Eating out.
It used to be an obsession of mine, you know.
If my husband and I were in the car together, and we drove by a restaurant within an hour or so of meal time, I would be on the verge of praying that he'd decide to stop and treat me.
It wasn't that I didn't like cooking, I loved it! And it wasn't that I didn't have perfectly good food at home waiting to be cooked, either. For me, eating out was a novelty I hadn't experienced much growing up; while I was getting better at cooking, I wasn't yet to the point where I could say with confidence, "I could cook that better at home"; and meal prep, while fun, took mental energy that as a pregnant newlywed and then first time mom I didn't have much of to spare.
These days, it's safe to say the novelty has worn off, and with it the youthful confidence that we can afford a dinner out has worn off a bit too. I am at a point where, in most cases, I could cook it better at home (at least with reference to the restaurants we can afford to go to--even I have to admit that a trip to Carraba's is a luxury we can ill afford). The only excuse to eat out that hasn't changed--whose tug has, in fact, grown much stronger as the years have gone by and the family has grown--is the toll that the daily grind of three meals takes on my mental energy.
When I fall into the trap of cooking one meal at a time it's much worse. I have to come up with something for breakfast, something for lunch, something for dinner--repeated every day for the rest of my incredibly long life here on earth. When that fact starts to weigh me down, cooking large batches of food becomes a very wise thing to do.
There are certain meals that define western large-batch cooking: a huge pan of ziti that can last four meals (or, in my family, 2...), or a giant pot of beef and potato soup that can stretch on for days, especially if you accompany it with crusty bread, dinner rolls or biscuits at least part of the time. But when you've had beef and potato soup for lunch and dinner, five days a week for three weeks, everyone in the family becomes somewhat less fond of their previously much-anticipated dinner. So how does one break up the monotony?
For me, the answer has been to look to other cultures for inspiration. Many ancient cultures have their own inexpensive tummy fillers, which are fairly easy to replicate or at least imitate with a couple of specialized ingredients from the grocery store. One such dish is the ubiquitous, endlessly varied, curry.
I've made curry in half a hundred different ways. I've made it with and without coconut milk, with and without lentils, with and without meat, with and without winter squash and/or carrots and/or potatoes and/or turnips. Ah, turnips. Anyway, the only thing I do try to have in my curry every time I make it is bone broth. Even if it's just a few bones from pork chops we enjoyed earlier in the week, or from drumsticks, it adds a meatiness that just water can't replace, not to mention the healing properties thus imbued. (If I happen to have a chicken carcass or a couple of beef shank bones, so much the better.)
As far as seasonings go, they can vary widely. I really like green cardamom, as it adds a very distinctive and pleasant flavor (particularly with winter squash), and I get it very inexpensively at Wegmans in the Indian food section (Never buy it in the spice aisle--those prices are a crime!), where I also get turmeric (for a subtler flavoring and a pleasantly bright yellow tint), bay leaves, and powdered ginger (which I mostly use when I haven't chosen to splurge on fresh, which is, of course, much tastier).
The day before, put lentils in a large container and cover with water. put bones in a pan (or crock pot)and cover with water. bring to a simmer and leave them alone. (If possible I prefer to start the bones and lentils in the morning the day before--longer is better.)
A couple hours before meal time, drain lentils; strain bones out of broth and add broth to lentils. If the broth isn't enough to cook the lentils simply add some water. put over low heat.
In the large pan in which the curry will ultimately reside, melt 2 tbsp. fat. chop onions however you like and dice garlic however you like; add to fat along with fresh ginger if using. As they cook dust with turmeric--its flavor benefits from a brief sautee. Add meat. If raw, cook it most of the way through; if it's fully cooked leftovers, just let it warm and maybe brown/crisp up for added interest.
Add vegetables, starting with potatoes (I usually do a 1/2 inch chop on all of the veg.) Put a lid on it and cook for perhaps 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. After this pour in the coconut milk and the lentils and their cooking liquid--things are going to thicken up considerably. Add remaining seasonings and lime juice. Simmer for about half an hour more or until done, stirring a few times especially as it thickens.
Curry can be served in a bowl by itself in a pinch, but it stretches much farther if you put it over a generous helping of rice, farther yet if you fry a quick flatbread to dip. We love to garnish with thick yogurt, or a fried egg, or both--extra variety, extra protein, and extra tasty!
Variations are endless. If you have some cabbage or greens or mushrooms that need to be used up, add after the garlic. A serving or two (or more) of leftover soup, any kind, will disappear with scarcely a trace. I've been known to dump in a quart of canned tomatoes on the second day if the curry is too thick to heat easily.
It used to be an obsession of mine, you know.
If my husband and I were in the car together, and we drove by a restaurant within an hour or so of meal time, I would be on the verge of praying that he'd decide to stop and treat me.
It wasn't that I didn't like cooking, I loved it! And it wasn't that I didn't have perfectly good food at home waiting to be cooked, either. For me, eating out was a novelty I hadn't experienced much growing up; while I was getting better at cooking, I wasn't yet to the point where I could say with confidence, "I could cook that better at home"; and meal prep, while fun, took mental energy that as a pregnant newlywed and then first time mom I didn't have much of to spare.
These days, it's safe to say the novelty has worn off, and with it the youthful confidence that we can afford a dinner out has worn off a bit too. I am at a point where, in most cases, I could cook it better at home (at least with reference to the restaurants we can afford to go to--even I have to admit that a trip to Carraba's is a luxury we can ill afford). The only excuse to eat out that hasn't changed--whose tug has, in fact, grown much stronger as the years have gone by and the family has grown--is the toll that the daily grind of three meals takes on my mental energy.
When I fall into the trap of cooking one meal at a time it's much worse. I have to come up with something for breakfast, something for lunch, something for dinner--repeated every day for the rest of my incredibly long life here on earth. When that fact starts to weigh me down, cooking large batches of food becomes a very wise thing to do.
There are certain meals that define western large-batch cooking: a huge pan of ziti that can last four meals (or, in my family, 2...), or a giant pot of beef and potato soup that can stretch on for days, especially if you accompany it with crusty bread, dinner rolls or biscuits at least part of the time. But when you've had beef and potato soup for lunch and dinner, five days a week for three weeks, everyone in the family becomes somewhat less fond of their previously much-anticipated dinner. So how does one break up the monotony?
For me, the answer has been to look to other cultures for inspiration. Many ancient cultures have their own inexpensive tummy fillers, which are fairly easy to replicate or at least imitate with a couple of specialized ingredients from the grocery store. One such dish is the ubiquitous, endlessly varied, curry.
I've made curry in half a hundred different ways. I've made it with and without coconut milk, with and without lentils, with and without meat, with and without winter squash and/or carrots and/or potatoes and/or turnips. Ah, turnips. Anyway, the only thing I do try to have in my curry every time I make it is bone broth. Even if it's just a few bones from pork chops we enjoyed earlier in the week, or from drumsticks, it adds a meatiness that just water can't replace, not to mention the healing properties thus imbued. (If I happen to have a chicken carcass or a couple of beef shank bones, so much the better.)
As far as seasonings go, they can vary widely. I really like green cardamom, as it adds a very distinctive and pleasant flavor (particularly with winter squash), and I get it very inexpensively at Wegmans in the Indian food section (Never buy it in the spice aisle--those prices are a crime!), where I also get turmeric (for a subtler flavoring and a pleasantly bright yellow tint), bay leaves, and powdered ginger (which I mostly use when I haven't chosen to splurge on fresh, which is, of course, much tastier).
Recipe: Waste-Not Curry
Lentils--1 1/2 pounds or so (I usually use a quart jar of dry lentils at a time because I buy in bulk)
Bones
Oil of choice--I usually choose lard
One large onion
3-5 cloves of garlic
1-2 tbsp. turmeric
Bones
Oil of choice--I usually choose lard
One large onion
3-5 cloves of garlic
1-2 tbsp. turmeric
approx. 2 inches of ginger root--optional
Meat, cooked or not, in whatever quantity is perfectly convenient
Potatoes--optional
Carrots--optional
Meat, cooked or not, in whatever quantity is perfectly convenient
Potatoes--optional
Carrots--optional
Squash--optional
3-4 Cardamom pods--optional
Bay leaf--optional
Turnips--if you have a ton and find yourself to be hungry
1 can of coconut milk--optional
2-3 tsp. powdered ginger
1/3 cup lime juice
salt and pepper to taste
3-4 Cardamom pods--optional
Bay leaf--optional
Turnips--if you have a ton and find yourself to be hungry
1 can of coconut milk--optional
2-3 tsp. powdered ginger
1/3 cup lime juice
salt and pepper to taste
The day before, put lentils in a large container and cover with water. put bones in a pan (or crock pot)and cover with water. bring to a simmer and leave them alone. (If possible I prefer to start the bones and lentils in the morning the day before--longer is better.)
A couple hours before meal time, drain lentils; strain bones out of broth and add broth to lentils. If the broth isn't enough to cook the lentils simply add some water. put over low heat.
In the large pan in which the curry will ultimately reside, melt 2 tbsp. fat. chop onions however you like and dice garlic however you like; add to fat along with fresh ginger if using. As they cook dust with turmeric--its flavor benefits from a brief sautee. Add meat. If raw, cook it most of the way through; if it's fully cooked leftovers, just let it warm and maybe brown/crisp up for added interest.
Add vegetables, starting with potatoes (I usually do a 1/2 inch chop on all of the veg.) Put a lid on it and cook for perhaps 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. After this pour in the coconut milk and the lentils and their cooking liquid--things are going to thicken up considerably. Add remaining seasonings and lime juice. Simmer for about half an hour more or until done, stirring a few times especially as it thickens.
Curry can be served in a bowl by itself in a pinch, but it stretches much farther if you put it over a generous helping of rice, farther yet if you fry a quick flatbread to dip. We love to garnish with thick yogurt, or a fried egg, or both--extra variety, extra protein, and extra tasty!
Variations are endless. If you have some cabbage or greens or mushrooms that need to be used up, add after the garlic. A serving or two (or more) of leftover soup, any kind, will disappear with scarcely a trace. I've been known to dump in a quart of canned tomatoes on the second day if the curry is too thick to heat easily.
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