The happiest recent news in Gastroblogia is that Owen of Tomatilla has revived Paper Chef after a six-month hiatus. Paper Chef was our introduction to the food blogging world, and it’s always been Chopper’s favorite event. He loves the excuse to play.

Now, the irony isn’t lost on us that Owen picked “home” for this month’s theme. Over the past months we’ve rarely ever had time to do much cooking at home. For a while this summer, Chopper was working six days a week with most of those days on shifts that lasted through the dinner hour. “Home” meant “where we crash at the end of a long day” and not much else.

This fall, things are finally looking up in that department, and — quite amazingly — this Paper Chef coincided with two days off wherein we weren’t booked solid with errands and social obligations. Of course those two days were yesterday and Monday so we still ran smack up against (and fell over) today’s deadline. So what else is new?

Given this rare opportunity to play, Chopper gave himself the challenge of creating three dishes: a canapé, a soup, and a main. We picked up a sampling of eggplants and chiles at our favorite Asian market, and for the fish — since smoked swordfish is unheard of in these parts (and I’m not a swordfish fan to begin with) — Chopper found a nice big slab of cod, coated it in spices and threw it on the smoker.

My (ongoing) challenge, in addition to my usual sous chef duties, is to put together a photo post of the day using my old, borrowed camera and Chopper’s computer, which lacks my usual photo editing software. Why that, you ask? Well, remember that computer that needed fixing? Ahhahahah, yup. It’s dead again. Soon as I’m done with this post, I’m constructing a shrine to Saint Isidore.

But first, photos…

Nothing cries home (or rather, messy yard) to us more than sawing up yet another branch of the dead cherry tree to use in the smoker.

Here’s the slab of true cod, freshly spiced.

Stand by for infusion of cherry wood smoke. Mmmmm…

Two and a half hours later, give or take.

Now, to prep some ingredients indoors.

Hey! We can try out that slicer we bought at the neighbors’ yard sale three months ago!

Looking good.

Meanwhile, in a dark corner of the kitchen, Chopper roasts a bell pepper.

Oh, crap. I have to search the yard for our “something from home” ingredients. Nope, those aren’t ready yet.

Hmmm. Tasty, but I’d kind of like to know what it’s going to look like when it grows up.

Ah, there’s herbs somewhere in that mess that used to be a pretty yard.

One herb platter, coming up.

Back in the kitchen, Chopper has peeled and oven-roasted two Chinese eggplants. These are headed for a bowl and an appointment with an immersion blender.

Moments later, the soup is ready, and it’s got a great kick to it. And yes, you can eat the flowers of your rangy, going-to-seed oregano!

Soup before appetizer? Um, we forgot. Probably a good thing as well. These little babies were, well… let’s just say, odd. Very, very odd.

Meanwhile, Chopper has this crazy idea to make his version of a tagine. Trouble is, we don’t own a tagine. Here, back in that dark corner of the kitchen, he forces an earthenware roaster into tagine duty.

Kitchen’s getting messy. Wait a sec. What’s with those hollowed out Indian eggplants? Turns out Chopper’s just thought of a fourth dish, and he’s now tossing ingredients into the food processor.

The ‘tagine’ is ready, and it is delicious. Smoked cod and couscous make a great match.

But… damn. Note for future reference: earthenware roaster + open flame = ex-earthenware roaster. Good thing this was a thrift store find.

One final dish. A simple afterthought. Oven-roasted Indian eggplants filled with a paste made from the extras on hand: bell pepper, garlic, chives, Thai chiles, and more of that delicious cherry-smoked cod. And… wow. This was the best of them all. The paste on top baked to a crust, the eggplant’s innards, baked to mushy goodness, and for the first time, all our featured ingredients perfectly balanced in a single bite.

A simple and exquisite end to a perfect day at home.

Oh. Well, except for that cleaning up the kitchen bit.

(Recipes to follow. Chopper’s at work and my notes are almost as messy as the kitchen.)

One computer overhaul, one banking disaster, one hosting nightmare, and one canine prison-break later… (Phew!)

No, we’re not done with the pig’s blood just yet.

In fact, I’ve a feeling there could be 38 different dishes you can cook with Black Pudding. Thirty-eight at the very least.

Not that I plan on naming them all here.

In fact, I’ll just mention two or three.

First off: Chopper’s Lancashire Hotpot. He made this one on the Saturday after the black pudding was done and served it to unsuspecting guests. The guests were quite pleased and went back to the kitchen for seconds.

That Sunday morning, Chopper made a scramble with spinach, onion, more bits of black pudding, and the last remaining smidge of Lancashire Hotpot. It too was quite tasty, though it could have used something sweet to temper the spinach/onion/pig’s blood nexus.

Enter, apples. Inspired by denzylle’s comment on our Happy Entrails to You post, Chopper created a frittata wherein the black pudding mixed it up with tasty, crunchy bits of Granny Smith apple and the whole thing was topped with grated kasseri.

We declared it tasty and wolfed it down, thus ending Black Pudding Days at casa Belly Timber after only three dishes.

Only three? Surely there must be more!

Now, I’d offer up a challenge to see who can come up with the largest number of black pudding variations, but to be perfectly honest, after writing this post up I think I’m quite ready to move on from pig’s blood for at least a short while. So instead, because we’re never completely done with All Things British in these parts, and because we believe in extending all birthday celebrations at least a week and a half, your challenge (with a hat tip to Riba Rambles for the meme) is this:

Grab a pencil and paper and without looking at any resources, see if you can list all 38 (most commonly agreed upon) Shakespeare plays. And don’t give me any of that silly Francis Bacon really wrote them twaddle.

Mmm…. bacon.

(End note: This post was written last week, but MizD’s woefully uncooperative digestive system has prevented her from thinking joyful thoughts about food for several days running. At this very moment, in fact, she is resisting the urge to gaze longingly at photos of dark chocolate.)

Is English food a joke?

No! It’s not a joke, it’s an adventure!

I happen to believe one should firmly embrace one’s ancestors’ culinary traditions. Especially when one has ancestors who interbred, had bad teeth, killed one another off on a regular basis, and consumed far too many unnervingly rich, meat-based dishes.

I am, of course, talking about the Plantagenets. We’ve got a chart somewhere around here. On it, I can draw a rather crooked line from me back to Henry II. Not that I particularly want to be related to the king who offed Thomas Becket, but I am happy to claim a few other connections, including the fellow on the right here, who was, despite what those bratty Tudors say, a pretty decent guy.

I bet he ate some damned tasty food before riding off into battle.

Like this crazy thing Chopper’s making.

It looks like a sausage, but he tells me it’s called Black Pudding. I am told it is tasty and not at all dangerous. Not like that Black Pudding that enveloped and digested Timion Vayla, my second level paladin in the Dungeon of Aeras Kinth. Boy, was that a bad night.

No, this Black Pudding is made from tasty things like oatmeal and onions. Oh, and pig’s blood. Lots of pig’s blood. Turns out our local Asian market sells pig’s blood by the pint, and when Chopper made this discovery, I knew we were left with only two choices: Black Pudding or a reenactment of the prom night sequence from Carrie. Since the latter would mean a Chopper impersonation of John Travolta, we opted for the Black Pudding.

Now, I haven’t tasted it yet, so I can’t tell you anything about the results. I can tell you that it’s quite black (the hour and a half plus in the oven congealed the blood quite nicely), and the sausage stuffing procedure was quite messy. So messy, in fact, I may have give up that fantasy I have about CSI Warrick Brown showing up at the door with a spray bottle of Luminol. Far, far too risky.

On the bright side, no prom dresses were ruined in the procedure, and I’d like to think we did my Plantagenet ancestors proud. Especially the ones who preferred a good feast over a good beheading.

(Next: we devour the happy entrails and live to tell the tale.)

Most people recoil in horror when they are told what the primary ingredient is in the classic Mexican breakfast dish menudo. No, it’s not Ricky Martin…

The first time I ever tried menudo was at a tiny Mexican cafe in San Diego back in the mid-nineties. My friends told me it was good, and having never heard of it before — I was rather young — I ordered it. Little did I know I was about to have a “Mikey” moment, where my friends were just seeing if I’d eat it. Well, I did, and I really liked it, especially the little tender chewy bits.

“What was that?” I asked my friends as they were about to burst into laughter…

That’s right, beef tripe. Stomach of cow. The funny part for me was that I didn’t mind.

Now, I’ve always been up for a good experiment, so why not try my hand at this culinary gem?

I think I did it justice. It was spicy the way I like it, and the texture was just like I remember. It was good enough for Mrs. D to give it a try. In her words…

Chopper sez: So, I’ll consider this experiment in Chopper’s lab a success. What’s next, you may ask… Just wait and see.

MizD sez: Braaaains, I tell you. Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiins. (Hey, what can I say? We’re only seven and a half weeks from Halloween.)

Pizza. This crusty Italian pie has become one of the most popular foods in the world. And, everywhere pizza is made a different approach is taken. From the crispy, thin crusted, simply topped, New York style, to the hearty, cheesy, thick crusted pan style pizza of Chicago, to the “specialty gourmet” pizzas that originated on the west coast, and infinite others, pizza is one of the most diverse food offerings to share a single name.

Pizza’s humble beginnings can be dated all the way back to the 6th century B.C., when Persian soldiers baked a simple flat bread on their shields which were placed over top of camp fires, topping the bread with cheese and dates. In the following centuries this simple, easy to prepare food became popular in Rome, and evidence of shops that bear a striking resemblance to more contemporary pizzerias has been found in the unearthed ruins of Pompeii which date back to the year 79 A.D.

Pizza didn’t reach the U.S., though, until the early 20th century, when an Italian immigrant, Gennaro Lombardi, is widely known to have opened the first Pizzeria in New York City in 1905.

Pizza later spread to the “second city.” In 1943, Chicago-style deep-dish pizza was created by Ike Sewell at his now well-known establishment called Pizzeria Uno (which later became a nation-wide chain).

In 1945, American soldiers that had been stationed in Italy during World War II returned, bringing a taste for the savory pie with them — so much so, that a mere three years later, in 1948, a niche was found, and the first “kit” was produced that allowed pizza to be made at home, called “Roman Pizza Mix.”

The popularity of pizza in the U.S. really took off in the 1950s, however. Americans really started noticing pizza when Italian-American celebrities such as Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Durante, Jerry Colonna, and Joe DiMaggio all could be seen enjoying pizza. Then, in 1957 frozen pizzas were introduced by the Celentano Brothers, and could be found in local grocery stores. Soon afterward, pizza became the most popular of all frozen foods.

Pizza has had a long and, for the most part, illustrious history. From its obscure beginnings as a simple food for soldiers on the march, to its modern incarnations where just about anything goes, pizza will continue to be enjoyed the world over.

Now, after that long-winded overview of my favorite pie, here’s my version!

There, that’s all the components. Though, you may want to add some vegetables to your pie as well.

Now, I really like Chicago style, deep dish pizza. And the best part of making it is that you don’t really need a pizza stone (though having one would still be nice). All you really need is a good cast iron pan.

Preheat your oven to its highest possible setting (most just say “broil” which is fine, but if yours goes up to 550 F, you’re good to go).

By now your dough should be well rested, and about twice its previous size. Turn it out of the bowl, and “punch” it down to get rid of any oversized air pockets. This should be enough dough to make two or three ten inch pizzas.

For that size you’ll need 10 oz of dough, rolled thin enough to line your pan from edge to edge, and all the way up the sides as well.

Then ladle in your sauce and spread evenly, make sure not to add too much, or your crust will be soggy.

Now, here comes the first layer of cheese. Since Mrs. D is lactose intolerant, we scoured the cheese aisle at our local market to find something we could use, and we did! There’s a wonderful Greek sheep/goat cheese called Kasseri, “the melting cheese of Greece.” Mrs. D was jubilant. Anyway, layer on about 1/2 a pound over the sauce, then add your condiments, in this case split meatballs, mushrooms, black olives, and red onions, and fresh roma tomatoes.

Place your panned creation in your oven and cook for 15 minutes, or until the crust turns a deep brown. And, there you have it. Pizza a ‘la Chopper!

When most people I know (sans culinary classmates) think about Mexican food, they tell me they think of the gooey enchilada, the ubiquitous burrito, and the omnipresent taco. But, the cuisine enjoyed south of the border is far more complex and diverse than the commonly known combination of meat, beans, cheese, and tortillas.

With the passing of Cinco de Mayo yesterday, I thought it appropriate to reflect on the amazing foods of the former Spanish colony.

I mention the Spanish because their influence on the region, harsh as it was, can’t be ignored. For instance, the Spanish introduced pork and chicken to the region, and can you imagine a Mexican restaurant without either of those things on the menu? They also introduced European methods as well, such as roasting, deep-frying (mmmm, chimichangas), and my personal favorite, ceviche.

Separation from the European continent caused development to go in different directions, however. For instance, Mexico developed their own set of “mother sauces”: Rojo — a red sauce based on sweet and spicy chiles, Verde — a sour green sauce based primarily on tomatillos, and Moles — highly complex sauces based on chiles, fruit, nuts, seeds, and sometimes chocolate.

Three major regions of Mexico have had the greatest effect on the cuisine. We start with Vera Cruz, the region north of the Yucatan peninsula (more on that below), extending up to the border with the United States. Foods here are, for the most part, dominated by Spanish and Mediterranean influences. Fish and shellfish are common here, as well as the use of garlic and olive oil. Rice is the most common starch, and the use of spices is less common than herbs, such as cilantro, and epazote. Also, it is not uncommon to find cream-based white sauces in the regional cuisine.

From Vera Cruz we go south, to Oaxaca. Home of the Zapotecs, and meeting place for the Mayans, birthplace of Mescal (known by another name here in the states: Tequila. Mmmm… tequila, sez Mrs D...), and of wonderful coffees grown in the mountains. It is also known as the “land of seven moles.” Oaxacan food is known for is generous use of spices, primary among them being cinnamon, allspice, and cloves. Many aromatic stews and braised items are common. And of course, as mentioned earlier, moles.

Most of the people I know (again, classmates excluded) who even know what a mole is, automatically assume it to be a dark sauce flavored with chocolate. In fact there are seven distinct moles, only two containing chocolate.

Mole Amarillo — a yellow mole based on yellow chiles and thickened with masa.
Mole de Castillo — sweet spices (cloves, allspice, etc), thickened with day old bread.
Mole Chichilo — a dark red mole based on chiles and avocado leaves, also thickened with masa.
Mole Coloradito — flavored primarily with fruits and chocolate.
Mole Manchamantel — known as the “tablecloth stainer” for its use of achiote paste.
Mole Negro — the black, or burnt mole, all ingredients must be charred, fruits and chocolate are common.
Mole Pepian — known for its use of pumpkin seeds.
Mole Rojo — the red mole, based on chiles, also sometimes thickened with day old bread
Mole Verde — based on tomatillos, green tomatoes, and fresh herbs.

Last, but certainly not least, there is the pyramid-riddled Yucatan peninsula. Primarily Mayan in its influences, employing milder flavors; Achiote paste is extraordinarily common, as are black beans, pumpkin seeds, pibil (a stew/sauce used with various meats), pickled onion, sour orange, and hard cooked eggs.

The amazing diversity in Mexican cuisine rivals that of China and Southeast Asia. Personally, there’s nothing better on a balmy spring night than a bowl of my mole negro chili, and a refreshing Corona. Happy belated Cinco de Mayo!