This was our first trip to Taco Xpress since the big relocation with the pharmacy many years ago. We were very impressed with all of the changes and additional decor. I can see how this place is so Austin eclectic. The restaurant was very well decorated and it has a great feel to it. It’s like your walk into a taco joint in Key West Florida. Everything seemed to slow down a bit and we felt really relaxed. There were a couple of disappointments on our trip but nothing that should stop anyone from visiting Taco Xpress and bringing their friends from out of town for the experience.
Gueros has been one of our favorites for years. Everything on the menu is dependably excellent. Gueros is a great place to take a date, family or friends. There is seating outdoors, a private party area and a courtyard for parties and live music. Gueros also has really good Margaritas. There Margaritas may look puny in the little glass they are served in but they really pack a punch. The open kitchen atmosphere of Gueros makes the experience even better. You can smell all of the great food being prepared and if you sit at the taco bar you can even watch the food being prepared. Gueros must treat their employees pretty well because I usually see a lot of the same wait staff people every time I visit. The food is always delivered promptly and the wait staff is always very courteous and on top of their tables.
I recommend anything on Guero’s menu but my favorite must be the El Presedente. This is a huge dinner so be sure you’re hungry when you order this treat. I also love Guero’s Enchiladas with Salsa Fresca which is a sour cream and avocado sauce. But be sure to order dessert when you visit. Gueros has an ice cream and praline with a brandy sauce that is absolutely killer.
Several years ago, when I was around 17 or 18, I first attempted sprouting grain and making bread from it. A bread-baking veteran of 8 years, I knew bread making quite well, but sprouted grain was beyond me at the time and I gave it up. Last year, I started trying again. This time, I used our 2 dehydrators (we owned one and then someone gave us another one) and mesh sheets to dehydrate the grain instead of the oven. I bought some grain from To Your Health Sprouted Grain to compare with mine. I now have conquered the tricks of sprouted flour and now I am attempting a new challenge, sprouted sourdough bread. We’ll see how it turns out. I made my own sourdough starter, and so far, so good.
Apple Pie sounded good last Friday, so I searched for a recipe. But I didn’t find one that suited my fancy so I came up with this recipe. Please excuse the not-so-pretty crust. I’m not an amazing pie maker. I made the crust with sprouted spelt flour and it turned out a little crumblier than I would have liked, I need to work on that recipe. But other than that, it was a hit and my grandparents loved it too!
Though it was windy the other day, we (I speak of myself and the little dog) braved the outside to pick some damsons, which have been hanging guiltily—or, rather, guilt-producingly—on the trees outside. I have never had fruit anxiety; living now with fruit trees has produced a new sort of responsibility: to make sure that their fruit is not wasted. And so, as I’ve watched the damsons get riper in recent weeks, I thought, sh*t, I better start thinking about jam.
This isn’t really jam, I have to warn you, though it’s close; it’s more of a compote. I intend to use it with meats, though it could also be used as jam is normally deployed (spread on toast, etc).
I have to confess, I don’t really like jam.Not having much of a sweet tooth, it’s just not my thing. Maybe this year will change me. I started with about 2 kilograms of damsons, and I still haven’t even dented the harvest.
The jam was violently red while boiling away, and then turned a satisfying black.
- 1.8 kg (4 lbs) blackcurrants
- 2 ½ cups white sugar
- pint or so of water
- large, heavy-bottomed pan
- 6 jam jars
- cookie sheet
- ladle or jam funnel
Decant blackcurrants into a heavy-bottomed pan that will allow for evaporation. Add water to about half the level of the berries; they will cook down. Add sugar. Cook whole business down until it is pretty thick—we left a little bit of syrup so that the fruit would have a little suspension. In the meantime, wash jars and lids in soapy water. Sterilize the lids by dipping them in boiling water and allowing them to air dry. Sterilize the jars by placing them (opening up) on a cookie sheet covered in paper towels, and allowing to dry in an oven set to 160°C / 320°F.
When the jam is at a consistency that you’re happy with—highly reduced but still wet—carefully spoon it into the sterilized jars, making sure that there are no air bubbles among the fruit. Put on their lids and allow them to cool. As they cool, they will vacuum seal. If you have any doubt at all when you open the jars months later, or if they smell at all odd, throw it away! There’s no shame. There is shame in killing yourself by jam though.
Make sure to bring some jam to work to share and brag about, omitting any mention of how easy this is.
What you will need:
- a stock pot
- a lot of apples
- a jelly bag, muslin, or a pillow case
- a funnel
- maybe a little bit of sugar, but probably not
- other flavorings as desired: ginger, cinnamon, etc.
In light of the apple harvest, I thought I might make some apple juice for Tambo’s lunchbox. In the interest of not making life too difficult for myself, I decided to make straight-to-the-fridge apple juice, so that I wouldn’t have to bust my hump sterilizing jars and whatnot. A stock pot’s worth of apples made about 4 liters of juice, which I anticipate we will drink pretty quickly, hence the no-fuss methodology.
Like a fool, I didn’t weigh the apples I used for this, though chopped they filled a large stock pot. I didn’t bother peeling them–just chopped off the tops and bottoms, quartered them, and in they went. I added enough water to cover 3/4 of them, and let this burble away for about 45 minutes, then came at it with a potato masher. Once you’ve got a nice amount of wet pulp comes the fun/arduous part, depending on what sort of person you are, since it has to be strained through a jelly bag, helped along by you squeezing. Sterilize the jelly bag by pouring boiling water through it first; if you don’t have a jelly bag a bit of muslin or a pillowcase, even, will do, though you have to find a way to rig it up (my jelly bag has ready-made loops, through which I stick large wooden spoons, suspending it over a pot via the use of carefully-placed chairs). Alternatively, you could sit it in a strainer over a pot, I suppose, and let it drip and squeeze.
So through the jelly bag went the pulp. I let it drip on its own while I did other things, but had to return to it to squeeze. This was like milking something. I squeezed and squeezed until I could get as much juice as I could out of the pulp, and was left with a beautiful, thick, cloudy liquid, which I returned to the first pot to heat while I added a really minimal amount of sugar to it (whether or not you need to add sugar will depend on what kind of apples you use, or what type of taste buds you have. For my 4 liters of juice, I only added about 3/4 of a cup of sugar. The usual admonitions apply: add a tiny bit of sugar, taste; tiny bit more; taste, etc. One can always add but not subtract, my friends.) While heating it you could add other things to it, maybe some slices of fresh ginger, or a bit of cinnamon–this batch was pure as the driven apple, though.
Out came the funnel, and into the bottles went the still-warm juice. I used bottles that I’ve had lying around, nothing fancy or new. If you were preserving this juice, all scrupulosity would apply, and new lids would have to be purchased, bottles sterilized, heat treatment, etc etc. Our fridge juice though, Bob’s your uncle.
One night when Meg first got here, she cooked Tambo and I a big Georgian meal, the precursor to which was Nigvziani Badrijani (ბადრიჯანი ნიგვზით). She warned us that if we tried to eat too many we’d feel uncomfortably stuffed, but Tambo ignored her, had five, and was uncomfortably stuffed. He doesn’t mind though.
What you’ll need:
- 2 eggplants/aubergines
- A little bit of olive oil
- 1 1/2 cups ground walnuts (get out the mortar and pestle, or the food processor if you’re modern)
- 1 cup finely chopped cilantro/coriander
- 2-3 cloves of garlic, crushed (use mortar and pestle again, or garlic crusher if fancy)
- A few tablespoons of mayonnaise
- salt to tasteFirst, slice the eggplants lengthwise thinly; about 1/8 inch (3mm) thin. Fry thes slices in some olive oil (be generous with the oil, they’ll soak up a lot) until brown and set aside to cool.Next, mix walnut, cilantro (coriander leaf) and garlic with enough mayonnaise to bind it.
Then, roll eggplant slices with a layer of filling shmeared within. Serve to party guests, issuing the standard warning that they are as filling as they are delicious.
A few days later, with lots of eggplant and walnuts left over, we made a salad version of this. Sautée roughly-chopped eggplant and allow to cool. Then mix as above with remaining ingredients.
When I was young we used to go to the beach in Long Island, and towards the end of summer you’d see people in the dunes among the beach roses, gathering their hips (the roses’, not the people’s). Somehow I came to understand—I’m not sure how— that they were gathering the hips to make jam, and spent many years myself wanting to collect rose hips and do the same. When we lived in Leith there was an enormous abundance of them growing along the river path—unfortunately, the largest bunch, with big, inviting bushels of hips like tomatoes asking to be picked—were at a part of the path that we called dog sh*t alley, just far enough in from the road that the lazy (and the lazy are always the ones with the biggest dogs, it seems), would allow their dogs the morning newspaper-read among the roses. Needless to say, I had no desire to make jam out of anything there.
Here, however, we have an enormous abundance of the same sort of roses that the beach people collected in Long Island, called rosa rugosa, known in Britain as the Japanese rose. After they bloom they come out in big, ripe rose hips. Considering our new preserving hobby, I thought I’d try to make something with them.
- apples, 2 lbs
- rose hips, a quart
- water, enough to cover the fruit in the pan
- sugar—sorry to do this to you—to taste (at least a few cups worth; common preserves wisdom is a pound of sugar for every pint of pulp/liquid, though you may, like me, prefer less)
- something for color if you’d like; I used a few blackcurrants.
- heavy-bottomed pot
- cookie sheet
- wooden spoon
- jelly bag
- jam jars
This makes about 3 jam jars worth of jelly.
I picked some of the hips (here is the inspector inspecting them) and some of the riper-looking apples that we have now hanging on the trees. I cut off the rose hips’ stems and the bit where the hip had been, at one point, connected to a flower, then cut them in half and, since I have a perfect tiny little spoon, scooped out their hairy, seedy insides so that I didn’t have to deal with them at some later point. I warn you; this is not fun— they have a lot of hairy little seeds in them.
Into the pan went the rose hips and the apples, which I cut up fairly roughly, including their cores, which hold the magical pectin (which makes these things set). Also into the pot went four solitary blackcurrants to make a pink color. You could experiment a bit with this, or, if you don’t have any other fruit around that you think might make for a nice bit of color, just submit to the pale, but still pretty, color of apples and rose hips on their own.
After the fruit in the pan had cooked down, maybe 25 minutes to a half hour, I strained it through a jelly bag (which I had first poured hot water through, to sterlize) suspended above a large bowl, and left it to sit for a few hours until all of the liquid had dripped through. You are warned not to squeeze the jelly bag, much as you might want to, since it will make the resultant jelly cloudy. Just let it drip and go about your business. For a large batch this might take 12 hours. So go get some sleep already.
After you are confident that you’ve gotten all that you could get out of the jelly bag, return the liquid to the pan cook down. This might take a little while. Add sugar to taste.* As the liquid starts to really reduce, you will get something that looks like nascent jelly—really viscous. Keep an eagle eye and keep stirring until it looks pretty thick, and then pour it into sterlized jars*. Screw on the lids and allow to cool. When you return, you will have perfectly jelled pots of jelly.
If you’d like more information on the technical aspects of preserving, there are lots of resources for you—here you’ll find the handy list of resources at Canning Across America, and here you’ll find the USDA’s advice on home preserving. Take heart, it is easier than it seems at first glance. Please email with any questions or suggestions. If the preserving bit seems like too much for you, you can always make jam/jelly and put it straight into the refrigerator for your immediate use, and dispense with all the extra fuss and equipment.
The newest member of my family is a cherry-red blender. In order to justify its purchase, I’ve been blending things at a monstrous clip.
Last year I was fortunate enough to spend some time in Spain, and while I was there, I bought a liter of store-bought gazpacho nearly every day. Since I’ve bagged Spain for Queens, I knew I had to make provision for my own supply.
I bought some tomatoes the other day to feed my beautiful new little friend. For the second time in a few months, the first being when Chris Engel came to visit with a bakewell tart and the F train nearly turned his cream into butter, the IND (the B train, to be precise) had a hand in our food preparation. Heroically I threw myself onto the train as the doors were closing (I have a long commute). The doors closed on me and my tomatoes. Ha ha, joke’s on you, B train, I thought, I’m making gazpacho. Squish all you want, you’re not as good as my little red blender.
For gazpacho you’ll need (this made about a quart and a half):
- 6 tomatoes
- 1 cucumber
- 1/4 large red onion
- 1 clove garlic, grated
- 2-3 tablespoons red wine vinegar or to taste
- A lashing or two of extra-virgin olive oil
- 1/4 cup or so breadcrumbs
- Salt to taste
Start by boiling some water and submerging the tomatoes in them for a minute to make them easier to peel. Once they’ve cooled marvel at how their skin bags off like they were molting. Remove the seeds and deposit the tomatoes in the blender. Chop the cucumber and onion roughly and add to the blender with grated garlic, vinegar, oil, breadcrumbs, and some salt. Blend. Adjust seasoning. Serve in a little bowl or do what I do, drink it out of a glass like you have no time for spoons. This made enough for a little snack for four.