Chi Tea: Take 2

              When I finish answering a question with the phrase, “But I really don’t know why I think that,” you probably shouldn’t believe my answer.  I have a tendency to get false ideas stuck in my head; ideas that I will foolishly act on. This is not a trait you want to have when you cook; especially if you only have one chance to get it right.    

               On Valentine’s Day this year, I got two cards in the mail and one small manila envelope (and no flowers or chocolate from my boyfriend).  The first card was from an always thoughtful mother of one of my friends back home.  The second was from my mother, containing two pieces of mail that were mistakenly sent to my home address (she also didn’t include chocolate, or even three stick of bubble gum like she used to send me in her letters when I was at camp).  The small manila envelope was from my sister, and it contained five tea bags, a Ziploc bag full of cardamom, cloves, peppercorns, and cinnamon, and $2 labeled “milk money.”  It was everything I needed to make the chi tea that my pocketbook forbade me making in my previous post. 

                I was excited to make the chi, but the spices smelled so go, that I left then by my bed for a week.  It was like falling asleep in India all over again.  Last night, knowing that Annie and Tony are coming up on Saturday, I decided to make chi.  With the limited number of spices Annie sent me, I knew I only had one chance to get the chi right.  Everything went smoothly until I had to add the sweetened condensed milk.  Like I mentioned before, I have a tendency to make false assumptions, based on poor logic.  Normally when you cook and it calls for ingredients found a can, you dump the whole can in.  So I dumped the whole can of sweetened condensed milk into the chi.

                Initially, when I first tried the chi, I was ecstatic.  The blend of spices in this recipe is the closest to what I tasted in India.  However, half a cup later, the sugar was overwhelming me, and I was struggling to finish my cup.  I thought it was strange, since I had followed the recipe.  Curious to when even my sweet tooth was on overload, I rechecked the recipe and realized that I should have only put in half a can of sweetened condensed milk. 

                So this afternoon, I am going to bundle up, scrape the ceaseless Wyoming snow off my car and head out to Wal-Mart to buy tea bags, and make this recipe again, minus the sweetened condensed milk. Luckily, I have some spices left over.  Hopefully when I mix the unsweetened chi with the overly sweetened chi, they will equal each other out.  Tomorrow, if Annie and Tony will be able to make it up over the I-80 pass (which always seems to be closed in winter) or over the Hwy 287 pass (which should be closed more during the winter), they will be able to enjoy a cup of chi that is slightly less sweet.  

               

*For recipe, go look at the previous post labeled "chi tea"

Chicken Tortilla Soup

What is white, squishable, and comes in a can?  Hominy, so if you make this recipe, don’t bother googling what hominy is, you’ll find in the bean section.  I like to think of hominy as the albino version of the black bean, or the bean who didn’t get his tan on last summer.  At least I think it’s a bean; if its not, I’m sure my expert-chef brother-in-law Tony will correct me in the comments section.  When Hannah, Alyx, and I first found this recipe online, we had no idea what hominy was, and we didn’t think that a Wyoming Walmart would actually have it.  Turns out it must be pretty common since Walmart even carried a generic version of it, saving us 17 cents.  I am sure that the last sentence makes Hannah, Alyx, and I seem very competent; but don’t worry we will finish college. 

        Making the soup went off without a hitch, probably because instead of cooking, I was pre-gaming. Now I don’t mean pre-gaming in the traditional sense, but rather snacking on all the ingredients before we put them into the soup.  I ate a good chuck of the French bread, as well as a good proportion of the black beans, cheese, and tortilla chips.  This is one of the reasons that I never wanted to start cooking, because when I cook its highly likely that I will eat through all the ingredients before they make it into the finished product.  By the time the soup was done, I could barely finish a bowl.  But the bowl that I did have was pretty darn good.  This is definitely a recipe to try. 

1 onion, chopped

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 teaspoons chili powder

1 teaspoon dried oregano

1 (28 ounce) can crushed tomatoes

1 (10.5 ounce) can condensed chicken broth

1 1/4 cups water

1 cup whole corn kernels, cooked

1 cup white hominy

1 (4 ounce) can chopped green chile peppers

1 (15 ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained

1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro

2 boneless chicken breast halves, cooked and cut into bite-sized pieces

crushed tortilla chips

sliced avocado

shredded Monterey Jack cheese

chopped green onions

1. In a medium stock pot, heat oil over medium heat. Sauté onion and garlic in oil until soft. Stir in chili powder, oregano, tomatoes, broth, and water. Bring to a boil, and simmer for 5 to 10 minutes.
2. Stir in corn, hominy, chilies, beans, cilantro, and chicken. Simmer for 10 minutes.
3. Ladle soup into individual serving bowls, and top with crushed tortilla chips, avocado slices, cheese, and chopped green onion.

Enchiladas

1 lb lean ground beef

1 medium onion, chopped ½ cup

½ cup sour cream

1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

¼ teaspoon pepper

1/3 cup chopped green bell pepper

2/3 cup water

1 tablespoon chili powder

1 ½ teaspoons fresh oregano

¼ teaspoon ground cumin

1 can (4 oz) chopped green chilies, drained

1 clove garlic, finely chopped

1 can (15 oz) tomato sauce

8 tortillas

Shredded cheese, sour cream, and onions if desired

1.       Heat oven to 350

2.       In 10 inch skillet, cook beef over medium heat 8 to 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until brown; drain.  Stir in onion, sour cream, 1 cup cheese, parsley and pepper. Cover and remove from heat

3.       In 2 quart saucepan, heat bell pepper, water, chili powder, oregano, cumin, chilies, garlic, and tomatoes sauce to boiling, stirring occasionally; reduce heat.  Simmer uncovered 5 minutes. Pour into ungreased 9 inch pie plate.

4.       Dip each tortilla into sauce in pie late to coat both sides. Spoon about ¼ cup beef mixture onto each tortillas; roll around filling. Place seam side down in ungreased 11x7 inch glass baking dish. Pour remaining sauce over enchiladas

5.       Bake uncovered about 20 minutes until bubbly.  Garnish with shredded cheese, sour cream and onions. 

When you’re learning how to cook, just like when you’re learning how to bike, it’s always good to have someone close by, just in case you fall or almost dump too much of something in (unless it’s vanilla; my brother claims you can never put in too much vanilla).  Fortunately for me, Hannah was busy reading the literary theorist Spivak, who is about as dense as the ingredient list, when I happened to comment that I thought this recipe called for a lot of garlic.  Hannah inquired how much, and I held up the whole garlic (which I now know, thanks to Google, is called the head).  She gave me a quizzical look, and asked “are you sure it called for that?”  To which I replied, “Yeah, it called for one clove of garlic.”  Hannah laughed, and said that a clove of garlic was actually just one little chuck of the garlic head.  Thanks to Hannah, disaster was averted.   

                While the rest of the cooking went as smoothly as possible for someone of my talent, with me only almost forgetting to mix in the first four ingredients with the beef, the enchiladas turned out to be edible.  Hannah like them more than I did, but sour cream doesn’t sit well with my taste buds; I naïvely thought that the sour cream flavor would bake out, just as the rum bakes out in a rum cake.  As usual, my logic ended up proving false.  The onions also were a bit of a spoiler, since I forgot to cook them with the beef so when they came out of the oven and into my mouth, they were a bit crunchy. Next time, I think I’ll make extra sauce to mix in with the meat, since the sauce was quite good.  However, they were much improved the next morning.  I made the full recipe so I had eight enchiladas to eat, so I figured that I better beat the moldy microbes to my Mexican fiesta.  

Ratatouille

Ingredients:

1.       Old house (100+ years or older work best)

2.       Holes in Walls (either self-made, or natural)

3.       Hair (the more the better)

4.       Mice (if you’re on the timid side) or Rats (if your gutsy)

The other morning I woke up and realized that I had made a new friend during the night.  Curled up in my hair was a little mouse, who I am sure, set safely behind glass in a pet store, would have been quite cute.  However, the lack of a thin pain of glass makes quite a difference on your perception towards a creature. I don’t know how long he had been there, but his little claws created a slight tugging on my hair.  I was up in an instant, and on the opposite side of the room.  He wasn’t nearly as phased as I was; he simply sat there for a bit, as if wondering why I had ruined his warm bed and then scampered back to his hole.  Knowing I had to get rid of my accidently made “Ratatouille,” and saying a quick prayer of thanks for 24 hour Wal-marts, I grabbed my keys and began to formulate how I was going to get rid of the leftovers. 

What to do with your leftover Ratatouille:

1.       4 am trip to Wal-mart

2.       $35 worth of d-Con mice traps

3.       Peanut Butter (Natural Skippy works best)

4.       Patience

Spicy Chicken in Peanut Sauce

                One poor decision that I repeatedly make in my life is going grocery shopping when I am hungry.  Suddenly everything from Super Pretzels to Little Debbie Zebra Cakes look appetizing (except that Zebra Cakes always look good).  This time I managed to make it through Wal-mart without indulging any of my sinful pleasures, because I knew that I was going to go home and make Spicy Chicken.   My roommate Hannah and her friend Alex were also over, and we decided to make it together.  My excitement mounted as I open the cookbook, but the moment I turned to page 159, I wished that I had brought the Zebra Cakes because I knew that I wouldn't be able to make Spicy Chicken tonight. 

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive or vegetable oil

8 large chicken thighs (I used chicken breasts)

1 large onion, chopped

2 cans (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes with green chilies, undrained

1 can (14.5 oz) crust tomatoes, undrained

2 tablespoons honey

1 ½ teaspoon ground cumin

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/3 cup creamy peanut butter

2 cups hot couscous*

*we used pita bread because, for reasons I do not know, wrote pita bread on my grocery list instead of couscous. 

1.       In a nonstick skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Cook chicken in oil about 4 minutes, turning once, until brown

2.       In 4 to 5 quart slow cooker, mix onion, diced and crushed tomatoes, honey, cumin, and cinnamon.  Add chicken. Spoon mixture over chicken.

3.       Cover and cook on low heat for 7 to 8 hours

4.       Stir in peanut butter until melted and well blended. Serve chicken and sauce over couscous.  

Luckily, Alex had a bit more cooking experience than I do, and decided that we could sauté the recipe instead of putting it in the crock pot for 7 to 8 hours.  I was a little hesitant, because of the hummus experience, as also because if this was a failure, bean tacos were our only other dinner option. Bean tacos didn’t sound too satisfying to Alex and Hannah, who have little more sophisticated taste than I do, so we decided to sauté the recipe instead.  Here is what we did:

1.       First, we followed step number on the original recipe, and part way through cooking the chicken we added onions since Alex said they should be cooked longer. 

2.       One the chicken was done; we dumped everything else except the peanut butter into the pan.

3.       Once it had simmered for a while, we pulled it off the burner and added the peanut butter.

While my directions may seem vague in comparison to the original, don’t be too concerned.  This recipe, even with our alternative cooking method was amazing.  It was by far the best dish I have ever cooked; although that is really not a substantial claim since I haven’t cooked that much.  Whether you make this in the slow cooker or on the stove, it is definitely worth the effort.  

Chi Tea

After the hummus learning experience, I decided to make chi tea, something that I have been craving since I got back from India.  While you can buy a variety of chi types at Starbucks and Caribou, American chi simply doesn't compare, so when I found this recipe, I was eager to give it a try.

2 cups water

¼ cup loose Darjeeling tea leaves or 5 tea bags black tea

2 cups whole or 2% milk

1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom

2 whole cloves, crushed

2 to 4 black peppercorns, crushed

Pinch of ground cinnamon

¼ cup sweetened condensed milk or 4 teaspoons sugar
  
In 2-quart saucepan, heat water to a rapid boil over medium-high heat; reduce heat to low.
Add tea leaves; simmer 2 to 4 minutes to blend flavors. If using tea bags, remove and discard
Stir in remaining ingredients except sweetened-condensed milk.  Heat to boiling
 Stir in sweetened condensed milk. Strain through strainer into cups. 

Just typing this recipe reminds me of the perfectly flavored Indian chi, of which I drank pots.  If you have ever been to India, you know that it is a wash of different smells, and not all of them pleasant.  However, amidst the smells of sandalwood, sewage, street venders, and a host of smells I could rarely identify, I quickly learned to identify the subtly sweet aroma with a hint of cardamom that meant chi was nearby.  I happened to be in Delhi during one of their coldest Januarys on record, and having only brought one sweater since I was going to “tropical” India, the warmth that trickled down my throat always stopped my shivering. When the high hit –20 last week in Wyoming, I was eager to make chi to warm me up.  Unfortunately, I remained as frozen as 1997 Honda CRV (which wouldn’t start all week), because I now that cardamom costs about $10 for a little bottle, and cloves and peppercorns another $5 each.  A college student’s budget doesn’t allow for spending $20 on about a teaspoon of spices.  So if you make this recipe, let me know if it’s worth $20.  

Hummus

After briefly browsing through the cookbook, I settled on making hummus.  I have always liked hummus, and I figured it might make a nice substitution to my daily peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch.  The recipe is as follows:

1 can garbanzo beans, drained

¼ cup olive oil or vegetable oil

1 clove garlic, cut in half

2 tablespoons lemon juice

½ teaspoon salt

Fresh parsley

Pita bread wedges, crackers or raw vegetables

1.       In blender or food processor, place bans, oil, garlic, lemon juice and salt. Cover and blend on high speed, stopping blender occasionally to scrape sides until uniform consistency.

2.       Spoon into serving dish. Garnish with parsley. Serve with pit bread.

At first glance, the recipe seems easy enough; and for most people, it would be.  I, however, am the exception.  Sometimes completing the simplest processes seem to elude me, and often my boyfriend, Tyler, questions how I have made it so far in life when I can’t figure out how to turn the oven on.    My problems with this recipe started before I began cooking.  Wal-mart was out of some critical ingredients, but, surprisingly, I was so excited to make hummus that I decided to improvise.  This was probably my first mistake.  Wal-mart was out of garlic cloves, parsley, and pita bread.  I decided to use minced garlic, skip the parsley all together, and use French bread. My second mistake was more due to my laziness than to Wal-mart’s incapability to keep common items in stock. After Wal-mart, my boyfriend and I decided to go back to his place rather than stop back and my house to pick up the cookbook.  Having looked over the recipe, I thought I knew what I was doing.  It turns out, however, that salt is a critical ingredient.   I didn’t have it written down on my list since I didn’t need to buy any.  So in addition to the missing parsley, pita bread, and fresh garlic, I forgot to put in the salt.  With over half of the recipe being improvised, the hummus was less than desirable to put it politely, and definitely not a sufficient substitute for my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  My roommates, ever faithful in this endeavor of mine, tried to help me refine it, but we accidently ended up dumping about a ¼ of a cup of cayenne pepper into the hummus.  After this disaster, I wondered what I was going to do with the other 3 cans of garbanzo beans that I brought in my zealous mood at Wal-mart. 

Step 1

My first step in learning how to cook was easy:  I unwrapped the plastic around the cookbook.   Not really knowing where to start and slightly bored, I decided to read the introductory letter from “Betty Crocker,” who I am sure is actually some starving freelancer somewhere.  The letter starts out saying that the cookbook is filled with “the best—the best recipes, the best photos, and the best ideas for how you cook today.”  I am excited about the photos, but then I realize I will always have to compare my outcomes with the Photoshop food in the book.  The letter goes on to say “Betty Crocker is here to help you express your creativity through cooking,” and I’m thinking, “What creativity?  I subsisted on four meals the last year and a half of college.”  Flipping further into the introduction, I am relieved to see that the cookbook is quite user friendly to non-cookers since it defines what “microwave” means, and even has a section called “The Magic of Microwaves.”  However, once I hit the ingredients glossary, I further reminded of why I haven’t conquered cooking, because I do not know how I would get a hold of Hungarian wax chilies in the middle of Wyoming.  I read though the definitions of Enoki and Crimini mushrooms, and I think that they are definitely not the kind of mushrooms that my fellow peers are buying.  When the authors define an oyster mushroom as “graceful,” I close the book, thinking that watching my friends play Call of Duty is better than trying to figure out how an oyster mushroom can ever be graceful.  “I’ll start cooking tomorrow,” I think to myself.