Popover 2: Electric Boogaloo

Depending on how old you were in 1984, the title of this post may be lost on you. And if it is, ultimately that just makes you cooler than me. But if you were anywhere between the ages of, oh, say, 8 and 35, you might know of the wildly popular and spectacularly terrible movie about breakdancing to which I refer: Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo.

I was 11 in December 1984 when I saw Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo. I had already seen the prequel to this fine film, Breakin', which had been released the summer of the same year--clearly the producers were all too aware that the window of popularity for two such ridiculous films was fairly small. I think even at the age of 11, I realized this movie franchise was a bomb, and by early 1985 I had moved on to slightly better cinematic works such as The Goonies.

In any case, in our house, when something requires a sequel or a do-over, it's often referred to as (blank) 2: Electric Boogaloo. And this morning, I decided it was time for Popover 2: Electric Boogaloo.

You may recall that a few months ago I attempted to make popovers with incredibly poor results. They emerged as homely little stumps, which, while they tasted perfectly fine, did not come close to meeting the standards set for me by the fashionable and highly mockable Rotunda Room.

My post about popovers--or flopovers, as the husband dubbed them-- elicited quite a bit of helpful advice from readers, not the least of which was: get a popover pan. Lo and behold, a popover pan was given to me for my birthday in November. With the right equipment in hand, I just needed a new recipe.

I decided this time to go with nerdy and reliable Baking Illustrated. I love this cookbook, and it has yet to disappoint me. The recipe differed slightly from the Mark Bittman recipe I used earlier: it called for vegetable oil, resting the batter before baking, and using a real popover pan.

Once the batter was assembled and rested, I poured it into the preheated pan. Because I am poor at eyeballing things, I only filled five of the six cups before I ran out of batter. But because the batter begins to cook the moment you pour it, there was no fixing my error. Into the oven they went.

And 35 minutes later, this is how they emerged.

Total popovers!

The husband came over to check them out and after inhaling the lovely, bready scent and admiring their crusty little balloon bodies, he turned to me with dead shark eyes and said, "I'm going to eat at least 2.5 of those."

He may be bigger and taller than me, but I can go head-to-head with him on any baked good (perhaps not something to brag about, but the irrefutable truth). "Mm hmm," I murmured sweetly, "2.5 is exactly what you'll get."

The nice thing about popovers is that while they look kind of hefty, they are full of air, so you can eat a few and not feel too bad. I pulled one open and slathered it in butter and my friend Stacie's homemade nectarine preserves. Heavenly!

I have to conclude that Popover 2: Electric Boogaloo was a raging success, most likely due to having the proper pan but perhaps also because of the recipe. I'm not sure. I do know I will be making these a lot in the future, because unlike most sequels, they exceeded all expectations and left me wanting more.

Popovers

(adapted from Baking Illustrated)

2 eggs
1 cup whole milk
1 cup flour
1/2 t. salt
1 T. unsalted butter, melted
1T. vegetable oil

Whisk the eggs and milk together in a large bowl until well combined, about 20 seconds. In a separate smaller bowl, whisk together flour and salt. Add the flour mixture to the egg and milk mixture and stir with a spoon or spatula just until combined--it will still be lumpy. Add the butter and whisk for about 30 seconds until smooth and bubbly. Let rest for 30 minutes at room temperature.

Meanwhile, pour 1/2 t. vegetable oil into each popover cup (pan should have six cups). Adjust the oven rack to the lowest position, place the pan in the oven,  and heat to 450.

Once the batter is rested and the oven is heated, pour the batter into a 4-cup measuring cup or other cup with a spout. Remove pan from the oven and working quickly, divide the batter evenly among the cups. Put the pan back in the oven and bake for 20 minutes, without opening the oven door. Reduce the heat to 350 and bake for another 15-18 minutes (I removed mine after 15), until golden brown. Remove from the oven, dump out onto a wire rack, let cool for 2-3 minutes, then eat immediately.

Roasted cauliflower with sherry vinaigrette

While I'd love to spend my days eating pork chops and pasta, sometimes restraint is in order. For those of us prone to indulgence but without the metabolism of a hummingbird, a little vanity can be an excellent motivating factor. So while I will love sugar, butter, cream, and bacon until I drop dead (and given that list, the day may not be far off), I do not like the idea of buying new clothes in bigger sizes. So, I try to find some balance with salads, light soups, and occasionally with a vegetable mish mash that adds up to a whole dinner.

For example, the other night, on the heels of a few particularly hedonistic days, I roasted up some asparagus and drizzled it with lemon juice, and sauteed cubed butternut squash with a little curry. Both turned out just fine, but the star of this odd little dinner turned out to be roasted cauliflower with sherry vinaigrette.

As a child, I found cauliflower pale, hideous, and utterly lacking in flavor. In typical 1970's style, my dad would sometimes bake it in a Corningware with grated cheddar cheese over it. In retrospect, this method flirted with the possibility of a gratin--had he added some cream and a fresh herb, or covered it with crunchy golden bread crumbs, perhaps I would have liked it better. Instead, it emerged just as white and lifeless as it went in, only now covered in orange Tillamook splotches. Cauliflower was among the many things I vowed not eat once I grew up, along with Brussels sprouts, beets, and asparagus.

Of course, things change, including your taste buds. Let's not forget that I once gagged at the smell of my dad's beer (although in honesty, I'm not sure to this day I could toss back a can of his Budweiser--I'm a Sierra Nevada girl). I now eat Brussels sprouts, beets, and asparagus with abandon. And I've even grown to like cauliflower.

In mulling over what to do with the massive cauliflower that arrived in our produce box the other day, a recipe in Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian piqued my interest. The cauliflower is roasted until carmelized and slightly sweet, then dressed with a sherry vinaigrette and tossed with raisins and parsley. The result is a pleasurable contrast of tart and sweet against a savory background. Next time, I would consider swapping dried cranberries for the raisins, and adding toasted pine nuts or walnuts--I think they would add fabulous texture and crunch. A little crumbled goat or blue cheese would not be out of place and would lend a luxurious element to the dish. And I'm certain you could substitute any number of fresh herbs for the parsley with excellent results. But the recipe is also wonderful just as is.

Roasted Cauliflower with Raisins and Vinaigrette

(adapted from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian)

1 head of cauliflower, trimmed and cut into bite-sized florets
1/2 c. olive oil
2 T. sherry or balsamic vinegar (I like vinaigrette more acidic so added more vinegar)
1/2 c. raisins
1/2 chopped parsley

Preheat oven to 400.

On a large baking sheet, toss cauliflower with 3 T. olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, combine remaining oil with vinegar and season to taste with salt and pepper. Remove the cauliflower from the oven and toss with 2 T. vinaigrette. Roast for another 15 minutes, or until it's cooked to your liking.

Remove from the oven and let cool slightly. Then transfer to a bowl and right before serving, toss with remaining vinaigrette (I did not use all of it), raisins, parsley, and more salt and pepper to taste. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Soy sauce chicken

In keeping with the comfort food theme I've been prattling on about recently, I thought I'd post another go-to dinner that never fails to please: soy sauce chicken.

Although I have served this to guests on numerous occasions, it's what my dad would have called "home food," not something you'd get in a restaurant, because it's so plain. I suppose it's because of this that when I do entertain with it, I serve it to my closest friends--those I like so much I don't consider them guests, but family.

My sister is the one who originally shared this recipe with me, and since then I've come across many variations, especially in Hawaiian cookbooks--some of which include vinegar (making it more of a chicken adobo), or  star anise, which adds a great spiciness. But I always fall back on the old basic recipe she gave me years ago, because it's simple, quick, requires no attendance on the stove, and is one of the husband's favorites.

Any kind of soy sauce will do: light, dark, low-sodium, whatever. You can lessen the sugar if a whole cup freaks you out. You can use any mix of chicken parts, although I think dark meat works best. And if you've planned ahead, you can dress it up with chopped scallions or toasted sesame seeds.

One thing I think is non-negotiable is serving it with steamed rice. It just doesn't go with anything else.

Whenever I make soy sauce chicken, I make enough for two dinners. I even double the rice, in anticipation of enjoying fried rice a few days later, either for dinner or for breakfast. Old rice is the secret to good fried rice.

Soy sauce chicken has all the makings of a repertoire staple: it's cheap, has very few ingredients, is quick to make, and everyone loves it. Give it a try and let me know what you think.

Soy sauce chicken (serves 4)


8 chicken thighs or 4 whole legs
1 cup soy sauce
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
a few pieces of ginger, no need to peel

Place soy sauce, water, sugar, and ginger in a large pot and bring to a simmer. Stir to help sugar dissolve. Carefully slip the chicken into the sauce and turn to coat. Turn down heat to medium low and cover. Let simmer for 35-40 minutes, turning occasionally.

Serve with rice and sauce on the side, removing ginger.