• I can’t wait to visit Vancouver this year. Mainly, because this horrible closing ceremony should be over by then. #
• Awful Recipes from the Past http://tinyurl.com/yfs6zkd Link via Miscellaneous Viscera http://tinyurl.com/yflqxr3 #
• Fast Food: Ads vs. Reality (photos) http://thewvsr.com/adsvsreality.htm – via http://www.geekpress.com/ #

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I like to live vicariously through my future self. It goes back to the endless page-turning of the Sears catalog, microanalyzing my Christmas list possibilities until I arrived at a a perfectly balanced grouping of gift possibilities, probabilities, and long shots. (Even if I never did get the magic set I kept asking for.) Now, I enjoy planning trips. I feel like I’m extending the experience from the future and at the same time, making for a greater vacation. This weekend, Karen and I experienced a little bit of two very different upcoming trips. And the trip to Kansas City, Missouri translated into some damn good grub.

I can almost taste Paris.

“Preparing” for our vacation to France and Spain consisted of a couple Blockbuster rentals, Vicky Cristina Barcelona and Paris, je t’aime, and a bottle of La Goudale beer. The Kansas City connection was a bit more obscure. Initially looking for some barbecue, I opened up my copy of America’s Best Lost Recipes. The somewhat Chinese sounding “runsas” looked interesting. Chinese, that is, not for the name but for the ingredients: buns filled with ground beef and cabbage. Their ethnic heritage actually derives from Volga Germans, Germans who lived in Russia for a century and a half. The Volga Germans brought bierocks to the United States in the late 1800s, having developed the recipe, most likely, from the Russian pirozhki.

Turns out that runsas go by several other names, depending on whether you’re talking about the ones with a history in Nebraska (runsas and runzas), Argentina (pirok), or Kansas (bierocks). We’re going to Kansas, so ours are called bierocks. There seems to be exactly one restaurant that serves them in Kansas City (more to be found in Wichita), so lunch at You Say Tomato is on our list. It will be interesting to see how our versions compare, given that we’re basically cooking them in a vacuum.

Conveniently, Cook’s Country, the editors of America’s Best Lost Recipes, have posted the recipe. (The recipe is a winning contest entry by Pam Patterson from Leon, Kansas.) We split the recipe in half and ate one bierock each on the first night, saving two for lunch the next day. The first glaring thing you’ll notice about the recipe is the complete lack of seasoning other than salt and pepper. It was tempting to mess with this, but given how the editors raved about the recipe as it was plus our desire to make a “true” Midwestern dish, we held back on modifications. Besides, in the back of my mind, I knew there was a bottle of sriracha in the fridge.

The bierock contains two of my favorite things. Bier. And rock.

For the stuffing, we browned some hamburger meat. Separately, we softened some chopped onion and then added chopped cabbage. (I saw no reason to chop the onion finely as called for in the recipe. For the same reason the recipe wisely recommends keeping the cabbage slightly crispy to add a nice crunch, we thought it made sense for the onion to have some substance.) After combining these three ingredients, we added salt and pepper, and we were done. What you don’t see underneath the filling is a slice of American cheese (evidently a nontraditional ingredient). At first, we thought adding American cheese was a goofy idea, but pushing this thing closer to a calzone was the right move. Besides, I love American cheese.

The secret ingredient in the dough was a little sweetened condensed milk. I’m no baker and I don’t really have a sweet tooth, but it’s probably good for my clothing budget that I promptly deposited the rest of the can in the trash after using it. That stuff is good. In the bierock, though, I’m not so sure. I think it added a little too much sweetness, which Karen agreed with me about. Given its viscosity, it must help hold the dough together, which is a good thing. (Maybe we’ll try unsweetened next time and just add a little sugar.) The Cook’s Country editors recommended putting the rolled-out dough in a bowl to help keep the filling together, a helpful suggestion.

Sealing up the runsa. I mean bierock.

Sealing up the bottom of the bierock, I had flashbacks of my in-laws making fun of my dumpling-making technique. Nevertheless, the recipe’s suggestion was to stretch and pinch the dough, and we accomplished that. I’d say the final result was nearly perfect, but the bottom middle portion was a bit too dough-heavy. I’m thinking it’s just something that needs practice. The good news is: you turn them upside-down to cook and serve them, so who’s going to know?

Bierocks looking good. All we have to do now is s not burn 'em.

The 20-minute suggested cooking time was nearly dead-on. Since our dough might have been slightly thicker than the professionals’ versions, we tacked on maybe another five. The filling, of course, is already cooked, so you’re taking them out of the (350°) oven as soon as the dough is golden brown.

Stuffed cabbage, in bread.

Color looked good, the bun felt hot, so we were ready to roll. And yes, we grabbed the sriracha from the fridge, along with some Japanese mayo, ketchup, and the recommended whole-grain mustard.

Wishing we hadn't split the recipe right about now.

The winning dipping sauces were, indeed, the sriracha and the Japanese mayo. The Russian-German-Americans who invented this thing might be turning over in their graves, but we needed a little more spice and a little more flavor. That being said, bierocks are awesome!

Next time, we won’t hold off from adding kimchi (Karen’s idea) or chopped scotch bonnets, garlic, and more and different cheeses (mine). Definitely something worth playing with, and also something that could be made in advance for a group of people, since they could be fully assembled and simply baked when ready to serve. Thumbs-up on the bierock. Now, we’ll see how the Kansans do it.

• Victoria’s Secret just sent a $10 coupon for my birthday. Interesting. Well, I have had my eyes on those sweatpants with “juicy” on the ass. #
• Ate at Yeti of Hieizan in Sunnyside, Queens. The only restaurant I know that serves Japanese and Nepalese food. The latter is recommended. #
• Belgian golden ales tasting/review by Eric Asimov in the New York Times http://s.nyt.com/u/zDC #
• One of my top iPhone apps is The New York Times. So, does the person who decided this would be free still have a job? Or I can I have it? #
• Cooking runsas/bierocks, listening to the New York Dolls, rooting for USA in the Olympics. Feel so patriotic. http://tinyurl.com/yf83swm #
• Drinking a Three Philosophers from Ommegang (the Duvel-owned American NY brewery). Feel so wise (for now). http://www.ommegang.com/ #

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• Note to the anti-fur "activists" threatening Olympian Johnny Weir: I'll be eating dead pigs and ducks today. http://tinyurl.com/ykc3nka #
• Our first 3-day cassoulet a success. Romantic V-day. Band of Brothers episode 5 helped. #

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No, not that CIA. This is the one where a history of smoking weed and antiestablishmentarianism doesn’t necessarily disqualify you from acceptance. In fact, it might be a plus. What’s really cool is that chef wannabies like us get to eat there. And eat we did, at CIA’s restaurant featuring regional cuisine: American Bounty.

CIA is located in Hyde Park, New York, and you can stay in nearby Rhinebeck (a 15-20 min. drive), a cute little town with an artsy movie theater, antique store, art galleries, and the homes of FDR and Vanderbilt available nearby for touring. We stayed at the Beekman Arms, one of several “oldest inns” in America. The fireplace is a nice touch, and the low-ceilinged pub in the back is a nice place for a beer and/or burger.

The oldest "oldest inn in America" (outside of New England)

It’s impressive to visit the CIA campus, knowing the quality of chefs the school has produced. One can’t help but feel admiration for what amounts to a gem of civilization: when in some places of the world people are happy to get their gruel for the day, we have an institution that treats food as a science and an art.

Inside Langley. I mean Roth Hall.

American Bounty is one of several student-staffed restaurants at CIA, but really only one of two “fancy” joints, the other being Escoffier, the traditional French restaurant. Being in Hudson Valley, we knew we’d be getting foie gras no matter what choice we made, and figured American Bounty might be the more creative and interesting option. (Well, I say “we”, but since it was a surprise for my wife, she really shouldn’t get any credit for the decision.)

Let's look at this menu and see what these kids can do.

The ambiance was classy, and although a chef-instructor led the students in the kitchen, indeed the waiters appeared to be all students. Our waiter, who was to graduate in a week’s time, was unlikely to be the next Bobby Flay, at least for the time being. He forgot three items we ordered, and when I asked if the menu’s description of “slowly simmering” the short ribs was the same thing as braising, the busboy (and fellow student) stepped in to respond in the affirmative.

American Bounty

I’ve eaten at Escoffier, the competing CIA restaurant, several years ago, and remember a good but not great experience. The food this time at American Bounty, however, was excellent. The waiter forgot our salads, but no big deal: we began with two deliciously rich starters: a wild mushroom soup with chanterelle butter and an order of Hudson Valley foie gras. The soup was infused with mushroom flavor, and the latter was cooked perfectly.

Mmm, mmm good.

The chances of me visiting CIA in Hudson Valley and not ordering foie gras? Zero.

The smudge and drips on the foie gras plate were a bit much, but my mouth wasn’t complaining. Same with one of the salads, which suffered from a slight case of “too much effort” in the design and layout department. Again, taste was fine.

Salad, deconstructed?

Since the waiter forgot our side order of spinach (give him a break, he probably had his mind on the staff party), I’ll skip the review of it and head straight to the entrees. Fortunately, American Bounty fails to suffer from main course implosion, that cringeworthy nosedive after a set of tasty small plates. We ordered two very different entrees, showing the breadth of the kitchen’s capabilities. We ordered the “Slowly Simmered Beef Short Ribs”, which proudly gilded the lilly (or fattened it) with polenta and marscapone, and the roasted hake sitting in a parsley and olive oil emulsion, with mussels, artichoke, and carrot.

The short ribs weren't braised, they were slowly simmered.

Next time you see someone eating fish sticks with a three-day old parsley sprig, hit them over the head with one of them and give them a map to Hyde Park.

The short ribs met the minimum qualification of falling off the bone, but also had the right amount of flavor in the sauce, stopping about two millimeters short of the “too rich to be edible” line. Then again, maybe it was just a diabolically conceived portion size. Whatever the case, rich and delicious. The hake was sauteed well and well plated, giving the fish a nice crispness while sitting in a seasoned oil/broth mixture that could have been too oily, but wasn’t. The three small mussels on the fish were a bit underwhelming, but the portioning of the vegetables made for a light and balanced dish.

We left American Bounty satisfied, and encouraged that the next batch of graduates, though not all cut out for the grind of front-of-house, would be delighting us in the not-too-distant future back here in the big city. I’m just thinking that a mandatory 14% service charge (which goes to CIA school activities) is going to seem laughably, and longingly, upstate.

Saying goodbye to CIA.

• Superbowl nachos in the works: beef short rib chili on the stove. Had 2008 Stone Epic http://www.stonebrew.com/epic/ – now Ridgeway Bitter. #
• @ChopTedAllen Thanks for the link to our “Chopped: The Home Game” recap. #
• After cutting hot peppers, make sure to wash your hands before going to the bathroom. Plan B: a glass of milk. I learned this the hard way. #
• Comme d’habitude – The French song upon which Sinatra’s “My Way” was based. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMoY5rNBjwk #
• What to do together on a Valentine’s Day weekend? Make cassoulet! (Started the beans soaking last night.) #
• For photo-taking foodies: Eye-Fi wireless photo & video uploads from your camera. Cool. http://www.eye.fi/ Gonna have to get this. #
• Looking forward to the Voltaggio Brothers meal at the James Beard House on 3/9 http://tinyurl.com/yhocn84 Foie gras jelly doughnuts! #

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I would never stoop so low as to make a pun using the word “wing”. Therefore, please note that the title of this piece refers only to the lack of recipe employed in the making of this year’s Superbowl chili, and not to the accompanying Buffalo wings. To prove it, I’ve published the resulting recipe below. (And cluck you if you don’t believe me.)

Still reeling from my recent loss in Chopped: The Home Game, but with bolstered confidence that I need not follow a recipe step by step in order to produce something interesting in the kitchen, I decided to make chili for our Superbowl nachos without reference to any cookbooks. “What’s the worst that could happen?” I figured. Chips with cheese, salsa, guacamole, sour cream and no chili. I think that’s a worst-case scenario I could live with.

It all started with a trip to a Korean supermarket called Hmart on the way back from a trip to Jersey. The town of Fort Lee, located on the New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge, is filled with Korean establishments that might as well have “White People Keep Out” signs on their front doors. (When I used to live in the area, I was once at a restaurant that had one English menu. I had to wait until someone else finished using it.) Therefore, I was happy to see that Hmart was entrepreneurial enough to use an American sounding name, even if it did make me think of poor fashion options. It’s only a matter of time before Fort Lee loses it’s politically-incorrect moniker that has never ceased to amuse me. (“Fort Ree”)

Only the tip of Hmart's shortrib iceberg.

Hmart is a living homage to red meat. I’ve never seen so much beautifully trimmed, packaged meat of every cut and weight in my life. While you’re succumbing to or giving in to the dozen-plus employees giving out free food samples, you can take your pick of beef short ribs. I picked a one-pound package of the thick-cut, boneless variety. And since Koreans thankfully embrace the spicy chiles of this hemisphere, you actually have your choice of peppers. Mine was the Scotch bonnet. (Not the same as a habanero, for the record.)

But enough with the chile. Now to the chili.

When I’ve made chili in the past, I’ve always done a riff on a friend’s recipe that incorporates ground beef and two varieties of sausage, but the short rib looked too good to risk overpowering it by anything else. And even though my cooking experience isn’t huge in the scheme of things, the idea for the recipe came together easily and simply from a few dishes I’ve made before.

The traditional, uh, Texan basquaise.

Here were the basic ideas: start with the Eric Ripert basquaise I had made with the cod. I thought the concentrated pepper, wine, prosciutto, and garlic flavors would be a great flavoring base to start. Then I would cut the short ribs into several-inch pieces, sear it, and braise it. I’d use more red wine as I’ve done with tomato sauce, and finally, I’d squeeze in some lime juice like I did with a Yucatan Pork Stew (not yet posted).

Again, I made a rule for myself that I wouldn’t even open a cookbook. I knew I might have added too much wine last time, but this time, I actually wanted a good amount. The finished basquaise was quite dark, and that was a good thing. Oh, and you might not see it in there, but there’s one Scotch bonnet pepper in with the red and yellow bells. (Could’ve added more.)

Basquaise ready for corrupting

I kept the basquaise on the side and proceeded with the beef. I cut it into approximately three-inch pieces, and after seasoning both sides of the with salt and pepper, I browned in the Dutch oven. I then chopped the meat into small pieces and added it back to the pot, along with the basquaise, a can of plum tomatoes, a can of black beans, more red wine, and (drum roll, please) the seasonings. Chili, it turns out, has got to be one of the easiest dishes to experiment with. As opposed to judging the seasoning to add to uncooked meat, with chili you can taste as you go. The seasonings I chose to go with were: ground cumin seed (the smell instantly screams “chili”), a pinch of cloves, and a pinch of coriander. For the latter two, I figured a pinch (i.e., the “a pinch” measuring spoon) was about as little as I’d want to add, so I just dumped those in. The cumin, on the other hand, was weaker than I expected, so I added a half-teaspoon at a time until I was satisfied with two.

After bringing the mixture to a boil, I turned down the heat to low (just a few bubbles coming up), put the lid on, and let it cook. The time (which I didn’t count) was probably an hour or so, but I was simply waiting for the meat to get tender. One disappointment was that in the final minutes (while it waited for our other Superbowl cuisine to come together), the liquid in the sauce that was so good evaporated into thin air. The chili wasn’t dry by any means, but I did miss the sauce. I also think that maybe even the pinch of coriander was too much. Still, I give it a thumbs-up.

The chili

But here’s how it was meant to be served: with homemade salsa (Karen) and guacamole (yeah, she made that, too). The sour cream was my idea.

In case you're wondering: yes, there was too much crap on this chip.

And the promised recipe:

• 1 1/2 red & yellow bell peppers, roughly chopped (this is a chili, for Christ’s sake)
• 1 Scotch bonnet chile, diced
• 1 small white onion, chopped
• 5 (yes, 5) cloves garlic, sliced
• a few slices of prosciutto, diced
• cayenne pepper to taste
• 1/2 cup red wine, plus more to taste (and drink)
• approx. 1 pound boneless beef short ribs, cut into three-inch pieces
• 1 15 oz. can black beans
• 1 28 oz. can whole peeled plum tomatoes
• 2 tsp. ground cumin seed
• 1 pinch cloves
• 1 pinch coriander
• juice of 1/2 lime
• Melinda’s XXXXtra Reserve Hot Sauce to taste (don’t be squeamish, I put in about 1/4 cup or so)

Using a deep Dutch oven, saute the garlic and onions at medium-low for a few minutes to soften. Add the bell peppers and chile pepper and saute until the pepper is extremely soft. Taste at your own risk.

Now, you could probably add the prosciutto earlier if you remember to, but if you’re me, you add it after the pepper is tender, push the pepper to the side of the pot, and slightly crisp up the pieces for a minute or two. Add the red wine and season with cayenne, then continue cooking until the liquid from the wine is nearly evaporated. Put the finished mixture in a bowl and set aside.

Season the cut short ribs with salt and pepper on both sides, then brown in batches on both sides of the meat, using the Dutch oven at medium-high heat. (Don’t overcrowd the pot, which can lower the surface temperature and hinder your ability to brown the meat.) Set aside the batches of meat until done, and then chop the meat into small pieces. (Let’s call it “chili sized” pieces.)

Add the basquaise to the Dutch oven, along with the chopped meat, the can of black beans and the can of plum tomatoes, and a little more red wine, and bring to a boil. Stir occasionally. (I tend to want to chop up the tomatoes with a wooden spoon immediately, but they’ll really fall apart as you cook them, so no worries.)

As the mixture is coming to a boil, add the cumin, cloves, coriander, lime juice, and Melinda’s hot sauce. (The latter two ingredients are important to give the chili a nice tang.) Lower the heat to low (just a few bubbles coming up), cover, and simmer until the meat is tender, approx. one hour. Oh, and turn off the heat while you still have some sauce!

My advice would be to take the cloves and coriander down a notch, but other than that, I’d recommend it for eating. Which I guess is a good thing, considering I took the time to write up the freakin’ recipe. But have fun. And definitely wing it.

• I asked the bartender at Milk & Honey for the safest drink to order at a questionable establishment. Answer: negroni. http://www.mlkhny.com/ #
• How much more money do you think Subway makes each year from sandwiches made with Swiss cheese? Every hole is pure profit. #

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My mission: combine chestnuts, mango, duck breast, and polenta into a semi-edible, one-dish entree, without getting chopped. Fortunately, no one invited Ted Allen over, so the game was rigged in my favor.

My mystery ingredients

If you haven’t seen it, Chopped is a spin-off of Iron Chef America in which contestants (actual chefs) are given one basket at a time of mystery ingredients and are charged with creating an appetizer, followed by an entree and dessert. The show is actually more interesting to me now than Iron Chef, even though I found it somewhat simplistic on first viewing, because you’re able to better see the process of creating individual dishes. Whereas Iron Chef makes you sit on your couch, comfortable in the knowledge that you would absolutely wreak havoc trying to do what those guys are doing, Chopped has the tendency to make you want to see if you can pull it off yourself. After the latest episode, Karen and I decided we would challenge each other to a version of the home game. The only main modification would be dropping the time limit.

The rules were: we’d make a visit to the supermarket together and each fill up a basket with four mystery ingredients for the other person: one protein, one carb, one fruit or vegetable, and one ingredient of our choice. We exchanged baskets prior to leaving the store, and then each person was allowed to purchase other ingredients for use in the dish. We were allowed to refer later to cookbooks or the web, but only for guidance in cooking technique, not for recipe ideas. The idea for the dish had to be decided at the supermarket, and you had to use at least some of each of the ingredients you purchased.

The ingredients Karen bestowed upon me were the above-mentioned chestnuts, mango, duck breast, and polenta. The ones I picked for Karen were: ground lamb, a package of basmati and wild rice, leeks, and duck fat. By the end of the night, we would have enough duck fat left over to keep an average person obese through the next world war. But think of it this way: I was seriously considering giving her fish stock instead.

Karen's mystery ingredients. (Whew. Good thing I got her the duck fat.)

As soon as I saw the basket of ingredients she picked for me, the basic idea pretty much came to me immediately: roast the chestnuts and mix them into the polenta, and use the mango as part of  a glaze or sauce for the duck breast. I should probably point out that until this game of Chopped, I had never cooked with chestnuts or duck, and I can’t say I’m a huge fan of mango. But I have enjoyed mango and habanero salsa, so adding chile pepper to the mix made sense. Habaneros were not available, and since I wanted to use a fresh pepper, I picked up what turned out to be a ridiculous quantity of jalapeno peppers.

The corn meal cried out for cheese, but our local supermarket’s huge cheese selection was a blessing and a curse. I was looking for a semi-soft cheese, though, and the word “nutty” stood out to me on a description of a fontina. (Fontina was also one of the recommended cheeses on the bag of polenta, but come on, don’t rain on my inspiration.) For the glaze/sauce, I was thinking honey to help hold the mixture together. I wasn’t big on the idea of one-dimensional sweetness, though, so while browsing the jams and jellies, I saw something I had never used before: lingonberries. Described as both sweet and tart, I thought: what the hell, it’s not like I have $10,000 to lose here. As my vegetable, I would roast carrots and serve the duck on top.

My extra ingredients. (Only 14 times too many jalapenos.)

The first time anyone's wanted to puree mango, lingonberries, and jalapeno? Maybe.

The lingonberries turned out to be in the form of a preserves, meaning whole berries with extra juice gelled by added pectin. I pureed some with nearly all the mango and one-half of one jalapeno pepper, to create the glaze/sauce (still TBD). As is usually the case, bits of jalapeno didn’t quite puree, but not a big deal. The tartness from the lingonberries blended well with the mango, and since the mixture was sweet enough as is, I decided to leave out the honey.

For help with the duck breast, I consulted Tom Colicchio’s Think Like a Chef. As much as I wanted to steal his idea of sauteing the carrots in duck fat, I didn’t want to use an ingredient we only had because of the competition. But I did steal his idea of sauteing the carrots prior to roasting, which I did in olive oil instead.

Seasoned duck breast. (The side that doesn't make your arteries cringe.)

Where I semi-blundered was in not reading the weight of the duck breasts in Colicchio’s recipe; his were half the size of what I was using. This only affected the roasting time, but enough so it made sense to eat Karen’s dish first. The cooking process would be the same: sear the skin-side of the duck breast for about five minutes, the other side for about one, and then roast in the oven. My duck breast was over a pound, and roasting in the oven took upwards of 15 minutes on 375°. Incidentally, he suggested searing on medium heat, which was a reason I went with his technique over Eric Ripert instructions in another cookbook. (I knew I’d be splattering enough fat without cooking on high.)

Colicchio’s suggestion to slice some criss-crossed lines into the fat (not into the meat itself), and his suggested five minutes on the skin/fat side, gave the duck the perfect sear. I cooked the other side for a minute, which also seemed to be the right amount of time, and then placed the duck breast on top of the carrots and roasted it. Oh, and it was at this point that I decided to paint on the mango-lingonberry-jalapeno mixture. It looked good, and it was able to conveniently squish down between the slits in the meat. The recipe for an 8-oz. breast recommended five minutes in the oven, and like I said, it ended up being around 15, though I didn’t count. The result looked quite nice:

Extra juicy duck breast (well, at least until I hacked it up to see if it was done cooking)

Almost forgot to describe the polenta. That, I had done by this time. I had roasted the chestnuts for about 15 minutes in the toaster oven, and after hearing two loud “pops”, I realized that a couple of them had exploded out of their shells. I then stabbed each of the remaining nuts as a preventative measure. I threw the unshelled nuts and some chopped fontina into the food processor with some truffle salt and then mixed into the polenta. (We had just eaten the ridiculously good polenta at Scarpetta made with preserved truffles, which gave me the truffle salt idea. One note on truffle salt: the pro is that it seems to keep indefinitely, the con is that it doesn’t add much truffle flavor.) I tried to keep things somewhat healthy by skipping cream in the polenta, but I was missing it. I think I actually would have preferred some milk or cream over the cheese. I guess I can’t get over the childhood memory of cheesy grits.

Am I chopped?

When I put the duck into the oven, I was pretty sure I had seared the duck good enough and rendered as much fat as I was going to. Looking at the photo now, I’m not so sure. But I’ll say this: it tasted good, and we both thought the skin was great. I added a bit more of the sauce as I was eating it, but Karen didn’t think it needed much more than the glaze. The carrots, after further cooking underneath the duck, were super tasty. The polenta I felt was cheesy without really improving the flavor so much. The chestnuts were somewhat evident, though it isn’t something I would rush to do again.

So, who won the competition?

Well, here are the extra ingredients Karen picked up to complete her meal:

Karen's extra ingredients: lemon, rosemary, thyme, mint, one carrot, peas, and Greek yogurt

And here’s her final dish:

Karen skewers the competition

Since she already had rice as a carb, she opted against a lamb burger and opted instead for a seasoned kebab. The leeks, along with various spices such as cumin and coriander, were inside the kebab. She painted the kebabs with a little duck fat, and also used some with the carrots and peas in the rice, which was cooked in beef stock. She served it with a Greek yogurt sauce flavored with garlic and herbs.

I thought Karen’s rice definitely beat my polenta in flavor, and the yogurt sauce was delicious with its mint, garlic and lemon juice. My carrots kicked butt, but I think the proteins were very much on par, though I think the flavor and doneness of mine was a bit better. In the end, though (drum role, please), I guess I’d have to go with Karen’s dish overall.

Not a bad game to play on a Saturday evening, I have to say, and it was probably the most fun I’ve ever had in a supermarket. Well, unless you count that time in college when I ordered a live lobster from the seafood section and set it free in aisle 7.

(Today we present a guest post from a New York expat now living in Germany.)

Throughout many parts of Germany during the winter season, goose is prepared and served, particularly the Gänsekeule – the leg and thigh combo. Generally, you’ll get it here in Germany at a good restaurant, and if you’re fortunate enough like I am, you might even find it on your company restaurant’s menu. Your goose leg will generally be accompanied by apple flavored red cabbage, a few roasted chestnuts, and a couple of tennis ball-sized “Klöße” (dumplings made of potato or flour). You’ll also get a little goose stock-reduced gravy on your plate as well.

All of these ingredients make a nice, seasonal combination, but it’s the goose leg itself that has such an amazing taste. You don’t necessarily need to surround your goose leg with all these pre-selected, Teutonic sides. You could choose some other ones according to what you like. I prefer goose leg with steamed Brussels sprouts and potato cubes fried in the fat rendered from the goose legs.

***

Now, it’s time to find out where you can get a decent goose leg. It’s easy here in southwestern Germany at this time of year. Every butcher will have a few. Geese are farmed around these parts. However, it might not be that easy to find goose legs where you live. Some New Yorkers might be able to find goose legs at certain poultry merchants in Chinatown. Other New Yorkers might head for Citarella to discover they can order goose legs, or an entire goose. Look around, you’ll find goose legs.

***

So, you were able to find four nice goose legs for a dinner for four. Well done!

Ready to get your goose cooked?

But now you’re thinking, “how are four people going eat all this goose meat. Each one looks like something Fred Flintstone would have on the table after a hard day’s work at the quarry.” Well, you’d be surprised. Those goose legs will reduce in size, believe me.

You’re going to need marinate your goose legs for the ultimate taste. Since goose has such a distinct taste on it’s own, we don’t need a fancy marinade, though. Let’s go with a simple combination of freshly cracked black pepper, salt, and fresh thyme leaves.

Make sure you rub all the ingredients all over the goose legs, both on the skin and on the flesh and bones. Put them in a bowl (or bowls), cover, and refrigerate. They should marinate for at least 12 hours, but if you start to marinate them the day before, you’ll have a terrific 24-hour marinade.

When you’re ready to start cooking, preheat the oven to 430° F. Take the goose legs out of the fridge and pat them dry with paper towels (you can leave a few thyme leaves and course pepper grinds on them, but the pepper and herb flavor will be there anyway due to the long marinating period, so don’t worry about any of the pepper grounds and leaves clinging to the paper towels).

Place the goose legs, skin-side up, in a big enough roasting dish to accommodate them (don’t worry if the end of any drumsticks goes over the edge of the roasting pan). When the oven reaches 430° F, put in the goose legs for about 12 minutes, or until the skin begins to slightly sizzle. Remove the roasting pan from the oven. Touch the skin of the goose legs. If the skin is tight and slightly hardened, you’re set. Make sure you don’t burn the skin.

Turn the oven down to 290° F (you might want to open the oven door slightly just to help reduce the temperature more quickly). Once the temperature is down to 290° F, put the goose legs back into the oven and let them slow-cook for about 80-90 minutes. When they’re done, their skins should be golden-brown and crispy-looking like this:

No more "cook your goose" jokes. Please.

Take the roasting pan out of the oven, remove the legs, pour the drippings into a sauce pan, place the legs back into the roasting pan, cover with foil, and place them on the counter. Turn the oven down to “warm”.

With a teaspoon, carefully separate the upper layer of fat from the goose stock (if frying potatoes, save the fat in a separate bowl). Put the goose stock on a high flame (you may or may not need to add a little water, depending on how much stock you have). At this time you should place the roasting pan, with the foil covering the goose legs, back into the oven. Bring the goose stock to a boil and reduce a little bit. Thicken it, if you like, with a tablespoon or more of all-purpose flour (this is a delicious way to make the gravy, if you’re serving the goose legs with mashed potatoes). You don’t have to add flour though. You can just reduce the stock by half. It’s your choice.

Remove the goose legs from the warm oven, put each one on a plate along with your sides, put the gravy in a gravy dish, or directly on the plates, depending how you want to present the food.

If you’ve successfully cooked the goose legs, you’ll know when you cut a piece of meat off with some skin and place it in your mouth. You should experience a combination of pleasant goose skin-crunch with delicate tender, tasty goose meat.

Enjoy!