weekend update March 23,2014

“You live and learn. At any rate, you live.” 

Douglas Adams

Last Tuesday, on a makeshift altar named after the gods of unfinished projects, 

I sacrificed my desire
 to perpetually try something new for dinner.

Because as we all know, though you may not be able to get everything you want, you can often get those things you want most.

Of course, you may have to work
extra hard if the things you want most
don't exist. Yet.

There are a few writing projects that have been simmering on the proverbial back burners of the mind for long enough; they'll never get a chance to cook up perfectly

until they get a chance at front of the mental stove.

And because this week, the desire to devote some concentrated energy to these projects was even greater than my desire to try out a new menu roster, I resurrected a week of menus and the post that lined them up-

and the recap in the subsequent update holds true: 

the honey-salt chicken brine remains my very favorite way to take 

something ordinary

and turn it into 

something uncommon

of all the things we tried during this week of salt, it's the lesson that I remain most grateful to have learned- 

here's a recap of its discovery, along with a few other things that will get a replay in the weeks ahead.

“The cure for anything is salt water - 

tears, sweat, or the sea.”

Isak Dinesen

Every family has it's legends; you're about to learn one of ours. It begins, as most legends do, with a journey. 

well, a family road trip.
Twenty something years later, I hold this photo,
 look deep into their angelic eyes
and wonder if perhaps they had secretly been mapping out a trip to crazytown for hours.

It was a journey that involved a small rental car, long unmarked roads curving queasily over an unfamiliar landscape and three travel-weary children who were becoming more cross and crabby with every mile, until turning around toward the back seat felt a little like facing, well 

(and really, I was perhaps a little crabby too)

And then, as if it had been hand lettered and nailed in place by a benevolent angel

 (wait. Is there any other kind of angel?)  

we saw a sign. 

It pointed toward the left, to an unpaved track which led (or so it promised) to a quiet beachy cove. And that's when I learned the magic math of salt water:

This mood.
This one went from peevish to perky in one 60 second dash to the beach,
stripping down to her skivvies as she ran. There was zero I could've (or would've) done
about the rapidity with which she abandoned her clothes.
I have, however, added an Ariel-style shell bikini in deference to her grown-up sensibilities. 
Sensibilities notably lacking in her childhood.

Saltwater. It can transform a shoreline, or a wound, or a mood- and this week it changed dinner.

Starting with the recipe that will forever change the way I cook chicken: Honey brined chicken. Here's what I learned- taking the leanest piece of a chicken and cutting it off of the bone and out of the skin is a great way to reduce fat and calories; it's also a great way to reduce flavor and moisture. This simple brine kapows both flavor and moisture into the meat in a very big way- without taking much time. Equal parts salt and honey are dissolved in a little hot water, then enough cold water is added to cover the chicken breasts. The chicken soaks for an hour or so, then gets cooked in any way you wish. 

I'd been given this beautiful tin of rosemary salt, so that's
what I used.  Amazing.  

  

It was unbelievable.  To put the brine to the test, I cooked the chicken as simply as I could- a quick pounding to an even thickness, then pan-fried in olive oil. So juicy, so incredibly flavorful- a big, big payoff for very little effort. 

Then on Friday, we found a new way to love fish. Really! We used Mario Batali's whole fish in a salt crust. Well, we used it...mostly.  I decided to forego the $15 a pound snapper in favor of $4 a pound trout.

It went like this:

They've just swum in from costco       and  having lost their heads (and scales and fins)      they lay down in a salty bed.

And now the fun part (well, not for the fish).  The juicy goodness is revealed,        and lands on the plate, with roast veg and gnocchi. Dinnertime!!!!

There are recipes for salt crusted fish that are a little easier than this one, and since this went so, err.... swimmingly, I'm looking forward to trying them. 

Because we both ate seconds! On unfried, inexpensive fish! Any cooking method that can accomplish that gets a big upvote and further tries from me.

The only relative disappointment of the week was my fault, and not the fault of the recipe.

I used Alton Brown's salt crusted tenderloin, which probably would've been nicer if I'd been willing to actually pop the big bucks for a tenderloin. But really- $14.00 a pound ain't gonna happen around here. Well. Not for food. I've probably paid more than $14 a pound  for, you know, shoes. Makeup. Books. Music. But not for food. One must hold fast to one's priorities.

So, I used a bottom round roast and a little time and here it is, getting ready to go in the oven:

You know what's funny? Even though the meat wasn't exactly melt in the mouth tender, it was mighty tasty, and taking it out of the salt dough crust was so cool and so fun that we totally forgot to take pictures. I did however, get a pic of the potatoes that roasted along with the meat:

unexpected fun part? the hardened shell-like pockets left behind as each spud
was lifted from the salt. Or, as the home audience named them, tater craters.

That little girl in the shell bikini- the one who grew up to be my brilliant, beautiful, cancer-kicking, life-living daughter? She once tacked this to her bedroom wall:

"One can always trust to time. Insert a wedge of time and nearly everything works itself out."

I think Isak Dinesen's quote could've been scrawled right underneath it. 

Because time and salt water can sort out a great many things.

This week, as I've been ladling out one cup of salt after another (and learning so much in the ladling!!!!) I've been thinking about the necessity of salt- the dangers of too much-

Alice, after all, nearly drowned in her own tears.
What- you thought I was going to mention
something about blood pressure?

And the importance of just enough. 

And that's what I hope. I hope for a week that's properly salted.

A week of piquancy, of work that breaks a creative sweat, a week of healing.

And I hope that this week, if there must be salt tears, instead of swamping you, they bear you up.

And float you safely toward home.