Pan-fried pork chops, inspired by friends

San Francisco has no shortage of good places to shop for groceries, and my newest discovery is Falletti Foods. I'd never really noticed this charming place until I began eating at Nopalito, which, as you know, I am completely obsessed with. Nopalito is next door to Falletti's. Often, after a delicious dinner of carnitas, sturgeon tacos, and enchiladas en mole (followed by homemade popsicles in Cinnamon Chocolate and Cafe con Leche), the husband and I would emerge in happy little food comas and notice the bustling market.

"We should check that out," one of us would say.

"Yes," the other would reply, "but not now. I can't look at any more food. Take me home so I can put on my pajamas."

And so went the cycle. Poor Falletti's.

But one day the stars aligned and I ended up there on a day when I had not just shortened my life with the best Mexican food on the planet and was therefore able to walk around and shop like a normal, non-stuffed person. And I discovered that Falletti's is really something special.

In addition to the usual niceties which are de rigeur here, including cheeses from Cowgirl Creamery and a rockin' produce section, they also have an amazing meat counter, including sausages made on site. And did I mention they sell Humphry Slocombe ice cream? If you can swallow the price ($8 for a pint!), you might have your whole ice cream world as you know it turned upside down.

What I'm leading up to here is that this place is awesome. I mean, you do the math:

Storemade sausage +  Vietnamese coffee ice cream + FREE PARKING = happy Hungry Dog.

So, I stopped by on Tuesday and picked up some pork chops. I'd had pork chops on the brain ever since I saw Mark's post over at Egg to the Apples for Coca Cola pork chops. I'd also recently been inspired by Croque-Camille, who had mentioned the idea of making red cabbage with apples.

So there you are: pan-fried pork chops with red cabbage and apples.

There are a few other ingredients in there--including leeks (the little greenish squares in the photos), and thyme, which I sprinkled over the chops before tossing them in the pan. But it was a pretty simple dinner.

Now, before you say, "Hungry Dog, cool it with the cabbage already!" let me break the bad news, which is that this is not the last cabbage post you're gonna see in the next few days. Look, when you get a CSA box delivered, you eat what they bring. Recently, they've been bringing a lot of cabbage. Apparently this is what it means to eat seasonally: in the spring you get beautiful crimson strawberries; in the winter you get humongous cabbages that each seem to weigh about 10 lbs and will not spoil no matter how long you ignore them. In fact, they just seem to get bigger and angrier. Sooner or later, you must reward them for their perserverance and do something with them.

Luckily I don't mind cabbage too much. But coming up with new ideas for it has been challenging. So thanks to my friends (even if they are virtual!) for the inspiration.

Married people are supposed to share

You know what's sad? The end of vacation.

The husband had two glorious weeks off and spent them footloose and fancy free. I had a sprinkling of days off too, during which I followed his lead, enjoying myself at every chance. We had drinks with friends, went to the movies, and wandered through a natural history museum. We each finished a couple of books. And we fit in some eating here and there.

Last Wednesday, we met up with some good friends at one of our favorite restaurants, Firefly, in Noe Valley. Over shrimp and scallop potstickers, roasted duck with kumquats, and ginger cake with quince marmalade, we rang in the new year a day early.

The next night, which was New Year's Eve, we stayed in, playing records that the husband had dug up on his recent trip home to Kentucky and shipped out. I made filet mignon with cabernet-thyme sauce and mashed potatoes. We drank a fancy bottle of wine that we had been saving for a year.

On Friday night, which turned out to be misty and gorgeous, we met up with some other friends at a sleek bar on Haight street called The Alembic. We settled in at a cozy table, drank spicy cocktails filled with whiskey and cognac, and nibbled on cumin-scented nuts, warm olives, and a fabulous cheese plate.

And then there were these sweet, lemony, crumbly-topped blueberry streusel muffins, courtesy of the Barefoot Contessa.

These little guys had me freaking out a little. To be totally frank, they tasted like cupcakes, although not because they were overly sweet. But they were rich like cake, with a soft crumb. I guess there wasn't much that was muffiny about them except for the fact that there was no frosting. Cupcakes must have frosting, it's a rule. So, I think I can get away with calling these muffins and eating them for breakfast. (Note to self: these would be mighty fine with a lemon-cream cheese frosting.)

I made a half recipe which yielded 10 muffins, which meant two each on Saturday, and two each on Sunday.

Today, there were only two muffins left, which of course we shared, because we love each other. Plus, we both knew there were two left; it would have been tough for me to get my paws on both without the husband noticing. Although, I could make quick work of them, I'll tell you that. One muffin might take about one minute to eat, especially if I was alone.

But when you're married, you say things like, "What's mine is yours," and "Of course I want to share," and "Please, take the last one!" and other things that make sense when you're talking about a bag of potato chips or a book of stamps. I'm positive those phrases were not conceived of with these little cupcakes muffins in mind.

In any case, married people are supposed to share, whatever the item in question. So, I dutifully packed one up for the husband and ate the last one myself, right before I left for work. I tried to eat it slowly, and stretch it out over at least five minutes.

Goodbye, vacation.

Goodbye, blueberry streusel muffins. 

Sigh.

 

 * Sorry, I could not find a link to the exact recipe on the Food Network site. This recipe is from BC's newest cookbook, Back to Basics.

Pasta alla amatriciana (alla Hungry Dog)

What's the recipe you turn to on a busy weeknight, when you haven't thought ahead and shopped for groceries, and you must make do with pantry staples?

In my house, the answer is, without a doubt: pasta alla amatriciana.

What makes this dish so great for a weeknight? For one thing, I always have the ingredients on hand. For another, you can give Rachael Ray a run for her money and whip it up in under 30. And did I mention it's unarguably delicious? Spicy, bacony, tomato-y pasta? Yes, please!

There's been a slow evolution to my pasta alla amatriciana. I started off using Marcella Hazan's recipe but after many years of making it, I've adapted the proportions to suit my preferences. I'm afraid the changes are quintessentially American: I've substituted bacon for pancetta, and upped the amount (um...we like pork); instead of using parmesan and romano I just use whichever I happen to have; and I add way more tomatoes than Marcella's recipe calls for, for two reasons: 1) I don't like using a fraction of a can of tomatoes and then having to drum up another use for the leftovers and 2) I like pasta with more sauce. I understand that this is not the way Italians eat their pasta, but in case you hadn't figured it out, I am totally not Italian. And as a Chinese-Swedish-Finnish California native, I don't feel too bad saying that my amatriciana sauce, authentic or not, is pretty damn good.

Here's the recipe, my friends. If you don't eat pork, skip the recipe altogether: there's just no point in making this sauce without it.

Pasta alla amatriciana (alla Hungry Dog)

1lb. pasta (I like penne)

1 onion, chopped
2 T. vegetable oil
1T. butter
5 slices bacon, chopped
1 28-oz can plum tomatoes, chopped up
2 dried chilies (the ones I usually have on hand are arbol chilies)
1/2 c. grated parmesan, plus more for serving

Heat oil and butter in a saute pan over medium heat. Add onion, and cook gently for about 5 minutes, until translucent. Do not let it brown.

Add bacon and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute. The bacon should not get crispy.

Add tomatoes, a hefty sprinkling of salt, and break the two chili peppers into the sauce, releasing the seeds. Chuck the pepper husks in too. Give the whole pan a good stir. Once the sauce is simmering at a medium simmer, let it go for 20-25 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Cook pasta to al dente, and drain.

Fish the dried chili pepper husks out and taste the sauce for seasoning. Add more salt if necessary, then toss with the hot pasta. Add cheese and toss again.

Serve with additional grated cheese and a bottle of red.