Tag: fall

Reasons this blog fails as a food blog (aka Fall Chili)

I’m a food writer, but not a food blogger. There’s a big difference, in case you were wondering.

When I develop recipes for publication, my energy is completely devoted to the timing, order, and taste. After I’ve finished that part, someone at the magazine cooks and styles the recipe, and someone else shoots the photo. They’re completely different processes, because even if you style food naturally (rather than use science-fiction tricks to make it look better than any home cook could make it) you still don’t make it to eat, but to shoot.

So that’s the old school way I’m used to working. None of this step-by-step-show-your-underwear-while-you’re-at-it kind of process.

Which is why, in addition to the facts that I stink at photography and every time I try to take a photo, Jonathan yanks on my leg, I get a big fat F at documenting my time in the kitchen. Here’s the latest half-finished attempt. (But do scroll down to the recipe, because it’s quite good.)

Richard’s Chili

There’s a single guy in our congregation who lives at home with his mom and brothers. He’s the Lutheraniest Lutheran I know, a fount of history and theology. I’d put him against the best pastors in the Synod for a showdown any day. He’s also a very good cook, by necessity, since his mom is ill and someone has to put chow on the table. He gave me his chili recipe, which couponers will love because he gets all his ingredients at Aldi for a song. I’ve never been to Aldi (hate shopping) but every time I make this chili I think I should just bite the bullet and go.

1 pound ground beef
1 envelope taco seasoning
1 quart whole tomatoes
1 jar salsa
1 can diced green chiles
3 cans of beans (kidney, pinto, and great northern)
Salt, sugar, pepper, jalapenos, vinegar, hot sauce (whatever, in whatever quantities you want)

First, brown the ground beef.

Add the taco seasoning, tomatoes, salsa, and chiles.

Rinse the beans in a colander and add. Try to take a photo while baby pulls on pants leg and screams to be held.

Abandon photos because baby wants to be held. Add salt, sugar, pepper, and vinegar. Taste. A little more vinegar. Mmmm. Simmer as long as possible before hungry family converges on kitchen demanding dinner. Whip up some cornbread as a side. Eat.

 

Scallion Potato Soup

It’s fall…officially and unofficially.

I love fall for many reasons, but chief among them is that I can start making soup again.

Soups are satisfying. Warm and cozy. Fragrantly mouthwatering. The whole family, even Jonathan, slurps them down.

I found this recipe for Scallion Potato Soup in Real Simple. Sometimes Real Simple’s recipes are a case of Too Simple (in the interest of saving time, they leave out a bulls-eye ingredient or three that would make the dish really sing), but this one is perfect. I tore it out because I had a bunch of open bottles of white Port, which I’d tasted for a Wine Enthusiast story. The recipe calls for white wine, which is good, but it’s even better with white Port or dry Sherry. I also sometimes throw in frozen corn for the last five minutes to give it a little sweetness. The potatoes came from our CSA.

You’ll have to click on the link to see the finished dish, because unlike some people who simultaneously corral their kids, cook delicious meals, AND take step-by-step photographs of the process, I can’t seem to manage it. I can’t believe I remembered to take this photo.

P.S. “Scallions” is the best word ever. My kids don’t know they’re just green onions, so they eat them.

P.P.S. If you try this, don’t forget to finish with freshly-ground black pepper. Our kids don’t like pepper, but it totally makes the dish. And heck, they’re eating green onions, so I give them a pass on the pepper.

Update 8:13 p.m.: Kate, stalling because it was past her bedtime, was asking me inane questions about stuff on my desk, including a chili recipe I’ll post in a few days. I told her I have a pic of scallion potato soup, and showed her this post (without scrolling to the part about scallions being green onions, of course. It’s hard to hide stuff from a child who reads well). She immediately asked, “What are scallions again?” I did what any good mother would do: I told her to go to bed. “Okay, but will you tell me in the morning?” I can only hope she’ll forget.