Guest Post From My Dad/Words of Warning

Last night I decided to cook up a storm (again). I invited Anna,
Duncan, Paul, Joan, and Marty (Bobbie is still here). I decided to
revisit the crab cakes I made on New Years, primarily because they were
so delicious and I wanted to reassure myself that I could eat them and
not get food poisoning. As an accompaniment, I decided to try my hand
at making pom frites. So, I looked up a recipe in Julia Childs where
she instructs that properly made pom frites are first fried in oil (a
deep frier) for 2 minutes at 330deg, then refried up to a few hours
later to a crisp.

With Bobbie's help, we rotatoed (yes, that's a word...but don't look it
up) the potatoes, ran them through the mandolin without cutting my self,
and soaked them in water (following Julia's recommendation) to remove
the starch. Meanwhile, I put a gallon of canola oil that I bought at
Costco in the big steamer pot and started heating it with a candy
thermometer mounted on the side to measure the temperature. I filled the
pot about half way with oil. I remember thinking to myself, that's
perhaps too much oil, but adding the remainder only increased the level
about 1-2 inches. Mistake #1

When all the potatoes were cut, I drained them but didn't dry them like
Julia said. That was mistake #2. Meanwhile, since I didn't have a deep
frier, I had a flame under the pot of oil, but since I was concentrating
on cutting potatoes into fries and not cutting my fingers, I didn't
carefully monitor the temperature and it was not 330, but 375. So,
what's the big deal? 330, 375. Same dif. Mistake #3

I grabbed a handful of slightly wet raw potatoes, dumped them into the
pot, and whoooosh. Immediately the water on the potatoes caused the oil
to foam up like crazy and overflow the pot for about 30 sec. It was
hard to tell, but I would estimate that at least a quart of very hot oil
flowed into the brand new stove. Most of it was caught in the black
embayment, but not all. Some of it cascaded down the front of the stove
onto the floor. Worse, some of it overflowed the embayment and entered
deeper into the stove. There was nothing to be done but watch it
happen. Mom, Bobbie, and I just stood there helpless.

The good news, such as it is, was that because I knew the temperature of
the oil was too high, I turned the flame off before I put in the
potatoes. I remember thinking that the cool potatoes would drop the
temperature of the oil quickly, and when it got down to 330, I'd put on
the flame again. Well, that was my good fortune, because if the flame
had been on (or if the stove had a pilot light like in the old days),
I'm quite certain that the very hot oil that overflowed would have
ignited, setting off one huge stove fire. Fortunately, that didn't
happen, or I would be writing a different email.

Since company was coming in about 90 minutes, I just threw a bunch of
rags into the embayment to soak up the oil, cleaned up the mess as best
I could, and tried to keep my composure. The pom frites ended up being
oven baked (they were ok, but not what i had in mind). I managed to
clean up the mess and fortunately got all of the burners working, but
there is now oil inside the stove where I cannot reach. Maybe I'll
dismantle the stove this weekend if I can screw up my confidence to not
make matters worse by breaking the stove.

So, that's my precautionary tale. My practical advice .... never deep
fry anything. It makes a mess, stinks up the house for days, presents a
waste disposal problem, and can be downright dangerous.

My closing thought is one of hubris. I think of myself as an experienced
cook. I'm no expert, but I've been at it for almost 40 years and still
like to try out new recipes and techniques. Even with all of that
experience (and associated mistakes), I just demonstrated that I am
capable of making a major mistake that could have turned catastrophic.
Or, I could have badly cut myself with that exceedingly sharp (and
excellent) knife that you gave to me for Chunkaka. In other words,
there's a larger lesson here. It just takes a second of carelessness,
so be mindful and take the extra second.

My dad is smart. And full of advice to give.

Sometimes the cold requires...

... something delicious, decadent, and totally rich. I made this sort of bootleg version of scalloped potatoes a week or so ago. On a sunday night I got home simply craving a soothing, warming potato dish. A quick perusal of my refrigerator (and trust me, this was not a "I'll just run to the store and pick up a few more things kind of evening) led me to cream, cheese (both parmesan and gruyere), parsley, an onion, and some leftover chicken broth. Was it sophisticated? Hardly. Was in healthy? Not in the least. Did it warm my poor little hands and help build me up for another cold week ahead? Why yes, yes it did.

Bootleg scalloped potatoes

Ingredients
4 russet potatoes
1 cup cream
1 cup milk
1 cup chicken broth
1 tbs dried thyme
3 tbs fresh chopped parsley
1/2 yellow onion, chopped
1 tbs butter
1 cup of your favorite cheese, shredded
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions
Preheat over to 375.

Heat the butter over medium heat. Add in the onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent. Add in the milk and cream, turn heat down, and let simmer.

Meanwhile, peal and then slice the potatoes. If you had a mandonlin, this would be a good time to use it. Otherwise, just bust out your best santoku knife and cut, so the slices are about 1/8 inch thick.

Add in the herbs to the milk mixture, stir, season with salt and pepper and remove from heat.

Pour some of the milk mixture into a loaf pan (the kind you use for making banana bread in). Add in a layer of potatoes. Now a layer of cheese. Now a splash of the broth, and then some more of the milk mixture. Repeat until all the ingredients are used up, and finish up with some more cheese on top.

Bake until the potatoes are soft. Don't worry if it looks a little soupy at the end - that's the good stuff!

If you want to be healthy, serve with an arugula salad with a lemon vinaigrette. If you don't care, enjoy with a big glass of red wine.