DUCK FAT OVEN FRIES

While in Chinatown on Tuesday, I picked up a whole roast duck to serve as reheated meal components for a few days. (I can get three days worth out of one duck.) Though most of the rendered fat from the duck is drained before it gets cut into sections and packed up to take home, a duck is still a very fatty critter, so when its meat and skin are reheated, the remaining fat renders out and can be collected from the bottom of the reheating pan. I pour it off into a small vessel, seal it, and fridge it for future cooking use. When at room temperature, duck fat liquefies quickly, and it is VERY greasy, so pour carefully and fridge the stuff immediately.

One handy hack that duck fat is good for is perking up frozen fries. My go-to freezer fries of choice are Ore-Ida Extra Crispy Crinkles, for when my body craves something starchy that I won't have a problem keeping down. (When eaten around 11:30 last night, a plate of them saved the day after yesterday's three rounds of vomiting due to post-dialysis low blood pressure and light-headedness.) What I do is lay out the desired amount of crinkle cuts on a foil-lined baking pan, then I driz a bit of liquid duck fat over the potatoes (seen here before hitting the oven). It gives the fries a bit of a coating that responds well to the oven's heat once the fries are inside. Upon completion the fries will not only be as crispy as their marketing proclaims, they will be just as firmly crisp as fries fresh out of a proper deep-fryer, only minus the submersion in gallons of cooking grease. Once out of the oven, hit them with the customary pass of salt, and bon appetit! :)

NOLA RED BEANS a la ALLAN

Allan in his natural environment. (photoplasty by Jared)

Traditionally served on Mondays, this amazing dish was imparted to me by the one and only Allan Conner, a superb and kind sage who's the father of one of my dearest friends and is also a Louisiana native. He first told me of his formula for it during a discussion of our enjoyment of the red beans & rice side dish served at Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits locations, noting that he grew up making it from scratch and that it could not be easier. I took notes on the basics of the formula — he simply gave me the ingredients and a couple of pointers, taking into account that I already know my way around a kitchen; I appreciated that — and made a batch based strictly on his instructions. It was delicious, but I swapped out the Tasso ham (which is kind of difficult to find where I live) for Andouille sausages and substituted Goya ham-flavored seasoning for any required salt. Then, following my usual method when learning to make a dish from memory, I made two more batches over the next two weeks, refining my technique and memorizing the procedure to the point where I can now practically do it in my sleep. Allan told me in no uncertain terms that making this is easy, and after knowing the man for close to forty years, he once again proved to me that he's a man whose advice is to be accepted without hesitation. Anyway, that's the preamble, so let's get down to business:

INGREDIENTS

1 pound pinto/kidney beans (soaked overnight)

1 bunch of celery (finely chopped)

1 green bell pepper (finely chopped) 

1 large onion (finely chopped)

Cloves of smashed garlic (to taste; I use 5 or 6)

2 foot-long smoked Andouille sausages (finely chopped; Allan's version calls for Tasso ham, so use that if you have it available)

2 smoked ham hocks

Goya ham-flavored seasoning packets (to taste; I recommend starting with 2, seeing how that works for you, and adjusting from there)

48 ounces of chicken stock

1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper (that amount is the recommended starter dose; adjust to taste)

Black pepper (to taste)

Bay leaves (2 or 3)

Dry thyme

Water (have 2 quarts on hand, to even out the level of liquid during cooking)

Ready to rock.

PROCEDURE

First of all, make sure you have soaked your beans overnight and chopped all of your  Andouille sausage and vegetables. Then take a large soup pot and add either oil or bacon grease — I favor bacon grease for flavor reasons — in an amount that will allow you to simmer the Andouille until its flavor has melded with the oil/grease. 

Simmer and stir the sausage for about five minutes, after which you will add all of the vegetables and cook them until they soften and get translucent. (Standard "holy trinity" procedure.) 

Then we add our drained beans to the pot, along with the ham hocks and chicken stock. Add enough water to cover the ham hocks, then add the seasonings to taste. Stir, and bring the pot to a boil. Lower the heat to a very low simmer and skim off any foam generated from the beans. 

This lovely mess will simmer slowly and must be periodically stirred until the ham hocks soften and fall apart, so we're talking around four hours, but I give it an extra hour, just to let the hocks really infuse into the beans. (Remember to taste, so you can gauge whether or not you need to adjust the seasonings.) And roughly halfway through the simmering, the beans should be soft enough for you to scoop out about a cup of them, mash them up, and return them to the pot, stirring to blend them back into the glorious simmering mess. That will serve to aid the thickening process as the vegetables melt, as well as upping the "beany" flavor.

About halfway through, with mashed beans blended into the glorious mess.

When all is said and done, your vegetables will have totally melted into the bean/pork amalgam, resulting in this shameless monument to utter deliciousness:

"This is so effin' delicious, I want to beget offspring with it!" — Jehovah  

Give everything a final stir, making sure the ham hocks have fallen apart and been blended into the main mass. Allow to cool, then transfer into containers and seal. Stash in the fridge to allow the sexy mess to find its flavor overnight, and then serve when you want to. It can be served over rice, as is traditional, but I like it  on its own. It's very filling, and a very small bowl will fuel an individual for a good while.  

Further proof that Sir Mix-a-Lot spoke truth.

GONZO SPICY GREENS

Just the other day I handled the grill-jockey duties at a backyard cookout thrown by my friends Mark and Jen, and along with other items I brought a couple of side dishes, of which the one people kept asking me about was the collard greens. Kind of surprised that they went over so well, I promised a few of the attendees that I would write up the recipe and post it, so here it is.

One of the unfortunate common misconceptions about collards is that they are bland and tasteless. If your experience with them has been at Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits or at some random cheap inner city buffet, then you can be forgiven for turning your nose up at them. In nearly all of the times I've attempted to eat greens in a restaurant or takeout joint — and even a couple of pricey and "prestige" soul food joints — I've been sorely disappointed, and the sole exception to that rule was a better-than-average batch I had maybe sixteen years ago from the hot buffet at a Korean deli on Park Avenue during my Marvel Comics days. The recipe that follows is an amalgam of what I was taught by my mother, her mother (the late Nana Irene) and my grandfather's second wife, the older-than-dirt and still lucid Miss Willie-Mae (who's still kicking around and kicking culinary ass at 107), and with it you will disprove the common misconception and find yourself the shaman to a new-found legion of collard greens believers. And it's easy as hell to make (though admittedly time-consuming)!

INGREDIENTS
2 bunches of fresh collard greens
2 Spanish onions, chopped
Peeled garlic cloves (look for the fresh pre-peeled ones you can find in your market's produce aisle)
1 quart-sized (or thereabouts) bottle of apple cider vinegar (you won't be using all of that, but it's good to have that much on hand just in case)
32 ounces of chicken broth (I go with Swanson in the big box)
2 pounds of smoked ham hocks (can be substituted with smoked turkey wings/tails if you don't do swine)
Red pepper flakes

OPTIONAL INGREDIENTS (for the schmancy "serve this to the snobs" version)
2 or 3 decent-sized turnips, diced
Whole cream
1/3 pound of diced bacon (uncooked)

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a time-consuming recipe, so do not attempt to make this if you intend to serve it in an hour or two. I'll get to the specific logistics as we go through the prep process. Oh, and make sure to read this whole recipe before getting started, just so you know what you're in for timewise and can prepare accordingly.

The base alone can take upwards of ten hours, depending on whether you make it in a soup pot on the stove or in a crock pot (the latter is the one that takes as long as ten hours), and then you have to simmer the greens for maybe two hours or more (depending on how firm you like them), and when all is said and done I recommend letting it all sit overnight.

STEP 1
The first step in this process is making the base. Pour the chicken broth into a soup pot or crock pot and add the smoked ham hocks (or smoked turkey wings), chopped onions and garlic cloves (which should be slightly smashed open to allow the liquid to seep through them during the cooking). Add enough of the apple cider vinegar to the soup pot to allow for about three inches from the top; with a crock pot, you'll only need an inch or an inch and half from the top. Bring the pot to a boil, cover and turn down the heat and allow to simmer until the smoked meat falls apart during the stirring (anywhere between four to seven hours in a soup pot, because most smoked meats end up as hard as petrified wood and require a slow simmer to re-hydrate and eventually soften again). With a crock pot, set it on "high," cover it, and then go about your business for at least the next eight-to-ten hours, opening it only maybe halfway through to stir, just in case. The crock pot version requires considerably more patience, but one also does not have to worry as much about compensating for loss of liquid boiled off during the long simmering process; in the case of the soup pot version, have at least two cups of water on hand to compensate for whatever boils off.

The meat in the base, falling apart after several hours of slow simmering.

When the meat is falling apart, turn off the heat and use a slotted ladle to remove all of the solids from the liquid base, along with any stray skin or fat that has floated to the top, and place all of that into a skillet or some other wide and shallow container that will allow the meat and such to be spread out for cooling. Once cooled, remove the bones, gristle and such from the meat and chuck it, leaving the meat behind, along with however much fat you may choose to leave in for flavor (you can chuck it all if you like, but I always leave some because I'm old school with the recipe).

The waste skin, bones and fat from two pounds of rendered ham hocks.

Waste fat skimmed from the top of a batch of base that I allowed to sit overnight before I moved on to the next steps. You don't have to do an overnight sit at this point; I did this particular batch when I only had time to do the base and then I had other things to do with the rest of the day, so I resumed the process the following day.

After that, what you want to have at the end of either the soup pot or crock pot versions is enough base to fill about two-thirds of a soup pot; by this point, all of the rest of this process will take place in a soup pot because you'll need the room once the greens go into the base.

STEP 2
Now we get down to the greens. Some recipes call for use of the leaves only, but I call bullshit on that. Other than the hard and thick central core from which the leafy stems grow, use all of the greens. One of the common mistakes when making greens is to chuck the stems, but they are loaded with nutrients and vitamins that make their way into the base, which becomes known as "pot likker" once the greens are added, so don't be a dumbass snob. (Think I'm kidding about the broth becoming something known as "pot likker?" Don't believe me? Google it!)

Leaves and stems, separated from the central core and ready to be cut to proper size for cooking.

The central cores of two bundles of greens; this stuff you can chuck.

When you have separated the stems from the core, lay the leaves out flat, like they were tobacco leaves. Then, take the leaves and shave them off of the stems with a sharp knife; when you're done separating the leaves from the stems, lay the leaves to the side and chop the stems down to small and manageable pieces, after which you'll drop them into the base.

Take the leaves that have been laid out flat and roll them in a move similar to how cigars are rolled. When you have what will amount to a leafy green cylinder, cut the cylinder into sections that are about one and a half to two inches in width and set them aside.

Leaves, with surplus onions and garlic, plus diced turnips for the schmancier version (more on that later).

Bring the base to a boil and drop in the greens; they will shrink by a good percentage, so don't be concerned about them taking up more space than is available. Taste the liquid and add more onions and garlic if you feel it's necessary. Next, add vinegar to taste; I suggest adding enough to give it a strong tartish flavor and as the simmering progresses, taste it to see if you need to add more. Then, add red pepper flakes to taste; I recommend about two tablespoons to give it a memorable kick, but you may prefer more or less, so let your individual taste preference be your guide. Once it's all boiling, lower the temperature to simmer heat and cover, stirring occasionally. (If you feel it's losing too much liquid during the simmer, feel free to add water to compensate, but remember to taste and see if the seasoning also needs compensation.)

The simmer begins.

It will take an average of two hours or so before the greens are tender enough to suit the average palate, but those who prefer a tougher texture can turn it off after an hour and a half. (Those times are merely guidelines, so check the tenderness by tasting a leaf or two.)

The finished glorious mess.

By this point, the greens are said and done, but I suggest allowing it to cool and then refrigerating it overnight so it finds its flavor. Re-heat the next day and be ready for the sheer excellence!

You can also make the aforementioned schmancier version that might be more appealing to diners who prefer tarted-up versions of what was originally slave chow. All you have to do for that is follow the regular recipe, but add diced turnips and bacon as you're about to bring the greens to a boil before reducing heat for the simmer. Follow the same recipe until about five minutes before it's all done, at which point you add the creme to taste, and then stir.

The turnips and bacon hit the broth in the schmancier variant version.

With the cream added during the last five minutes of simmering.

Allow it all to continue simmering for five more minutes and then that's it (with the cooling and overnight refrigeration also included). It's still delicious, but the difference is that the creaminess somewhat detracts from the stronger flavor of the straight pot likker. But whatever the case, this is a winner that will keep your guests talking and coming back for more.

"Fuck this shit, Prez. Bunche's greens blow this mess outta the goddamn water!"

SIDE DISH IN EXCELSIS: THE MACARONI AND CHEESE OF THE GODS

Prepare to kiss this shit goodbye!

A few years ago, yet another person moved into the studio apartment across the hall from me; not much of a surprise there since this building has a staggering turnover rate, leaving myself and two other people as the only residents who have lived here for more than a few years. I didn’t see the new neighbor move in but one evening I heard the all-too-familiar strains of Devo’s “Snowball” coming through the paper-thin wall and had to introduce myself.

I knocked on the door and was greeted by a blonde twenty-something guy named Tim Holden. I think he expected me to request that he turn the music down, but I put his mind at ease by telling him of my rabid Devo-tion and invited him to drop in any time. During the time that he lived here Tim and I became good friends, sharing much music and many recipes, including his secrets for the perfect — and I DO mean perfect — macaroni and cheese.

At this point I would like to make a statement of priorities. My favorite things in the whole world are pussy, good food and rock ‘n’ roll. As rock ‘n’ roll is utterly irrelevant to this post, we’ll just leave that one out and return to the other two favorites.

There are very few things that I enjoy eating more than pussy, and this macaroni and cheese is one of them.

When I lived on Manhattan’s Upper West Side there was a rather chi-chi delicatessen a couple of blocks away from my apartment whose prices were what one would expect for the area and I would have totally ignored it if not for rumors of them making an exemplary macaroni and cheese. Now it’s a well-known fact that something as seemingly simple as macaroni and cheese can vary widely in terms of tastes ranging from mouthful-of-paste to the final word in sharp, cheesy goodness, so I purchased a half-pound of the deli’s offering with no expectations whatsoever. Let me just say that the flavor that I experienced that day was a life-changer and whenever I find myself in that neighborhood I always buy a pound of the stuff, but I’m seldom up there so I was totally screwed if I wanted some truly holy m & c. That is until Tim Holden hooked me up with the following recipe. If you are looking to avoid carbs and cholesterol, stop reading now and go eat a fistful of wheat germ; this one’s for us hedonists!

INGREDIENTS

24 oz. extra-sharp cheddar cheese
2 cans evaporated milk
4 eggs
Pasta (the type of noodles is up to you)
Powdered mustard
2 tablespoons of butter

NOTE: these are the basics for simple mac and cheese, but you can tweak it with shredded ham of crumbled bacon.

Boil your pasta of choice; I recommend either standard elbow noodles or hearty flat noodles. Drain and set to the side.

Take the cheese, and if it isn’t already shredded, shred it and put it into a sauce pot. Add two cans of evaporated milk and four eggs; slowly cook over low heat, stirring until the cheese has melted and the whole thing is velvety creamy. Next add powdered mustard to taste, but the mixture should have a certain tang to it. Then add the butter and blend it all together until smooth. Add to the drained pasta and mix thoroughly. Put the gloppy sludge into a baking dish and bake in an oven (no, duh!) on broil for a couple of minutes until the top browns. After that, let it sit at room temperature for five minutes and then stuff your fat face.

Spring this one on your family at Thanksgiving and be prepared to join the annals of holiday legends. Just remember to play to your audience and use the “better to eat than pussy” comment at your discretion.