingly enough, I’ve always associated “stuffing” with a north of the Mason-Dixon culinary term, and “dressing” with being its southern equivalent. Whatever the case may be, and whatever your personal preference for calling the bread and nut and sausage and if you’re weird fruit, amalgam is; I think we can all agree that stuffing is pretty awesome.

My personal stuffing recipe, one that I also think is pretty awesome, has changed over the years; but it has its genesis in a recipe I got from the New York Times about eight or nine years ago. That recipe, itself, seems to be on the older side, and has what I would call, southern leanings; what with its call for pecans (not walnuts), cornbread (not white bread) and hot sausage (not giblets; although the sausage thing may be more “Italian” than actually southern, but it seems like up north, we ain’t too fond of meat in our stuffing). Those ingredients are mixed with eggs, chicken stock and a healthy dose of herbs, to create a stuffing; that while not your mama’s Stove Top, it will have everyone at the dinner table happily and silently munching away. I also learned, through trial and error and my family's penchant for over-indulgence, to make a lot; stuffing a little bit of my dressing in the bird, but reserving the rest to be baked outside towards the end of the cooking process. Not to mention, my stuffing’s got booze in it; and who doesn’t like a little booze during the holidays?

Elliott Cooks Stuffing
- 1 large Yellow Onion, small diced
- 2 Carrots, small diced
- 2 stalks Celery, small diced
- 2-to-3 cloves Garlic, minced
- 1 ½ lbs Hot or Sweet Italian Saugage, casings removed & crumbled
- 1 lb pecans, shelled & halved or lightly crushed
- 6 Cups, Cornbread*
- 1/8 cup Thyme, picked
- 1/3 cup Sage, minced
- 1/4 cup Rosemary, minced
- 2 Eggs, beaten
- Chicken stock, as needed
- 1/4 cup Butter, unsalted
- 1/4 cup, Bourbon or Rye Whiskey

In a large cast iron skillet or saute pan, sweat the carrots in butter until soft, then add the onions and celery until the onions are translucent.
Add the garlic and continue to sweat, being careful not to brown or burn it.
When all vegetables have been sweated, add the sausage and saute until just cooked.
Deglaze with the bourbon, and reduce until sec (until most of the liquid has reduced).
Add the cornbread, pecans and herbs and stir to fully incorporate.
Transfer to a large bowl and allow to cool slightly.
Add the beaten eggs and mix thoroughly.
Add chicken stock, if necessary.
Stuff a small amount of dressing in the cavity of the bird and place the rest in a buttered casserole dish and cover with foil. Bake along with the bird for approximately 30 minutes, then remove the foil and continue to bake until browned on top (It should stand to reason that the stuffing can be made ahead of time, but unless you want it to sit in the oven, or your kitchen counter, for like four hours; you'll put it in the oven when the bird's almost done).


* Cornbread Recipe
(I don't know about you, but I like having extra cornbread. Cornbread is awesome. So I'm giving you a recipe that will more than fill a 9 by 9 by 2 inch baking dish)

2 cup yellow cornmeal
1 cup all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup milk
1/4 cup melted butter, plus grease for pan

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.
Sift, or whisk, together cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, pepper, and sugar. Then add beaten egg, milk and butter.
Grease a shallow (9 by 9 by 2 inch) baking dish with butter, then pour in batter. Bake for 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted inside comes out clean.
Cornbread should be made a day early so it has a chance to dry out slightly.

Hide yo’ kids, Hide yo’ wife, Hide yo’ Knives!

Yeah, I’m back, bitches! Somewhere between the return of the Lorax and the return of Kenny Powers; there’s me. The return of the guy who writes about food, complains about shit and gives you recipes; when he feels like it.
I was going to signal my triumphant return with a long-winded, angry, shot across the bow entitled: “I Hate the Food Network.” I had been working on it for the past month, slowly updating it on my Blackberry, on my rides to and from work, waiting until it was just right and I could unleash it upon the world. But then I got drunk one night earlier this week and decided to delete all of my old e-mails…like an asshole. I mean, either that’s what happened, or a big yellow van with cupcakes and Dandelions painted on the side and driven by Paula Deen came up beside me as I was walking home and Sandra Lee, Bobby Flay and that no-talent hack from Upstate jumped out, drugged and kidnapped me, wiped my phone and my memory and then left me face down in a puddle of cloudy bourbon at Charlie Sheen’s apartment. But rest assured, it won't be too long before you get to read my hate-filled little rant.
And yeah, I know I’m kind of an asshole because I haven’t posted anything in a while. But I’ve also been ridiculously busy. When you wake up at ten and are in the shower before noon and don’t leave work until one in the morning…before you probably have a couple glasses of Makers Mark and then crawl into your warm bed at four; writing isn’t especially high on your list of priorities; like say: wiping the crust out of your eyes; finding out why your mouth tastes a certain way; or trying to determine; “if I have So-and-So’s phone, I really hope they’ve got mine!” might be.
But being busy also breeds lots of interesting things going on and happening to me and happening to people I know. Which in turn leads to funny stories I get to tell you; as well as a couple recipes tossed in, for good measure. So get ready for it. I’m back and I’ve got a lot to say.

Now This, I Like

I wake up, almost every morning that I have to get to work, exhausted. It's like a half a Bell Curve, that grows exponentially throughout the week. Meaning, my first day back in the kitchen, I wake up feeling pretty refreshed, especially if I haven't spent the previous night participating in my own personal Alcoholympics, whilst talking shit with Sicilian J, and playing Americas favourite game, "I can drink more bourbon than you can (let me be the first to tell you, there are no winners)." But with each passing day, I wake up a little more tired than I was the day before.
I swing my legs onto the floor and tap my feet on the ground, letting the tingling sensation in my toes subside; then it's downstairs to the living room where I watch SportsCenter while checking my email and surf Yelp to see that the mindless, idiot "foodies" are (incorrectly) saying about food and restaurants. After about an hour, it's into the shower and my day really begins.
On my walk from the subway, I usually smoke a cigarette and go through a list of what I need to have prepared for my mise that day; bumping up big projects like cleaning trout and then wrapping it in caul fat or making a dozen potatoes worth of Lemon-Parmesan Gnocchi, to the top of my list.
If my work week has started on a Wednesday, which it usually does, by Saturday or Sunday afternoon I'm actively thinking about how tired I am, and how I'd like to curl up in a ball on my couch with a quart container full of water, the remote in my hand and a couple delivery menus scattered across the coffee table.
But a funny thing happens shortly after I get to work. It's not quite an instantaneous Superman-into-the-phone booth, kind of thing; but I start to feel better, and I forget how tired I might be. I walk in the door, I say hi to our GM, our waitresses and the lunch cook; I toss my Dunhills and my Blackberry in the cubbyhole on my station and I head downstairs.
Right around the time I've changed out of my civvies and into my whites; that's when the “oh, poor me” feelings start to melt away; and by the time I'm standing in front of a cutting board, my knife laying across it at 45 degrees, and my long black waiters apron is tied around my waist, I'm ready for battle. Fuck, I'd probably take you up on your offer to run a 10K...and do the whole damn thing in my clogs!
This feeling, or rather this change in feeling; is something I never really gave much thought to before. It just happens, and I accept it. But psychoanalyzing myself it seems pretty clear that I feel the way I do when I'm at work, because I actually want to be there. The memories of working on Wall Street are still entirely too clear for me and I'll be damned if I ever feel like that again. The kind of feeling only a privileged asshole, with a good-paying job can feel: “I'm tired, I sit behind a desk all day and get paid to tap a keyboard, I have a paid lunch break which I can fuck off for an hour and a half if I want too, and I don’t want to be here!”
Those days are gone, and they’ve been replaced by strange calmness and a nervous excitement. Calmness because I know that if I do my job, everything will work out alright; and excitement because every day brings something new; a new way making gnocchi, a more efficient way to make Taramasalata, or a new “perfect” way of soft-boiling an egg. Whatever the case may be, I’m happy and at the end of the day that’s all that matters.

What’s On My Mind This Week?:

The weather’s gotten cooler this week, which is awesome, because it means Cassoulet weather is right around the corner.

To Grill is to Live

It's Summertime in New York City; it's hot, it's muggy, you can cut the air with a dull butter knife! But Summertime also provides those of us lucky enough with an opportunity to do so, to stand in front of a flaming grill, while grasping a pair of tongs. I personally like to nervously snap my tongs, while the flames lap at my fingertips and the charcoal stings my eyes...
This summer, I haven't managed to grill as much as I would've liked too. Mainly because, I'm off on Mondays and Tuesdays and the majority of my friends are busy doing little things like working then. But I have been able to sneak in a couple hours in front the grill, so far...
I made pulled pork for the Fourth of July, and I grilled up some of my special blend hamburgers for my step-brothers arrival from Las Vegas. If you know me, you know I'm fanatical about my burgers, to the point that I called my friend's brother on the Fourth a couple years ago and told him to tell my friend to go fuck himself, because he suggested I stop at the grocery store and “just buy beef from them”...you know, completely rational behavior. I don't cook them beyond medium-rare, I don't use pre-packaged grocery store meat and I don't skimp or skim.
Instead, I go to my butcher, or Wegman's (if I'm in Jersey to see my mom) and have them grind me a mix of two thirds beef brisket and one third sirloin which becomes my burger.
I personally use salt, black pepper, a little onion powder, and that’s pretty much it. Also, I’m not telling you how to season your burgers, I’m just saying you should get yourself some high quality ingredients, rather than beef that has the potential to make you sick.
Go to your butcher, have him grind together two pounds of brisket and one pound of sirloin; take that shit home and season your meat, but remember this is definitely one of those: “let-is-more” kinda times. Make your burger patties (the whole pressing your thumb into the center of one side of the patty to prevent it from “baseballing” on you, only happens to me when I use crappy grocery store meat. So don’t use crappy grocery store meat and you should be okay). Since I usually get three pounds of meat I end up making nine, 1/3rd pound burgers; although I think the last time around, I made half-pound burgers and then a couple smaller ones for my mom. Brush your grill and burgers with oil (maybe not the same brush, huh?), and season your burgers with salt and pepper. Because every grill is different, I can’t say for certain that your burgers will come out medium-rare if you cook them about 6 minutes per side; but that’s a pretty good baseline.
While your burgers are grilling, enlist a friend to thinly slice some tomatoes and onions and tear some Boston lettuce and arrange them on a plate. If cheese on your burger is your thing, then put it on your burger about 2 minutes after its been flipped. The temptation to put the cheese on the burger until its almost cooked, tends to lead to either overcooked burgers or under-melted cheese, and neither of those things are good for anybody. Then take your burgers off the grill and dig in. Savor the taste of actual beef that came from no more than 2 different cows, instead of a couple hundred. Sit contented, as you chew, knowing you’ll only go to your grocery store to buy cereal or Gushers.

What’s On My Mind This Week?:

Well, for starters, The Ice Cream Festival at the New Amsterdam Market, Sunday, August 22. Might not be a bad way to start the day before I have to head to work.
Also, watched a few minutes of that new, god-awful Gordon Ramsay show I will not mention; and while I understand “everybody’s got their price” I am seriously disappointed to see he, Graham Elliot Bowles and Joe Bastianich lower themselves to this sad, sad level.