About Mexican Cuisine

About Mexican and Tex-Mex

There is nothing wrong with Tex-Mex at all. It's a great cuisine. But it's wholly distinct from Mexican. Tex-Mex is a natural fusion cuisine, and its Mexican influence comes from the north along the border. Tex-Mex uses more beef than Mexican, and to some degree, different chiles (the New Mexico chile is used exclusively in Tex-Mex and northern Mexican cuisines.) The flour tortilla is unknown in Mexico, except for the north (and Tex-Mex). Chile powder is also unknown in Mexico.

There is a popular myth that Tex-Mex is less picante than Mexican. That is untrue. A lot of Tex-Mex is extremely picante, and not all Mexican food is picante.

Mexican food is far from monolothic. The foods of different regions of Mexico differ from one another as much as any other regional foods. Along the coasts, far more seafood is eaten. On the eastern coast, allspice (from the Caribbean) is popular. The food of Yucutan (the only part of Mexico where the now-trendy habanero is eaten) is distinctly different from even the food of southern Mexico, and uses a great deal more citrus. Central Mexican cuisine differs greatly from both northern Mexican and southern Mexican cuisine.

Be warned. Most Mexican food is not convenience food. Mexico is a traditional culture where women spend many hours preparing food. If you don't like working a lot in the kitchen, pick your Mexican dishes carefully.

Mexican cuisine: Fusion

Mexican food, like its national identity, is meztiso, a fusion of native Mexican and Spanish foods, and very different from either. It may also be the most distinctive and successful fusion cuisine.

Consider the aesthetic similarities between the two cultures when they came into contact. We had the highly complex and elaborate Spanish culture, where the preference for complexity was not only reflected in its arts, music, and architecture, but also its food. Native Mexican culture was as complex and elaborate as that of the Spanish conquistadores. Despite other political and cultural conflicts, the aesthetics of both cultures shared the same preferences.

Mexico provided the dishes (mostly), and Spain provided new ingredients. Beef (still rare in Mexico outside the north), pork, chicken, cooking in fat, "Indian" spices, cheese and dairy, all were brought by the Spanish to an already rich and elaborate cuisine. Although the Mexicans were making, say, tamales for thousands of years before the Spanish arrived, Spanish contributions made the tamale a very different dish. Spanish and native Mexican fused into what we know today as Mexican cuisine. And Mexican cuisine is distinct from all other world cuisines in one fundamental way: The role of chiles.

Chiles: Why Mexican food is unique

In North America, the agricultural triumverate was corn, beans, and squash. In Mexico, it was corn, beans, and chiles.

The chile was first cultivated in Mexico, and is the cornerstone of Mexican cuisine. Unlike any other national cuisine, Mexican food uses the chile for flavor, and not heat. This means you cannot change the types of chiles used, or use less for fear of burning your palate without essentially changing the dish.

If a recipe contains chile powder, it ain't Mexican.

Mexico has hybridized more varieties of chiles than any other culture, all of them for their different flavors. As if that weren't confusing enough, chiles are used both fresh and dried, and one can never be substituted for the other. Drying significantly alters and concentrates the flavor of the chile. If you have a local Mexican grocery, go wonder at the large selection of different chiles; if you have more than one, chances are the owners are from different areas of Mexico and carry different types of chiles. No doubt just to be confusing, the same chile has different names when fresh or dried. For example, the poblano, a large, fleshy, semi-sweet chile available in most supermarket vegetable sections, is called the ancho when dried, or the mulatto when the chile is allowed to ripen before it is dried — and as if that weren't confusing enough, different names are used for the same chiles in different parts of Mexico. You need to learn to recognize chiles by appearance, and not just by name. And to make things even more complicated, dried chiles can be used either by grinding them, or soaking them, which produces two very different flavors from even the same chile.

Despite scoville ratings and statements on menus, chiles are not uniformly picante. So while the poblano usually is only mildly hot, you can run into a poblano that isn't at all picante, or one that is quite picante. The same is true for the habanero, and every other type of chile. Any description of how hot a variety of chile is is a generalization.

The Holy Trinity

Across Mexico three chiles form the Holy Trinity: The ancho, the pasilla, and the guajillo.

The ancho is the dried poblano. The ancho has a complex, fruity flavor and is only mildly hot. Outside of the New Mexico or California chile, which are only used in northern Mexico, the ancho is probably the easiest chile to find (odds are your local grocery carries anchos). If you let the poblano fully ripen until it's red and dry it, it becomes the mulatto. I think of the ancho as the contralto of the Holy Trinity.

The pasilla is dark brown, wrinkled, narrow and around six inches long. The pasilla has a dark, earthy, almost mushroom-y flavor, very different from the fruity ancho. Don't confuse the pasilla with the pasilla de Oaxaca, which is a different chile, hotter, and vaguely smoky. The pasilla will often be labeled pasilla negro or pasilla Mexicano to distinguish it from the pasilla de Oaxaca. Definitely the basso profondo.

The guajillo is ranges from bright orange to dark red. It is broader than the pasilla, though also about six inches long, and it has a smooth, unwrinkled skin. The guajillo has a sweet, bright flavor reminiscent of tomato, and is fairly hot. The guajillo is a thick-skinned chile, and must always be strained. The guajillo is the heldentenor of the three, with bright, trumpety top notes.

The two chiles most commonly eaten fresh are the jalapeño and the serrano, both available in nearly any supermarket produce section. The poblano is also eaten fresh. The habanero is eaten primarily in Yucatan (once you get past the incredible heat, it has a wonderful, flowery flavor). In Mexico, the habanero is never dried. Some chiles, such as the guajillo and pasilla, are never eaten fresh.

Some chiles are also smoked until dried. The chipotle is the smoked jalpeño. The morita is the smoked serrano. In Oaxaca, the pasilla is also smoked, and is sold as the pasilla de Oaxaca. Chipotles are sold either dried (the chipotle meco, a tan color), or canned in adobo, and both have a distinctly smoked (like ham) flavor.

By the way, chiles are immensely nutritious, if you care about that sort of thing.

Other ingredients

Use plum tomatoes whenever possible.

Tomatillos are available in nearly every supermarket these days. They are not tomatoes, and one cannot be substituted for the other. Tomatillos must be husked and the sticky residue rinsed off. Even raw, they're very soft, and cooking them typically only takes three or four minutes in boiling water. Tomatillos are the basis for salsa verde.

Mexicans use true cinnamon, called canela in Spanish. What we call cinnamon is really the bark of the cassia tree, a close relative of the cinnamon tree. They are different, however. True cinnamon is much less "hot" and sweeter than cassia. These days, canela is pretty easy to find. Canela — true cinnamon — is much less hard than cassia — what we buy as cinnamon, and in the bag, feels soft and pliable.

Vegetables are almost always roasted until black on a griddle, then peeled. Raw or sauteed garlic is almost never used. Garlic is instead roasted on a hot griddle until blackened and soft, and the result is much like oven roasted garlic.

Nearly all Mexican cheeses are dry aged cheeses, like Parmaggiano, or fresh like farmer's cheese, and do not melt. There are soft cheeses made in Mexico, such as Chihuahua, but gooey cheesy is typically Tex-Mex, not Mexican.

Sour cream is unknown in Mexico, where you will instead find crema. Crema is most similar to creme fraiche, although it isn't quite as sour (and not nearly as sour as sour cream). Mix one part sour cream to four parts heavy cream for a passable substitute, if you can't find crema at the store, or one part creme fraiche and one part heavy cream.

Mexican chocolate is not conched like American and European chocolate, so it is comparatively grainy. It also contains cinnamon. Mexican chocolate is widely available, and comes in disks. If you can't find Mexican chocolate, substitute (ounce for ounce) bittersweet chocolate, and add a couple of shakes of cinnamon for each ounce.

The huitlacoche, a delicacy in Mexico, is the fungus that grows on corn. You can find it canned here, but it's nearly flavorless. Substitute dried mushrooms, if you can't find it fresh, but no mushroom is really a substitute.

And finally . . .

Back in Indiana, I taught a number of classes at the local cooking school on Mexican food. I got two questions that I will here address: Is Mexican food hot, since it's based on chiles? and What if I'm sensitive to hot food?

No, Mexican food is not invariably hot, or at least it's not always murderously hot (although yes, it certainly can be). Mexican food is often slow cooked for long periods of time, and the long, slow cooking takes some (often much) of the heat out. Mexican food is, however, nearly always spicy to some extent, which leads us to the second question: What if I'm sensitive to hot food?

Desensitizing your palate is actually pretty quick and simple. We've desensitized quite a few people, all within a week or two. Just eat spicy food. As you eat it, your palate adjusts, and move one notch spicier. It helps to know that water or beer is useless. If your mouth is on fire, you want a mouthful of beans, rice, or tortilla (which absorb the oil instead of just washing it around in your mouth). Milk works well because the lactose bonds to the chili oil. You even get to the point you enjoy the endorphin rush that accompanies the fiery throat and beads of sweat on your forehead. Really.

A molé is a category, and not a particular dish. Molés are highly complex sauces cooked for hours over very low heat. They do not always or even usually contain chocolate, and when they do, they never taste of chocolate (it should be noted that the Mexicans, from whom we get chocolate, did not use chocolate as a sweet; that was a European innovation).

Finally, all Mexican meals are served with tortillas. Even if there are tortillas in the dishes, heated tortillas are served on the side. Always. Try making your own tortillas sometime; they're delicious, and much different from store-bought tortillas. Enchiladas, however, are always best made from stale tortillas, as they are less likely to fracture.

By the way, flour tortillas are unknown except along the northern border with the United States.

Pastry: About flour

The current craze is unbleached flour. There's nothing wrong with it -- I use it myself -- but when it comes to baking, whether the flour is unbleached or not is not the crucial issue.

The protein content is.

The protein in wheat flour (and only wheat flour) has a unique property. As you handle it, the strands of protein connect, forming something rather like a net. It is this net which traps the gas and causes the product to rise. Conversely, the more the net is developed, the chewier the result (think of cakes and breads as opposite ends of a spectrum).

To get the best results, you need to use the protein content that is most appropriate to the product. For example, if you're making bread, you want a high protein content flour. If your making cake, you want a tender, delicate crumb, so you want a low protein content flour.

Flour in the United States is rated by protein content into four categories: cake flour (8-9% protein), pastry flour (10% protein), all-purpose flour (11-12% protein), and bread flour (13-14% protein). Cake, all-purpose, and bread flour are available in almost every supermarket. Pastry flour is often hard to come by, so mix half cake and half all-purpose flour.

Use the right flour, and you can taste the difference. Cake flour will give you the most delicate crumb. Pastry flour (or a half-and-half mix of cake and all-purpose) will give you a more tender Danish pastry. And bread flour will give you a higher rise (you can buy gluten (wheat protein) in the baking section, and add it to bread flour (1 T. to 1 c.) to give you an even higher rising bread).

Yes, you can use all-purpose for everything -- that's why it's called that. But it won't give you the best results. Only using the ideal flour will do that.

Pastry II

I began my restaurant career at a very elegant French bistro in downtown Louisville, L'Artiste, in the early 80s. When I was hired, they first trained me as a pastry chef.

About the French: Love the food, hate the frogs. I'm a Francophobe from long, long before it became fashionable, from even before I started working for them (and working for the French will make you hate them if anything will). When Carter was President, I was fond of saying that the neutron bomb was made for France (the neutron bomb left buildings intact, you see).

Food aside, French pastry is the most overrated food item on the planet. First, the frogs didn't know anything about making pastry until Marie Antoinette brought her Austrian chefs with her to France — in fact, the Austrians taught the whole continent of Europe to make pastry. But the frogs learned the least, no doubt due to French laziness.

If you go into a pâtisserie, the shelves will be full of variations on three, and only three, themes: génoises filled with various items (and the frogs learned to make génoise from the Italians — hence the name); endless variations on pâte à choux filled with crème pâtisserie or crème au beurre (éclairs, réligieuses, etc.) which all taste the same, but look different; and endless variations of pâte feuilletée (puff pastry), again filled with crème pâtisserie or crème au beurre (napoleons). The frogs have no imagination when it comes to pastry; they have three little tricks, which they do over and over again, changing the shape and hoping that fools you into being impressed with their artistry.

Oh, four tricks. I forgot the boring French tarts.

The Danes, on the other hand, learned more from the Austrian chefs. What we call Danish pastry, the Danes call Viennese pastry (wienerbrød). The Danes produce a far larger variety of pastries than do the frogs, though it is less sweet than most Americans are used to. But even the Danes cannot compare to the Austrians (and Hungarians) for great pastries — who in turn learned much of what they knew from the Turks. It's no accident that you see phyllo dough used so frequently in Austrian pastries, you know.

The king of pastry, however, is pâte feuilletée, or puff pastry. The frozen pastry is passable, but it doesn't have that buttery flavor homemade does — and it really isn't that hard to make. I always make my own. Similar is so-called Danish pastry. Make your own, and you won't go back to frozen ever again (and it's really not difficult).

Before you start, read the instructions through to the end.

Pâte Feuilletée (Puff Pastry) — makes 2 lbs. 12 oz.

Puff pastry contains no yeast. Butter is encased in the dough, and then it is rolled and folded repeatedly, forming many layers of butter in between dough. As it bakes, the butter melts and evaporates, pushing up the dough into many layers. If you make this correctly, the pastry will rise quite high.

Butter block
1 lb. 2 oz. cold unsalted butter
4 1/2 oz. all-purpose flour

Dough
2 t. salt
1 c. cold water
2 oz. unsalted butter, melted
1 t. lemon juice
14 1/2 oz. pastry flour, or 1/2 cake and 1/2 all-purpose flour

Trick number one is to work the butter and flour together to the right consistency: Too warm, and it will not layer well, and too cold, and it will break through the pastry. Let the butter sit out to soften a bit and work the flour in with a pastry knife. Shape into a 6-inch square, and refrigerate.

Now make the dough. Sift the flours together, then cut the butter into the flour (not the butter block!) until it resembles coarse meal. Make a well in the center, add the salt and most of the cold water. Mix the flour into the water using your fingers. Add more water if you need to to make a dough that holds together, but is still rough and sticky. Form the dough into a ball, handling it as little as possible. Flatten the ball, cut a deep cross from side to side in the top, cover, and let rest in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

Take the butter block out of the refrigerator 20 minutes before you do the next step.

Now for the fun part. Open the ball of dough into a square by pulling open the cross you cut in the top then roll it until it is slightly larger than the butter block. Place the butter block, which should be firm, but not rock hard, diagonally on top of the dough (corner to side). Pick up the corners of the dough and fold them over the butter block, pinching the dough together to seal the butter inside the dough.

You are now going to do FIVE single turns. Each time you make a turn, you increase the number of butter-dough layers. If you do this too much, the layers will be too thin to puff up. If you don't do it enough, the layers will be too thick. FIVE turns, and ONLY FIVE turns.

Also, if you don't refrigerate the dough between turns, the butter will get too warm and instead of remaining in its own layer will mix into the dough. If it's too cold, it will tear through the dough. So follow the instructions.

At L'Artiste, we used a French pin especially designed for puff pastry, which I have never seen here. It had grooves cut along the length all the way around, and the grooves helped avoid squishing the butter all the way to the ends. When you roll for the turns, first gently press the pin along the length, creating little depressions. This will help keep you from rolling the butter to the ends of the dough (that, and refrigerating it sufficiently between turns).

Turns

Roll into a rectangle 15×9 inches. Fold the left third over the center, then fold the right third over the center, forming a rectangle, and brushing off any excess flour from the dough as you fold. Refrigerate for 20 minutes. Roll into a rectangle 15×9 inches and again, fold into thirds and refrigerate 20 minutes. Do this FIVE (and ONLY five) times, and again refrigerate for 20-30 minutes before you roll it out and use it.

Pastry I

Pie crust

Pie crust has an undeserved reputation as being difficult to make. It isn't. But there are important points that aren't usually included in recipes, so I'll include them below. You may use a vegetable shortening, or you may use half lard (or shortening) and half butter, though the crumb will be shorter. Do not try to make a pie crust with all butter; if you want to use all butter, go with a short crust instead.

Too much fat makes the crust shrink when you bake it (if you've ever used those pre-made crusts from the store, they always shrink because they contain too high a proportion of fat). Too much flour will make your crust tough, which most people know. But too much water will also make your crust tough — and most people use too much water.

The überprinciple here is handle the dough as gently and as little as possible!

2 c. flour
1 t. salt
2/3 c. cold lard or shortening (butter makes an inferior pie crust)
1/4 c. ice water

Mix the flour and the salt in a large metal (not plastic) bowl — plastic absorbs some of the moisture and you invariably end up adding too much water.

You're now going to cut in the lard. You can use a pastry blender if you have one, a fork, or your hands. Using a mixer always gives sub-standard results. Don't. If you've never done this before, or if you've never done this successfully before, you can make this easier by cutting up the lard into pieces before you start. Add the lard to the flour and salt, and if you're using a pastry blender, cut the lard into the flour with rocking motions until the mixture looks like coarse meal. If you're using your hands, work as quickly as you can, working the lard into the flour with your fingertips, again, until the mixture resembles coarse meal (you want to work as quickly as possible if using your hands because your hands are warm).

Sprinkle the ice water on the top of the mixture, and mix together until the dough just holds together. I prefer using my hands, but you can use a wooden spoon or a scraper. Be warned: It takes longer than you think to work all the water into the flour and lard until it begins to ball up. Resist the temptation to add more water. It only looks like you need more water. Keep mixing, and the dough will ball up.

At this point, you may wrap it in plastic wrap and refrigerate it for a half hour. You'll get better results if you do, but it's not essential.

Very lightly flour the counter — very lightly. Cut the dough ball in half, and put half on the counter. Very lightly sprinkle the top of the dough with flour and roll it out to almost three inches larger than the (upper) circumference of the pie pan. Roll the dough lightly and quickly from the middle out, in all directions (no, it probably won't look perfectly circular like it does in the cookbook, and nobody cares — it will also probably be ragged, and that's fine too). Very gently fold it in half, then place it in the pan and unfold. Do not stretch it. You want the pastry to fit loosely. You also want the pastry to overlap the sides of the pan so you can seal it later. If the crust tears (shame! What did I say about fitting it in loosely?) dip your finger in water, then moisten the tear and gently push it together. Gently push the dough down into the pan from the top.

Fill the crust, then roll out the second half of the dough to the same size as the first. Fold in half, gently lay on top of the pie, and unfold. Working around the pie, fold the top crust under the overlap of the bottom crust and fold over again, then gently press down (for a single crust pie, fold the overhanging rim of the bottom crust under itself and the pan rim). Make a V with the first two fingers of your left hand, and while using them to press the rim out, use the index finger of your other hand between them to pull in, to scallop the rim (or you can do the fork thing). Cut slits in the top and bake according to the recipe directions.

1-2-3 Dough

This is a CIA recipe we used at L'Artiste. It's an all-purpose sweet tart dough recipe, and makes a crumbly product. It's fairly obvious where the name of the recipe comes from. It's quick, easy, with no cutting in, and makes as good a tart shell as any recipe. It works well as a cheesecake crust, too, though it would be odd as a replacement for a pie crust. Oh, if you have kids (or adults) who love cookie dough, keep them away from this.

1 c. sugar
2 c. butter, room temperature
3 c. flour
1 egg

Combine flour and sugar. Mix in the butter, then the egg, just until the dough holds together. Form into a ball, wrap in Saran wrap, and refrigerate for thirty minutes before using.

To use, press (do not roll this dough) into a buttered tart shell. Prick all over with a fork (or fill with beans) and bake at 350 for ten minutes, if using for a baked tart. If the tart is not baked, remove the beans (if you used them) after the initial ten minutes, and bake for an additional twenty minutes (total thirty minutes).

Eating in Southern Indiana

It's unlikely that you'll find yourself in southern Indiana. Most of it is accessible only from two-lane state highways, and these days, nobody goes anywhere unless there's an exit off an interstate. That's really too bad, because southern Indiana is beautiful, and there are some great places to eat there.

If you're down by Amish country in Daviess, Martin, and Orange counties, head down through Loogootee (that's pronounced luh-GOH-tee, not lu-GU-tee) toward Washington (watch for buggies). Halfway between the two is a small town (population: 368) named Montgomery. Montgomery is home to the Gasthof Amish Village, where you can buy quilts and furniture (yes, of course, it's authentic). There is also a restaurant there, with amazing food (make sure you do not miss the pie), open seven days a week. Because of Amish religious restrictions, Mennonites staff the restaurant (you can tell, you know, by the clothing, particularly the style of cap women wear). Astoundingly great food.

Should you find yourself in Dubois county further to the south, head to Jasper, home of the largest gun club in the state of Indiana (also home to the largest car dealership in the state of Indiana, Uebelhor Motors–pronounced EE-bel-hor,), and a city by the standards of that part of Indiana (population: 12,000). If you're there in the first week of August, go to the Strassenfest. While you're there, you might want to check out St. Joseph's, one of the three large Catholic churches in Jasper; it was built on a foundation of four huge trees, one at each corner. Jasper is a beautiful town, sparkling clean (not that I want to promote stereotypes or anything), with lovely homes. Do not leave without a trip to the Jasper City Bakery, at least for a loaf of the rye. When you get hungry, turn toward Ferdinand from downtown Jasper, and on your left is the Schnitzelbank (or the Schnitz, as the locals call it). The decor is pure kitsch, but the food is remarkable. I always get the sauerbraten, and the German fries are just like we ate at home (anywhere you stop to eat in that part of Indiana is likely to have both American fries and German fries on the menu; American fries are fried potatoes, and German fries are fried potatoes with lots of onions in them).

Speaking of German fries, fried in general, and Dubois county, the best fried chicken in the world is in Ireland, just down the road from Jasper, at the Chicken Place (really). The German fries are as good as those at the Schnitz, and the German potato salad is even better. Being Germans, they serve beer in ridiculously large quantities. Try it in a schooner.

Mathies (no website) in Dubois (population: 1600), halfway between Jasper and French Lick, also has great fried chicken and steaks. They also serve beer in ridiculously large vessels.

The Benedictine Archabbey at St. Meinrad, south of Jasper, is worth the trip to see the church alone (try to stay for Mass; hearing the monks sing Gregorian chants is a heavenly experience). The archabbey is self-supporting, and the monks used to make and sell a huge variety of regional German sausages and cheeses. I am sad to report that they no longer do. If you go to the archabbey, be aware that many groups (even Protestants) from around the state go there for retreats, and you likely won't be the only visitors.

We used to eat at the Villager in French Lick (actually it's in West Baden, but only locals know the difference) partly because it was one of only three local restaurants (except for the hotel), partly because it was the best of the three, and partly because my parents were good friends of the owners. They always did have good, homestyle food there, but I can't vouch for it because I haven't eaten there in . . . oh . . . over thirty years. But it is still there.

If you like the outdoors, visit Patoka Lake, about halfway between French Lick and Jasper (it's visible on the map below). Our farm (well, we sold it) was right on Patoka, lakeside property. Next to the Patoka Lake is Tillery Hill, one of the most popular destinations for hunters in deer season. Both the French Lick and West Baden hotels have been renovated, and are open. I haven't seen the renovated French Lick hotel (it never went out of business like the West Baden hotel did), but the West Baden hotel is something to see. And if you're into that sort of thing, there's a casino there.

If you're interested in visiting the area, click on the map below to get the large, readable version (the red stars mark Montgomery and Jasper). Be aware that the terrain is very hilly, and the roads are curvy and tend to be narrow–and locals drive 70 on them (just in case you wonder why people are whizzing past you when you're driving 30).

Thickening Agents (flour)

There are three basic methods of thickening with flour: A roux, a slurry, and beurre manié. Slurries have, as far as I can tell, gotten a bad rap, and are no more prone to making a dish taste "floury" than any of the other two methods. The key to removing the starchy taste is to cook it a couple of minutes. The way the flour is introduced is irrelevant. One tablespoon of flour thickens one cup of liquid.

A roux is a 1:1 combination of melted fat and flour (when you make gravy, you make a roux), into which liquid is added. Cook it over medium to high heat, stirring constantly, until it thickens.

A slurry is a combination of flour and liquid, stirred into hot liquid. Stir constantly and cook it until it thickens.

Beurre manié is a combination of soft butter and flour, kneaded together (hence the name, which translates from French as kneaded, or handled, butter). Directions for making a beurre manié always specify that you roll it into little balls. This is silly and unnecessary. In fact, I use a flat whisk to blend the butter and flour, and since the mixture globs onto the whisk, I just use the whisk to stir the sauce. It works perfectly well. Forget the little balls. Mix it, then whisk it into the sauce. Again, you have to stir constantly until it thickens.

Easy And Delicious Basic Cream Soup

Lo, these many decades ago when I worked at L'Artiste, we developed this as a faster, easier alternative to the classic basic cream soup recipe — with, I might add, excellent results. Since it's getting to be that time of year, I thought I'd share it. It's far simpler than the classic — no roux or cream sauce — and adaptable to any cream soup you want to make. You can also adapt the proportions easily (more or less cream, etc.) The thickening comes from the pureed vegetables, rather than a roux.

Basic Cream Soup

1 quart chicken, turkey, or vegetable stock
vegetable
1 cup heavy cream
salt, pepper and any other seasoning appropriate

Simmer the vegetable in the stock until quite soft. Using a slotted spoon, remove the vegetables to a blender. Add a cup of the stock and puree, gradually adding more stock as needed. Pour back into the pan and bring almost to a boil. Add the cream and seasonings to taste, heat and serve.

Depending on what vegetable you use, you may want to puree all or only part:

For cream of broccoli soup, use one large or two small bunches of broccoli. Cut off half the florets and reserve, and chop the rest and cook as above. Before adding cream, add the reserved florets and let them simmer a few minutes until done. Add cream and seasonings and serve.

For cream of spinach soup, use two large bunches of spinach or one large bag or two boxes of frozen spinach. Puree all of the spinach (little bits of spinach, unlike florets, aren't nice, since they tend to be slimy).

For cream of mushroom soup, you'll want lots of dried mushrooms, preferably porcini. First, soak them until soft (thirty minutes in hot water). Strain the soaking water and use as part or all of the stock. No need to puree the mushrooms. If you want it a bit thicker, thicken with a beurre manie.

For cream of chicken soup, poach a couple of chicken breasts in the stock then remove. Dice the chicken, add to the stock, and add cream and seasonings. Again, if you want it a bit thicker, use a beurre manie (and try adding a bit of tarragon).

Use your judgment. I've never been inclined to try cream of beef soup, for example — or cream of beet soup, either. But this is an almost infinitely adaptable recipe, so let your imagination run wild.

Stock Basics

Let's talk stock.

I'm amazed by how few people I know make homemade stock, particularly when it's so simple, and when the difference in quality between homemade and store bought is so … well, I can't think of a word that adequately describes the scope of that difference.

Sorry, but no, that canned chicken broth is not an acceptable substitute, at least not in any recipe where stock is a major ingredient. And that "free range, organic" broth in the carton is no better. (Having said that, if you must go with store bought, Kitchen Basics stock is by far the best available.)

And there's no good excuse for not having homemade on hand, as easy as it is to make, but people know very little about how to make it. So after I get the myths and misconceptions out of the way, I'll tell you how to make amazing chicken and beef stock.

Chicken stock

The biggest misconception people have about chicken stock is that the flavor comes from the chicken meat. It does not. Chicken meat is bland, and you cannot use it to make stock. Try putting a couple of those foul boneless, skinless breasts in a pan, covering them with water, and simmering them for, oh, give it as much time as you have, say a couple of hours. After you remove the inedibly dry breasts, taste the liquid.

Nearly flavorless.

Now try the same experiment with regular breasts (you know, the kind with the bone and skin). Note that the liquid is full of flavor.

Bones, skin, and fat are the ingredients that give stock its richness and flavor — not chicken meat. Bones lend not only flavor, but gelatin, which gives stock that wonderful richness (and makes it gel when refrigerated).

The very best stock is made from the carcass left after you have roasted a chicken (or capon, or even a turkey), much better than just tossing a few chicken pieces (with bone and skin, of course) into a pot with some water, because roasting brings out the flavor in the bones and carmelizes the skin and gives the stock that yellow color. If you don't want to roast a chicken, pick up a couple of those roast chickens at the store (in my experience, they're far too done and dry, but they're good for stock), carve the meat off and eat, then put the carcasses in a large stockpot with as much of the skin as you managed to reserve.

I can hear you now. Yes, technically you can use a crock pot, but you need one large enough (I have a Cuisinart slow cooker that's quite big) and the standard Crock Pots are not close to large enough, and as an aside, I think Crock Pots give stock an odd, almost overcooked flavor. Stock pots are cheap because they don't have to be heavy. Pick up a couple at your local kitchen store.

Heat your oven to 500, spray a baking pan with Pam, and toss in a couple of onions halved, a few stalks of celery, and a few carrots (you don't have to peel or trim any of these, by the way). Roast them for about a half hour, until they're nice and brown. Remove the veggies, peel and all, to the stockpot, then deglaze the pan with some water over high heat, and add it to the pot.

Add water, about two inches above the carcasses. Bring to a boil, then lower to a very slow simmer, cover tightly, and let it go for several hours. Check it every hour or so and keep the level of the water about two inches above the carcasses. I'd cook it about eight hours. You can tell when you've got a nice, rich, stock by looking at it; you should have a nice, dark yellow, fatty stock. If not, keep cooking it.

If you don't want to buy those roasted chickens at the store, you can buy a bunch of necks and backs, or even wings, at the store, and roast them along with the veggies (then proceed as above).

Bones, fat, and skin. Bones, fat, and skin. Bones, fat, and skin.

Strain the stock. If you want, you can degrease it now, but I never do. The reason I don't is because when you refrigerate it, not only will the stock gel, but the fat will rise to the top and solidify, effectively sealing it. What I do when I want to use part of it is take it out of the refrigerator, then remove the fat from the top (it's very easy to do this) and reserve it. I then nuke the stock until it's liquified so I can measure out what I need, then add the fat back in and nuke it until it's melted and the whole container is liquified and very hot. I then put it back in the refrigerator, and the fat always rises to the top, solidifies, and seals it.

Bones, fat, and skin. Bones, fat, and skin. Bones, fat, and skin.

Beef stock

The primary difference between making chicken and beef stock is that unlike chicken meat, beef is not bland. Bones, fat, and meat, with meat being the least important of the three, give you a rich, flavorful beef stock.

I start by buying soup bones, though these days, they're too clean all by themselves to give you a great beef stock. I buy a bunch of oxtails, because they contain lots of great, sawed bones, fat, and beef. If oxtails aren't available, short ribs are a good substitute (though a bit expensive). Or buy a nice big piece of chuck — lots of flavor and that absolutely necessary fat — and use it (and if you're afraid of fat, there's no reason to be. The flavor provided by fat is water soluble, so even after you degrease and use it, you get the flavor. But to make a good stock, you must have fat.)

Again, preheat the oven to 500, and spray a large baking pan with Pam. Put all the bones and oxtails in the pan, then a couple of onions, halved (again, no need to peel the veggies), carrots and celery. Roast until quite dark brown (this is what gives color to your stock, and brings out flavors), then pour the contents of the pan into a large stockpot. Deglaze the pan with some water, and add it to the stockpot. Cover with water, again about two inches, cover tightly, and cook at a very gentle simmer for several hours (eight is always good for stock). Strain and store as directed above.

Final comments

If you don't roast long enough at the beginning, or in the case of beef stock, you don't use enough oxtails, you will end up with a pale stock (this is more likely with beef stock). Add just a couple of tablespoons of dark soy sauce — you won't taste it, but it will give the stock a rich brown color.

Note that I did not give any directions about salt and pepper. This is because you should not season with salt and pepper — especially salt — until the stock has been strained, especially with chicken stock, which will be saltier on its own than beef stock (in fact, you'll be shocked at how "bland" the beef stock tastes until you salt it).

The next time you make soup — and it's getting to be that time of year — instead of using store bought, use homemade stock. Relish the difference!

Velveting and Slippery-Coating

These are a Chinese method of first marinating meat, then quickly cooking it so the marinade forms a very thin coating and changes the texture (as far as I can tell, the only difference between the two is that one velvets chicken and slippery-coats pork or beef). This seems to be primarily a western Chinese (Szechuan, Hunan) process, or at least I see it primarily in western Chinese recipes.

The result does not resemble deep-fried food with a crunchy coating.

The meat is marinated in a combination of cornstarch and egg white, with various other ingredients (soy, sherry, etc.) It is then either simmered for a couple of minutes in water, or fried in very hot oil, and drained to be used in the final stir-fried dish.

You can see examples of both in my recipe for Gong Bao Ji Ding and Hot Diced Pork.

No Fail, Ready to Drink Sweet Iced Tea

Hot tea is okay (apologies to the rest of the Anglosphere). I like it, though I don't like the tannin — what's good about drinking something that makes you thirsty? So unless I'm in someone else's home and they offer me (hot) tea, I only drink iced tea.

Well no. Sweet tea (not to be confused with sweetened iced tea. A glass of tea with one teaspoon of sugar in it is sweetened iced tea, but it ain't sweet tea.) I have a brother and sister-in-law who swear by sun tea, and I've had tea at their home and it's great. The problem with sun tea — as well as the traditional method of making iced tea — is that you have to wait at least a good hour before it's cold enough to drink.

Here's how we made tea when I was a kid (well, after my parents went through the instant Nestea fad, and that didn't last long). The downside of this method is that you may have to do it a couple of times before you get it just right. The upside is it's ready to drink as soon as you make it.

You need a pitcher. Fill it to the top with water and measure it, if you don't know how much it holds. Measure half the amount the pitcher holds and bring it to a boil (there's a reason God gave us microwaves). Add sugar and teabags. Steep twice as long as you normally would — you need the tea to be twice the strength you want it when you drink it. This is why you may need to do this a couple of times before you get it just right.

I make two quarts of tea, and use a cup of sugar. That's sweet tea.

Fill the pitcher to the very top with ice. Discard the teabags, stir well to make sure all the sugar is dissolved, and pour over the ice into the pitcher. The hot tea will melt half the ice, and exactly fill the pitcher. You only need to let it sit a minute or so before it's really good and cold.

Sweet tea. It's what's for . . . uh, never mind.

Clarifying Butter

Butter is graded by the amount of milk solids it contains. Unless you buy exorbitantly priced butter, you've found that using it to sauté something burns the butter. It's not the butter that burns, since butter has quite a high smoking point. It's the milk solids that burn. The economical solution is to clarify your own butter.

You can buy relatively cheap butter at warehouse stores, such as Sam's Club. Clarify butter two pounds at a time. You'll see why that incredibly expensive butter is so expensive after you clarify butter the first time and see how much of it is milk solids. Here's how to do it.

In a large sauté pan over very low heat, place two pounds butter and let it melt. Turn off the heat and let the butter sit at least 20 minutes. This allows a crust to form on the top, and you have to get rid of the crust as well as the milk that has settled to the bottom of the pan.

Cut a double-thick piece of cheesecloth big enough to completely cover the inside of a strainer. Run the cheesecloth under cold water, squeeze out all of the water, then straighten it out and line the strainer with it.

You're going to pick up the pan of butter. It's crucial that you hold it as still as possible, and disturb the milk solids as little as you can.

Pick up the pan, and tilt it to one side. With a slotted spoon, skim the crust from the top and discard. Now, very slowly and carefully pour the butter through the cheesecloth. When you cannot pour any more butter without the milk solids, you're done. Refrigerate the clarified butter.

Note that you have a lot less butter than you began with. That's how much milk is in the butter, and that milk is what burns.

You can use clarified butter at very high temperatures without it burning.

The Sauté

When I taught cooking classes in Indiana, my class on the sauté was probably the most useful, and one of the most popular. The sauté is the restaurant's mainstay. Sautés are almost infinitely adaptable, creating a wide variety of dishes that can be cooked (and served) quickly.

A sauté is a dish in which the ingredients are sautéed. Liquid of some sort may be added, either as a cooking medium, or at the end to deglaze the pan and create a sauce. Almost anything can be used in a sauté, although one would prefer ingredients that will cook quickly, or part of the point would be lost. Chicken, veal, pork, and lamb are frequently used. Beef may also be used, provided that it is a sufficiently tender cut, or has been tenderized.

Sautés are so adaptable that they are the ultimate "create a dish" opportunity. Consider a chicken sauté. You can add white wine and herbs. You can add cream. You can brown the chicken, then add the liquid and let the chicken poach in it, or you can cook the chicken entirely in the butter, remove it, and use the liquid and herbs to deglaze the pan. You can add mushrooms, artichokes, asparagus. You can add almost anything you want.

There are a few things you need to know. First, if you want that beautiful golden color, the only thing that will get it for you is butter. Butter as you buy it, however, will burn. See my article on how to clarify butter, and use clarified butter. Second, whether you're using liquid as a cooking agent or to deglaze the pan at the end, you don't need much. You'll use more if it's a cooking agent, since part of it will evaporate, but no more than a half cup at most. If you're deglazing the pan, you'll need no more than a few tablespoons.

If you deglaze with cream, know that not all "heavy creams" are equal. It's nearly impossible these days to find real heavy cream, which should be yellowish and thick right out of the carton, but use the richest cream you can find, since you want it to thicken and carmelize. If you can get it, double devon, imported from Britain, and as thick as butter, is excellent for deglazing a sauté. You only need a couple of spoonsful. It melts as soon as it hits the hot pan, then almost immediately begins to turn golden and thicken.

Always turn the heat as high as possible to deglaze. You want to both allow the liquid to pick up all the flavor and flavorful bits from the pan and reduce.

If you have a sauce, you can "finish" it with butter, which will add a gloss and thicken it a bit. Add a tablespoon or so of butter, but do not stir. Rather, swirl the pan as the butter melts, and let it mix itself into the sauce. There is no point in finishing a cream sauce.

A basic chicken sauté would be to brown chicken on all sides in butter over high heat. Turn the heat down to low, cover, and cook the chicken, turning from time to time, until done. Remove the chicken, then turn the heat high and deglaze the pan with a bit of cream, stirring constantly to get all the goodness from the pan into the cream, until it turns golden and thickens. Pour over the chicken pieces and serve.

Spätzle

I realize I'm more willing to spend time cooking than most, but every time I go to the store, I'm amazed at what people will buy to avoid even the most simple and basic tasks. Heat and eat mashed potatoes? Are you kidding?

While at the store yesterday, I saw boxed spätzle mix. Come on! Spätzle are even simpler than mashed potatoes, and they're heavenly.

For those of you who are spätzle-challenged, spätzle exist all over central and eastern Europe (my pet theory is that they were invented by a tired housewife who needed to make noodles but had neither the time nor the energy). Spätzle are made from a very soft dough, almost a batter, that is "dribbled" through a spätzle maker or a colander into simmering water or soup.

The only thing about spätzle is you really want a spätzle maker. You can use a colander (do not even think about trying to make them with a strainer, though), but a spätzle maker is well worth the money.

There are two types of spätzle makers I'm aware of: the cheap hand model (see pic below), which runs about ten bucks, and the "crank" model, which runs about forty bucks.

See the square bin? You put the dough in the bin, then move it back and forth across the base. As the bin moves back and forth across the holes, it cuts the spätzle and they drop into the water. Very simple.

This recipe makes enough for two; in this recipe, eggs provide all the liquid, so they are richer, but a bit heavier than your everyday recipe. I'll provide a less rich, and lighter recipe second (directions are the same). You have to have something to eat with spätzle, so after this recipe, I'll give you a link to my recipe for Veal Paprikas.

Spätzle I

2 eggs
1/2 cup flour
1/2 t. salt
Butter

Beat the eggs until frothy, then mix in the flour and salt. The dough should be very soft and sticky — halfway between cake batter and biscuit dough. Sticky, not a ball that cleans the sides of the bowl.

Spoon the dough into the spätzle maker over the SIMMERING, not boiling, water and run the bin back and forth until the dough is all gone. SIMMER about five minutes, until all the spätzle are floating, then drain and toss with melted butter.

Spätzle II

1 C. flour
1 t. salt
1 egg
scant 1/2 c. milk (more or less)
Butter

Follow the same directions as above.

Here's my recipe for Veal Paprikas.

My Chipotle Barbecue Sauce

I started with the basic Carolina vinegar baste, adding and adjusting, until I came up with a sauce I really like. Warning: This is extremely spicy hot. If you want less heat, cut the number of chipotles!

1 1/2 c. cider vinegar
1/2 c. bourbon, apple cider, or orange juice
1 c. water
2 T. molasses
2 T. salt
1 7-oz. can chipotles in adobo, finely chopped
1 T. red pepper flakes
1 T. black pepper
1 t. cayenne, ground
1 t. liquid smoke

Mix and bring to a boil. Simmer for 30 minutes to blend flavors.

Carolina Gold Sauce

Original Version

This is good, though I found it to be just a tad sweet, and not as spicy as I like it. My adjusted recipe follows this one.

2 c. cider vinegar
2 T. honey or molasses
2 T. prepared mustard
2 T. brown sugar
2 T. salt
2 T. crushed red pepper
1 T. black pepper

Mix and simmer for 15-20 minutes.

My Version

1 1/2 c. cider vinegar
1/2 c. apple cider
2 T. prepared mustard
1 T. brown sugar
2 T. salt
4 T. crushed red pepper
2 T. black pepper

South Carolina Pulled Pork

Carolina Barbecue

We've been over this before. Keep the cloyingly sweet tomato sauce, thanks very much. Barbecue is all about hickory (or whatever wood you prefer; mesquite would be more traditional for Texas barbecue, though I used to get apple wood back in Indiana, and that was really good). And Kansas City barbecue? It's an abomination. In my not so humble and extremely partisan opinion, the best barbecue is to be found in the Carolinas and Georgia, where they don't sop it in heavy sauce.

So I'm doing Carolina pulled pork–the way I like it, spicy hot. Barbecue in the Carolinas isn't as minimal as it is in Georgia, and this is a good introduction to what barbecue is all about for those who think they can toss meat in the oven and sop it with some godawful crap they bought at the store and call it barbecue. There's sauce, which you use to baste the pork as it's smoking, then reduce and add just enough to moisten the pork.

You can, of course, use this recipe to barbecue ribs or chicken. To barbecue chicken, either buy chickens split in halves (I haven't seen any here). Or split chickens in half through the breastbone and backbone yourself. Or just split chickens through the breastbone, flip them over, and flatten them by pressing down on the breastbone and breaking it, Chinese style.

See here for sauce variations.

1 5-6 lb. pork shoulder (or boston butt) roast, or spare ribs (you're a fool if you buy baby back ribs) or 2 chickens, halved

If you're doing pulled pork and the roast comes in one of those net things like they do here, cut it off. Those are there only so when it's done, you can cut it into nice slices. Also, since it holds the roast together, cutting it off will help the smoke and flavor get into the roast better. Cut the damned thing off. Also, yes, you can use pork loin, but it's not as good. Fresh ham is great, if you can find it, but a shoulder (boston butt) is the best for pulled pork. And baby back ribs? Why? They have comparatively no meat on them; they're just fashionable because they're small, and because they're fashionable, they're ridiculously expensive. Get spare ribs.

Mix all rub ingredients. Coat the meat with the rub — and I don't mean sprinkle it on. I mean press it into the meat, one side at a time, leaving not the tiniest bit unexposed (it tends to be a messy process, but it's easy to clean up), and keep pressing the dry rub into the meat until there is none left. Cover the meat with plastic wrap, place on a plate, and refrigerate 8 to 24 hours. (For simplicity's sake, I'm going to proceed as if you're barbecuing a pork roast for pulled pork. Substitute as appropriate in the directions.)

You're going to cold smoke the pork. You'll start the fire on one side of your grill, and cook the meat on the other side, not above the flame. You'll need your favorite charcoal to start the fire, and enough wood chunks (hickory is traditional, but use your favorite — and chunks, not chips) to burn five or six hours — figure about an hour or a little over per pound. Buy one of the big bags.

Start the fire and let the coals burn down to white ash. Soak a bunch of wood chunks in water. When the coals are almost ready, drain the chunks thoroughly (be careful to drain them really thoroughly, or you'll put out the fire).

On the other side of the grill, put an aluminum pie pan below the grill to catch juices, and add a cup of water, beer, or apple cider (the primary purpose is to keep the roast moist, but it also can add a subtle flavor). Unwrap the pork (do I really need to say that?) and place it on the grill above the pie pan. Place the soaked chunks on top of the coals and immediately close the cover of the grill.

Adjust the vents or the height of the grills (or however your grill works) to keep the inside temperature between 200 and 250. Check the temperature and the fire every 30 minutes. Keep chunks soaking, and when you add more chunks, add half soaked and half unsoaked chunks (so the moisture doesn't kill the fire before the roast is done). Add more chunks as needed to keep the fire hot and smoking, and turn the roast every hour.

Two hours before the meat will be done (approximate this — an hour or so per pound), mix the sauce ingredients–adding the adobo from the chipotles (it's got a great smoky flavor). Baste the roast with the sauce, turn it, and baste it again. Repeat every 30 minutes until the roast registers 185 on a meat thermometer. Remove the roast, and let it sit for at least 30 minutes (an hour is better).

Bring the remaining sauce to a boil, then reduce it by about half. With forks, pull the meat apart and put it in a bowl. Mix in just enough of the sauce to moisten it (serve the rest on the side so people can add more if they want), and serve with cole slaw, fried corn, and fried cinnamon apples.

Basic South Carolina Vinegar Mop

Use it to baste the meat as it's barbecuing, and add enough to moisten before serving.

2 c. cider vinegar
2-4 T. red pepper flakes
1-2 T. black pepper
2 T. salt

Mix all ingredients, bring to a boil, and simmer for 30 minutes to blend all flavors.

All-Purpose Barbecue Rub

Quick, easy, and it's as good as any rub I've tried.

2 T. paprika
2 T. salt
1 T. black pepper, ground
2 t. cayenne, ground

Mix, and press thoroughly into the meat. Wrap in saran wrap, and refrigerate overnight.

Smoking On Your Grill

I'd done the wood chips on charcoal thing, and found it to impart a barely perceptible flavor, hardly worth the money. But then I discovered hardwood chunks, and that completely changed my grilling life.

Hardwood chunks are available at Wal-Mart and Lowe's (and no doubt other places). Back in Indiana, Lowe's carried apple and sometimes pear, in addition to mesquite and hickory. Mesquite and hickory are the only woods I've seen at Wal-Mart, here or there (and Lowe's here only carries those two as well). I prefer mesquite (apple is my second favorite); I find hickory to be too intense and overpowering, but by all means, try it.

I own a grill I can use to either hot or cold smoke (actually, you can hot smoke on any grill), my Brinkman Professional (I also own a smoker, but you don't need one--read on). It cost me about a hundred and fifty bucks at Sam's Club, and it's the best grill I've ever owned. Here are the features you want in your grill:

• Double, side-by-side grills and firepans.
• Moveable firepans (the grills may also be moveable, but it is essential that you be able to move the firepans up and down, independently).
• Ventilation and thermometers for both sides.
• Heavy cast iron or steel grills.
• A mechanism for easy cleaning.

You need side-by-side grills with independently moving firepans for cold smoking, or when you are doing your whole dinner on the grill. The moveable firepans are important. You're much less likely to burn yourself moving the firepan up and down (of course, this assumes there is a mechanism to do it) than you are moving a 500 degree grill up and down. You can also adjust the heat to some extent by moving the firepan up and down.

Ventilation is important to adjust the heat (many people don't seem to realize that adjusting the heat is just as important on a grill as it is on a stove). The only thing my Brinkman doesn't have is adjustable ventilation, but I adjust the heat by moving the firepans up and down, lifing the cover to allow heat to escape, and the amount of fuel I use. Other than that one thing, my Brinkman Professional is the perfect grill. The need for thermometers is, I feel, obvious.

A lot of grills have cheap metal grills. They won't last, and you'll end up replacing them. Get a grill with thick, heavy, cast iron or stainless steel grills. They'll last as long as your grill, they're easier to clean, and they do a better job of charring your food.

Few people think of cleaning the grill when they buy one — so when you shop for a grill, ask yourself how you're going to get rid of the ashes. My Brinkman Professional has a drawer at the very bottom. All I have to do is pull it out, dump it, then slide it back in.

Now, on to smoking.

Hot Smoking

Hot smoking is basically using the grill as you would with charcoal, but using hardwood instead. Always keep the cover closed (but you should do that anyway to keep the grill hot, you know that, right?), just use hardwood instead of charcoal. Hot smoking gives you the char and consistency of grilled food, but a wonderful smoky flavor.

Hot smoke anything. Steaks, ribs, chops, chicken, hamburgers. If you can grill it, hot smoke it. And I promise that after you've done it the first time, you'll never grill over charcoal again.

Cold Smoking

Cold smoking is a completely different cooking process from hot smoking. The food is not placed over direct heat, and the temperature should be always between 200 and 300 degrees. Cold smoking gives you a completely different result from hot smoking.

Cold smoked meat has a characteristic caramel color outside, and will have a pink ring just inside. It gives you very moist, juicy results, and a more intense smoky flavor than hot smoking. Cold smoking perfectly suits pork and chicken, both white, fairly bland meats that most of us prefer to be more or less done.

The thicker the cut of meat, the lower you want the temperature. This is because it will have to cook for a fairly long time to become permeated with smoke. If you cold smoke a pork loin, buy a single loin and not a tied double loin roast (that way, it will be half as thick). If you cold smoke chicken, flatten, halve or quarter it, or cold smoke chicken pieces.

I first remove the grill from the left side, where I light charcoal (I use charcoal to start the initial fire because here, hardwood is a bit more expensive than charcoal). You'll need about twice as much charcoal as you'd use to grill, because you need the fire to burn for at least 2, if not 3 hours or more. While the charcoal is burning down, I place a cake pan of water on the firepan on the right side (where the fire is not); the roast (or whatever) will go on the grill above the water.

Oh. I almost forgot. My Brinkman Professional has a separator between the two grills that blocks the heat (and smoke). I remove this before I light the fire. Sorry about that.

I soak hardwood chunks in water while the coals are burning down. When the coals are grey, I drain the hardwood (make sure you do this completely — you don't want excess water, because it will put out your fire). I place the pork roast on the grill above the water on the right side, then put the soaked hardwood chunks on the coals and close the lid.

Watch the thermometer on the right, or whatever side your meat is on. You don't want the heat to go above 300 at the most (250 is ideal), so adjust your vents accordingly (you can also move the fire down, which will descrease the heat somewhat). Every thirty minutes or so, check the grill; there should be smoke coming out of it. If not, add more soaked hardwood.

Now, by "smoke coming out of the grill," I don't necessarily mean huge clouds of smoke billowing out. That will happen if you don't soak your hardwood, or when you're hot smoking; wet hardwood gives off smoke over heat, but not mushroom clouds of it. You should see some smoke coming out of the grill. If you don't, add more soaked hardwood. You may also have to add more charcoal if your fire starts to burn low (just don't soak it in lighter fluid).

There is no need to turn the meat because it's cooking slowly, and not over direct heat, though if you're basting it, you will want to turn it. The lower the temperature, the smokier the final result will be. If your heat is around 200, check with a meat thermometer after three hours; if your heat is around 300, check after two hours. A pork loin should take about 2.5 hours at around 300.

The first time you do this, you will be amazed at the caramel colored exterior of your roast (or chicken). When you slice it, you will also be amazed at the rosy color inside and how juicy it is. Just wait till you taste it, though!

Barbecuing

Barbecuing is a type of cold smoking. Barbecuing cooks the meat to a greater degree of done-ness than cold smoking (a cold smoked pork roast can be sliced; a barbecued pork roast can be pulled apart with forks, hence the term "pulled pork"). Barbecue may or may not be basted, depending on the region.

Grilling is not barbecuing. If you cook hamburgers and hot dogs over the grill, you are not having a barbecue. You're grilling. There's nothing at all wrong with grilling--it's just not barbecuing.

There are quite a few regional variations. I'll be honest and admit that I strongly prefer the South Carolina camp, either piedmont gold or coastal vinegar, and am not as fond of any tomato-based barbecue. And sorry, but I intensely dislike sweet barbecue sauce (don't even get me started on Kansas City) even more than I do barbecue where there is so much sauce you can't taste the smokiness.

But more on barbecuing later.

Stock Basics

Let's talk stock.

I'm amazed by how few people I know make homemade stock, particularly when it's so simple, and when the difference in quality between homemade and store bought is so … well, I can't think of a word that adequately describes the scope of that difference.

Sorry, but no, that canned chicken broth is not an acceptable substitute, at least not in any recipe where stock is a major ingredient. And that "free range, organic" broth in the carton is no better. (Having said that, if you must go with store bought, Kitchen Basics stock is by far the best available.)

And there's no good excuse for not having homemade on hand, as easy as it is to make, but people know very little about how to make it. So after I get the myths and misconceptions out of the way, I'll tell you how to make amazing chicken and beef stock.

Chicken stock

The biggest misconception people have about chicken stock is that the flavor comes from the chicken meat. It does not. Chicken meat is bland, and you cannot use it to make stock. Try putting a couple of those foul boneless, skinless breasts in a pan, covering them with water, and simmering them for, oh, give it as much time as you have, say a couple of hours. After you remove the inedibly dry breasts, taste the liquid.

Nearly flavorless.

Now try the same experiment with regular breasts (you know, the kind with the bone and skin). Note that the liquid is full of flavor.

Bones, skin, and fat are the ingredients that give stock its richness and flavor — not chicken meat. Bones lend not only flavor, but gelatin, which gives stock that wonderful richness (and makes it gel when refrigerated).

The very best stock is made from the carcass left after you have roasted a chicken (or capon, or even a turkey), much better than just tossing a few chicken pieces (with bone and skin, of course) into a pot with some water, because roasting brings out the flavor in the bones and carmelizes the skin and gives the stock that yellow color. If you don't want to roast a chicken, pick up a couple of those roast chickens at the store (in my experience, they're far too done and dry, but they're good for stock), carve the meat off and eat, then put the carcasses in a large stockpot with as much of the skin as you managed to reserve.

I can hear you now. Yes, technically you can use a crock pot, but you need one large enough (I have a Cuisinart slow cooker that's quite big) and the standard Crock Pots are not close to large enough, and as an aside, I think Crock Pots give stock an odd, almost overcooked flavor. Stock pots are cheap because they don't have to be heavy. Pick up a couple at your local kitchen store.

Heat your oven to 500, spray a baking pan with Pam, and toss in a couple of onions halved, a few stalks of celery, and a few carrots (you don't have to peel or trim any of these, by the way). Roast them for about a half hour, until they're nice and brown. Remove the veggies, peel and all, to the stockpot, then deglaze the pan with some water over high heat, and add it to the pot.

Add water, about two inches above the carcasses. Bring to a boil, then lower to a very slow simmer, cover tightly, and let it go for several hours. Check it every hour or so and keep the level of the water about two inches above the carcasses. I'd cook it about eight hours. You can tell when you've got a nice, rich, stock by looking at it; you should have a nice, dark yellow, fatty stock. If not, keep cooking it.

If you don't want to buy those roasted chickens at the store, you can buy a bunch of necks and backs, or even wings, at the store, and roast them along with the veggies (then proceed as above).

Bones, fat, and skin. Bones, fat, and skin. Bones, fat, and skin.

Strain the stock. If you want, you can degrease it now, but I never do. The reason I don't is because when you refrigerate it, not only will the stock gel, but the fat will rise to the top and solidify, effectively sealing it. What I do when I want to use part of it is take it out of the refrigerator, then remove the fat from the top (it's very easy to do this) and reserve it. I then nuke the stock until it's liquified so I can measure out what I need, then add the fat back in and nuke it until it's melted and the whole container is liquified and very hot. I then put it back in the refrigerator, and the fat always rises to the top, solidifies, and seals it.

Bones, fat, and skin. Bones, fat, and skin. Bones, fat, and skin.

Beef stock

The primary difference between making chicken and beef stock is that unlike chicken meat, beef is not bland. Bones, fat, and meat, with meat being the least important of the three, give you a rich, flavorful beef stock.

I start by buying soup bones, though these days, they're too clean all by themselves to give you a great beef stock. I buy a bunch of oxtails, because they contain lots of great, sawed bones, fat, and beef. If oxtails aren't available, short ribs are a good substitute (though a bit expensive). Or buy a nice big piece of chuck — lots of flavor and that absolutely necessary fat — and use it (and if you're afraid of fat, there's no reason to be. The flavor provided by fat is water soluble, so even after you degrease and use it, you get the flavor. But to make a good stock, you must have fat.)

Again, preheat the oven to 500, and spray a large baking pan with Pam. Put all the bones and oxtails in the pan, then a couple of onions, halved (again, no need to peel the veggies), carrots and celery. Roast until quite dark brown (this is what gives color to your stock, and brings out flavors), then pour the contents of the pan into a large stockpot. Deglaze the pan with some water, and add it to the stockpot. Cover with water, again about two inches, cover tightly, and cook at a very gentle simmer for several hours (eight is always good for stock). Strain and store as directed above.

Final comments

If you don't roast long enough at the beginning, or in the case of beef stock, you don't use enough oxtails, you will end up with a pale stock (this is more likely with beef stock). Add just a couple of tablespoons of dark soy sauce — you won't taste it, but it will give the stock a rich brown color.

Note that I did not give any directions about salt and pepper. This is because you should not season with salt and pepper — especially salt — until the stock has been strained, especially with chicken stock, which will be saltier on its own than beef stock (in fact, you'll be shocked at how "bland" the beef stock tastes until you salt it).

The next time you make soup — and it's getting to be that time of year — instead of using store bought, use homemade stock. Relish the difference!