dressed-up pizza-dough bread

Back when my dad had his restaurant, he would bring home pizza dough and bake bread with it. I remember my grandpa loving it, and I did, too. I don't love baking, but I do appreciate a good loaf of Italian bread. Starting with a pizza dough from Publix ($1.99 in the refrigerated bakery case, y'all) takes the mess out of the whole shebang, and there's pretty much no limit to the combinations of fillings you can stuff into these loaves.

"Homemade" garlic and black olive loaves.

pizza-dough bread

• 1 ready-to-bake (not frozen) pizza dough, from your grocery store's bakery
• unbleached white flour
• olive oil
• fillings, such as chopped black olives, sautéed onions, fresh or roasted garlic, sundried tomatoes, parmesan, sesame seeds, herbs, salt + pepper, and any combination of these and etc. In other words, go wild. 

Dust a baking sheet with flour before you get going, then set it aside. Flour your countertop or a breadboard and stretch out the fresh pizza dough - carefully - into a rectangular shape.

Mix together your filling ingredients in a little teacup (of course) with a couple of TBSP olive oil and some salt + pepper. If you're using parmesan or another cheese, go light on the salt or leave it out altogether. You want about a cup of filling.

Spread the filling on the center of the dough, being careful not to get oil on the outer edges (leave about an inch all around), and then roll up the long edge to make a tube shape. pinch the edges all together, and move the loaf to the floured baking sheet with the seam side down.

Slash a few stripes or x's into the top of the loaf (not too deep, they get bigger), and sprinkle some sesame seeds on top if you like them. Dust a little bit of flour on top, cover with a tea towel, and let the dough rise for a couple of hours (or more, depending on the temperature of your kitchen).

When the dough looks bread-loaf sized, preheat the oven to 350°F, and bake about a half-hour, or until the bread is brown and toasty. Tap the loaf with your fingers when you think it's done - the bread should sound hollow. If it's not done, but is browning too fast, cover the loaf loosely with foil and continue baking.

Cool on a cake rack until it's  touchable, then slice it up and eat it fast, because if your house is like mine, it won't be around for long.

sweet potato curry, thank you

I'm not supposed to eat white potatoes - let's not talk about it - but the sweet ones are fine, and it's a good thing they're also delicious. Potato curry is one of my family's favorites, and my usual version is a sort of Indian and Thai combination. When we came across some gorgeous purple sweet potatoes, I figured it was a good time to give my old, already twisted recipe another twist.

Turmeric and ginger, ready for mincing.

I like to get the chopping done before I begin cooking, so I pile my chopped fresh ginger and turmeric in a little teacup, and my dried spices in another little teacup, so they're easy to dump into the pan when it's time.

All the chopped-up stuff is in little teacups, ready to add quickly to the hot pan.

sweet potato curry

• olive oil
• 3 or 4 sweet potatoes, washed, cubed, dried off
• 1 yellow onion, chopped
• 1" fresh ginger, peeled, minced
• 1" fresh turmeric, peeled, minced (or 1/2 tsp dried, added with the other dry spices)
• 1 fresh chili (or 1 tsp dried, added with the other dry spices)
• 2 tsp cumin
• 4 tsp coriander
• 1 tsp mustard seeds
• salt + pepper
• 1 medium tomato, chopped
• 1 can coconut milk (not cream, Priscilla ;)
• 2 or 3 green onions, green parts sliced into 1" pieces, white parts sliced smaller
• a handful of cilantro, roughly chopped

In a cast iron dutch oven or, if you're as lucky as I am, a cast iron wok, heat 2 TBSP olive oil to high heat. As soon as the oil is hot, add the sweet potato cubes and cook until they are beginning to brown, stirring constantly so that they don't burn or stick. You want the potatoes to develop a sort of crust, so they hold their shape when they're cooking in the sauce.

Purple and orange sweet potatoes are a pretty combination.

Remove the potatoes to a big bowl and add another couple of TBSP olive oil to the pan. Sauté the onions until just golden, and then add in the ginger and turmeric if you're using fresh. Sauté for a minute or two, and then add in the dried spices. Stick your nose closer to the pan because, my god, this smells good.

I use a combination of yellow and black mustard seeds, just because that's how I roll (they roll, too).

Once the mustard seeds begin to pop, add in the tomatoes and stir around for a minute. Pour in the coconut milk, add salt + pepper, and then add the potatoes. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and cook for about a half-hour, or until the potatoes are just tender. Add in the green onions and stir around for just a moment.

Don't be fooled - this is parsley, even though cilantro is better, because Publix was OUT of cilantro (oh, the humanity).

Serve this baby in bowls, garnished with cilantro (or parsley if it is absolutely necessary). Maybe even a squirt of lime.

Here is a bonus shot of what I look like when I cook, because Hannah thinks I should be in my blog. LOOK at that gorgeous wok! $12 at the giant Asian market in Orlando.

making soap

I started making soap in 1990 as a way to use the gallons of fat rendered from cooking sausage at my dad's restaurant. I got the soap recipe from a Foxfire library book. Those bars were green and gorgeous, hard as rocks, and the nicest soap I have ever made -- but they smelled like soapy sausage.

Now I make all-vegetable soap based on Ann Bramson's recipe. This is a simple version of how I do it... I won't say it's not a dangerous process -- I recommend reading all you can about the soapmaking process before you attempt it and I don't recommend attempting it if you're squeamish about it.

honey chamomile soap, marbled with turmeric

soap

10 3/4 oz lye
32 oz COLD water, not even a tiny bit warm

44 oz olive pomace oil

17 oz coconut oil

24 oz palm oil

1 oz essential oil (one, or a combination)

1. On a kitchen scale, zero a Rubbermaid-type 2-qt pitcher. Into the pitcher, weigh the lye. Run filtered tap water into another pitcher, and then slowly pour the water into the lye pitcher to reach the combined weight of lye and water (42 3/4 oz). The lye mixture will become hot as hell. Be careful not to splash the lye, it will burn holes in your clothes, your kitchen rug, and your skin (if you do happen to splash some lye on yourself, pour some plain vinegar over the splash to neutralize it).
2. Take the lye pitcher off the scale and stir the lye gently with the long handle of a wooden spoon. Put the lid on the pitcher in the open position so that steam can escape, and let the lye cool on the countertop for several hours. Wash the wooden spoon; you'll use it again.
3. While the lye is cooling, prepare molds. This batch will make a large shoebox -- line the box with a plastic garbage bag, taping the bag to the box as neatly as you can. Save the box lid; you'll use it to keep the heat in once you've poured the soap.
4. On the kitchen scale, zero a large stainless steel soup pot. Weigh the oils into the pot, then heat briefly on the stove over medium heat, just until the solids are melted.
5. Bring the lye pitcher and the oil pot to just above body temperature (you can measure this with a thermometer, or simply touch the OUTSIDE of the pitcher and pot and test against your own body temperature). You can cool them by placing the pitcher or pot or both in an ice bath in your kitchen sink.
6. When the lye and oils are each at just above body temperature, move the pot to the COOL stovetop. Start stirring the oils with the wooden spoon, and then slowly drizzle in the lye in a steady stream while you stir. 
7. Keep stirring the oil/lye mixture until it becomes very thick and "traces." This means that if you spoon out some of the mixture, you can drizzle it on top of the mixture in the pot and see the pattern -- the mixture will support itself for a few seconds at the trace stage. Once you have the lye incorporated, you can speed up the stirring by blending the soap with a stick blender on low speed until the trace stage.
8. When the soap is thickened, quickly stir in the essential oil.
9. Pour the soap into the shoebox, put the box cover on, and cover the box with a thick towel. After a few minutes, the soap will become very hot -- don't peek until it has cooled down. The cooled soap may be very liquid; it will harden after a day or two.
10. Wash all of the soapmaking stuff (pitcher, lid, spoon, pot...) with hot water and dish detergent; you can use all of these things again for food, as usual.
11. When the soap has hardened, turn it out of the box onto a brown paper bag and let it harden further for several days. 
12. Cut into bars and keep them cool and dry until you use them.

This might go without saying, but I'm saying it: the above is for entertainment purposes only -- I make no claims as to the validity or safety of any of it. Salut!

black-eyed peas, 2012 style

I make these often, and though I think they're the same each time, looking back at my recipe from 2009, I now realize that I am a big, fat liar. I am pretty sure that this version is what I answered with when asked how I made them this year, but as I was under the influence of Prosecco in abundance, I cannot be quite sure.

new year black-eyed peas

2 TBSP olive oil
2 TBSP minced fresh ginger
1 cup minced shallots or 1 chopped large onion
2 giant lemons, minced peel + juice, separated
2  pounds dry black-eyed peas, rinsed, soaked overnight, drained
Water to cover the peas by a few inches
2 tsp salt + more to taste if needed
1 chili, dry or fresh
1 or 2 bay leaves
Another lemon, juiced
Cilantro, chopped

Bring the oil to medium-high heat in a big soup pot. Add the ginger, shallots or onions, and lemon peel. You could add garlic if you want it, as well, but you don't need it. Sauté until beginning to brown, just a couple of minutes.

Add the peas and enough water to cover by a few inches, then the salt, chili, bay leaves, and juice from the lemons. I used two Meyer lemons, which produced at least a cup of juice, but use as many lemons as you need to make them a bit on the tart side. Check the water as you're cooking to make sure the peas stay swimming in lots of broth. I like my peas soup-like, which works well if you serve them with rice.

Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer covered until the peas are soft and delicious, about two hours or so.

Add in more juice from a half (or whole) lemon, adjust salt, and top with fresh cilantro.

pleased to meet you

You hate cauliflower? You just haven't met the right cauliflower yet.

Look at this cauliflower. This is a beautiful thing.

cauliflower for haters
1 cauliflower (comin' right up)
2 TBSP olive oil
4 or 5 garlic cloves, minced
1 or 2 Thai chilies if that's how you roll
a spoonful of sesame seeds if you have them

salt and pepper

Really the most important part of this recipe is the slicing of the cauliflower. To do it so that you get nice brown, crispy edges, first cut it in half, with the stem end on the cutting board. Remove the core and any tough leaves, rinse the two halves, and go back to the board.

With the flat end of the cauliflower half on the cutting board, slice the cauliflower into 1/2" slices. Just slice it from stem to crown. Don't worry about breaking up the florets (though if you end up with a particularly unwieldy slice, you might snip it into two or three). Do the other half, too.

Heat the olive oil in a cast-iron skillet to medium high, add the garlic and chilies if you're using them, and almost immediately add the cauliflower—don't give the garlic time to brown too much first.

Fry the cauliflower pretty hot and fast, letting the edges brown. The little cauliflower bits will get quite brown, and this is good. When the cauliflower is almost as brown as you want it, add the sesame seeds (if you're using them), salt, and pepper.

I dare you not to like it, hater.

hell yeah baked beans

The whole family's home? Make them delicious baked beans, because what could make them love you more? This makes a 3-quart casserole dish full. I have a big family.

Hell yeah, saucy.

homemade baked beans
12 oz. thick-sliced bacon
1 giant yellow onion, diced
2 TBSP garlic, minced
3 Thai chilies
1 TBSP dark soy sauce
1 1/2 cups BBQ sauce - Pat's Ho-made or whatever you like
1 cup brown sugar, light or dark
2 tsp dijon mustard
1/2 cup maple syrup
1 cup water
1/4 cup Lizano - you could substitute Worcestershire for this, but I don't want to know about it
5 small cans navy beans

Cut the package of bacon in half, lengthwise, and cook over med-high heat in a large pot, stirring around until very crisp. With tongs, remove the bacon to a small bowl. Pour off almost all of the bacon fat, saving 2—3 tablespoons in the pot.

Add all but a small handful of the onions (reserve those for the top), garlic, and chilies to the pot, and sauté until lightly browned, stirring around with a wooden spoon to loosen the browned bacon on the bottom of the pot (the sucs).

Add the BBQ sauce, brown sugar, dijon mustard, maple syrup, water, and Lizano and stir around a bit. Crumble the cooled bacon with your hands and add all but a small handful (that's for the top, too) to the pot. Add the beans and stir it all up together.

Dump the pot into a casserole dish (it's what Corningware is for), top with the reserved onions and bacon, and bake, covered, at 350°F for about 90 minutes. Check every now and then to make sure the beans aren't drying out. If they are, feel free to pour a little teacup of water into the dish around the edges (you don't want to soak the browning bacon and onions on the top). The sauce will be super bubbly and the top will be crispy (and really freaking delicious).

Bacon.

Delicious, bacony, mapley beans.

German chocolate cake really isn't German

Since German chocolate cake is Ian's favorite, and the tiramisu I planned really needed a couple of days to perform at its best anyway, I made a German chocolate cake yesterday.

Super moist, not super sweet

I used Aliyyah Baylor's recipe, which I recommend completely with the following exceptions:

I used unsweet grated coconut instead of "flaked coconut," which apparently only comes in extra-sweet flavor, because I like for my teeth to feel normal when I eat cake. You can find the unsweet version in Asian markets, frozen.

Aliyyah's recipe makes two layers, but her instructions include a mysterious third layer. Instead of fabricating a third layer from the aether, I made two and assembled thus: Split each cake layer in half, horizontally, with a knife or a length of wire, so that you end up with four layers. Lift the first layer (with your hands, not a spatula) onto a plate, cut side up, and load it with a layer of filling. Put the next layer on top, cut side down. Repeat for the remaining two layers.

I don't frost the sides, but you can if you want to.

Feel free to crush your pecans with a bottle of Marsala.

This was by far the best German chocolate cake of the seven I've baked in my lifetime. If you don't believe me, ask Dan Wilkerson, who said it was the best he's ever eaten, made me believe him by taking seconds, politely refused a swan-wrapped piece for later, and then commended his wife for accepting one on his behalf.