This isn’t a typical FJ dish for me, and there’s a lot about this dish that would normally have scared me off: Meatballs, which are a lot of work; a cream sauce, which I’ve only made once or twice before; multiple components, which all have to be prepared separately. In short, it seemed like a pain in the ass.

But I had someone special to impress, and by all indications it worked. Either that, or he is a very good liar. Either way, mission accomplished. The dish is easier than it sounds, and the final result is worth the effort.

Marcella Hazan is the grande dame of Italian cookery. Her Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking is definitive, to say the least, and if you’re ever looking for a good recipe for an Italian classic, you can’t go wrong by turning to Marcella. I discovered this particular recipe on Smitten Kitchen, and as always, Deb’s gorgeous pictures had me drooling.

I’ve given you Deb’s adaptation of the recipe, because that’s what I used, and I found it very easy to follow. Rolling the meatballs is easy, fun, and goes faster if you can recruit a hungry guest to help. If you don’t have a metal strainer, I don’t think that shaking the flour off in one is strictly necessary. Your meatballs might get a bit more of a crust, but I don’t think that’s anything to complain about. In typical form, I omitted the parsley. I like parsley, but I just waste so much of it when I buy it that it almost never seems worth it.

The only problem I had with this dish, was that I definitely undersalted. This was easy enough to fix tableside, but I’d salt more aggressively next time. I used unsalted butter, so that may have had something to do with it.

As a kind of penance, I served the rigatoni with steamed broccoli and a simple salad. They made me feel like I was countering the aortic damage of the rigatoni and reminded me that spring would soon be here.

Baked Rigatoni with Tiny Meatballs
from Smitten Kitchen, “Adapted, no doubt blasphemously, from Marcella Hazan”

[All notes and comments below are Deb's, not mine.]

For the meatballs:

1/4 cup milk
1 slice good white bread trimmed of its crust
1 pound ground pork (or beef, or lamb, or a mix of the three)
1 teaspoon chopped garlic
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
1/3 cup freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano (Parmesan)
1 egg
Salt
Black pepper in a grinder
1 cup flour, spread on a plate
Vegetable oil for frying

For the bèchamel:

4 1/2 cups milk
6 tablespoons butter
5 tablespoons flour
1/8 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

To finish:

1 pound rigatoni
3/4 cup freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano
1 tablespoon butter
1/4 cup milk

Make the meatballs: Heat the milk, but don’t let it simmer. Tear pieces of the white bread into it and let it soak for 5 minutes, before picking it up with your hand, squeezing it of excess milk and putting it in a large mixing bowl.

Add the pork, garlic, parsley, grated cheese, egg, salt, and pepper. Combine all the ingredients with a fork until they are evenly mixed (or “amalgamated”, as Hazan so charmingly says).

Pinch off a small lump of meat, about the size of a raspberry and roll the lump into a ball in the palm of your hands. (Hazan says if you are good with your hands, you can try making 3 balls at a time. It turns out, I am not.)

When all the meatballs have been shaped (a process that took less time than I had expected, just the same), roll them in the flour, 15 to 20 at a time. Place the floured meatballs in a strainer and shake it smartly to dispose of excess flour.

Put enough vegetable oil in a skillet to rise 1/4-inch up the sides of the pan and turn on the heat to medium high. When the oil is hot, put as many meatballs in the skillet as will fit without overcrowding. Brown them until they form a nice crust all around. When one batch is done, transfer it with a slotted spoon to a platter covered with paper towels to drain and do the next batch until all are done.

Make the bèchamel: Heat the milk over low heat in a saucepan until it forms a ring of pearly bubbles, but do not let it break into a boil. In a larger saucepan, melt the butter over low heat, add the flour and stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or flat whisk until combined. Add 2 tablespoons of milk at a time to the flour and butter mixture, stirring steadily and thoroughly, then repeat through 8 additions. At this point, you can add the milk in 1/2 cup increments, stirring constantly to keep it smooth. Add the salt, pepper and nutmeg and stir the sauce until it thickens.

Assemble the dish: Cook the rigatoni in a pot of well salted water. Drain when still al dente, and combine immediately in bowl with two-thirds of the bèchamel, half the grated cheese, and all the meatballs.

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Heavily butter a 9×13 baking dish. (Original recipe calls for a 12-inch springform, which I am sure would be lovely but is not the commonest U.S. cake pan.) Spread the rigatoni and meatball mixture in the pan, leveling it off with a spatula. Pour the milk over the dish, the spread the rest of bèchamel on top, and sprinkle with the remaining grated cheese.

Place in the uppermost level of the preheated oven. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes until a golden brown crust forms on top.

Oh, dear reader. I swept, I swiffered, I squirted down countertops. I did a lot of things that I have been Meaning to Do, including washing my couch’s slipcovers, paying my billz, putting a pan of water in my piano’s baseboard, and (finally, finally) hooking up my record player. And I did a little spring cleaning for myself and the people I love: a new haircut, some letters written, library books returned, Mom’s birthday present bought. Because spring cleaning shouldn’t just be for your house!

And, finally, I made mulled wine, and drank it as a reward every time the whole thing got a little overwhelming and I needed to just sit down and read for a little while.

This mulled wine came together spontaneously, inspired by the box of wine that has been sitting in my apartment from the Superbowl, and which needed to be Spring Cleaned itself (boxes of wine do go bad eventually). At first, I was following recipes for mulled wine, and the whole thing just kind of tasted like hot, slightly burnt wine, which, if you’re guessing, does not taste good. Then I poured some sugar in, and voila! Delicious, and it just gets spicier and nicer the longer you let it sit (I think I had my pot on the stove, even with occasional wine-drinking assistance, for about four days).

Mulled Wine

- 2 to 3 bottles of cheap red wine (or leftover box of wine)

- 1 orange, peel cut off roughly (you don’t have to zest it, you can just stand the orange up and cut the peel off in four big chunks with some flesh attached)

- 2 cinnamon sticks

- 2 cups of sugar

- Optional: 10 or so cloves, tied up in cheesecloth (or free-floating, but then you’ll likely be scooping cloves into people’s drinks)

1. Pour wine into a large pot. Heat to a boil, then reduce to a bare simmer. Add cinnamon sticks, orange peel, and cloves. Let simmer 20 minutes or so.

2. Add sugar: First add one cup, then taste. Then another half-cup, then taste. Then another half-cup, if you still want it sweeter. Two cups should be enough.

3. Drink with maple cookies and good company, and a sparkling clean apartment, and no anxiety.

1. You can’t not eat anything.
2. Fish stinks in three days (in a fridge with a finicky thermostat).
3. Your willpower has a limit, and it stops at sour cream enchiladas.

To me, tex-mex says a lot of things. Filling up on margaritas and complimentary salsa. Listening to blaring mariachi music while repeating your order for the third time. Trying to avoid that warped brown chip at the bottom of the basket. It’s a culture as much as a cuisine, and these enchiladas embody tex-mex with their simple ingredients and bold flavor. My boyfriend’s family had these “fire logs” on rotation throughout his childhood, and like a little black dress, they have never failed to impress.

Cook’s Warning: While making these cheesy, sour creamy lumps of tortilla-wrapped gold, you may think to yourself, “Hm, wouldn’t these bad mamma jammas be good with some roast chicken or barbacoa pork?” The answer is a resounding no. In my experience, adding meat to this dish has always undermined the innate saltiness and fattiness of the cheese-sour cream combo. Don’t fall into your own greedy trap by thinking to improve upon perfection.

Sour Cream Enchiladas (Fire Logs)

1 dozen corn tortillas
2 cups shredded Monterrey Jack cheese
1 block grated sharp Cheddar cheese
1 can (~ 15 oz) chicken broth
1 fresh onion, chopped
1 cup sour cream
4 oz Jalapeno peppers (fresh or jarred), diced
4 TBS corn starch
Water to dilute corn starch

To make sauce:

Dilute the corn starch in water until it is completely dissolved. Place chicken stock, jalapeno peppers and diluted corn starch in a sauce pan. Bring to a momentary boil. Once the mixture of cornstarch and chicken broth thickens, add the sour cream to it, reduce heat, and mix thoroughly.

To make enchiladas:

Heat corn tortillas in the microwave. I usually zap them for 15 seconds a piece to prevent torn ‘tillas, a very undesirable state for corn tortillas. Fill each tortilla with one handful of Monterrey jack cheese, one smaller handful of sharp cheddar cheese, and one handful of raw onion. Line them up neatly into two or three rows in your oiled casserole dish.

Pour the sauce over the filled tortillas. Shudder with anticipation. Gently lift each tortilla to get sauce underneath as well (prevents sticking.) Got extra cheese or onions? Just sprinkle the remains on top. Bake at 425 for 20 minutes, and let your molten enchiladas cool for about 5 minutes.

I love cookbooks. I collect cookbooks. Sometimes, I read cookbooks in bed before going to sleep. I have been gratified in recent months to realize that a number of people also treat cookbooks as literature, but then I had this realization: I was only using them as literature.

Somehow, despite having already accrued 34 cookbooks here in Minneapolis (in addition to the maybe more than 100 I have at home in Berkeley), I never cook out of cookbooks anymore. Blame the internets. Somehow, somewhere along the way, cooking out of a book became a rarity for me, and one that seemed like a greater undertaking than pulling a recipe from the world wide webs. This was, of course, totally irrational: recipes from cookbooks don’t, by definition, take any more effort than recipes from the internet, plus most of the recipes I get from the internets came from books originally.

So, I decided to reacquaint myself with my cookbook shelves, beginning with this wonderful, Wonderful stew from my beloved, Beloved Jamie Oliver.

I love Jamie Oliver, and whether it is cool to love him or not, I don’t know, but I credit him with the beginnings of my interest in cooking. Well, him and my mom (who truly deserves the credit), but Jamie is the one who taught me that you don’t have to measure most things, that you don’t have to pull parsley or cilantro leaves off the stem, and that you can juice a lemon directly into a dish, using your fingers to catch the seeds.

His books are beautiful and lush, brimming with beautiful dishes that frequently avoid exact recipes, providing guidelines instead. And, most recently, he is doing really, really good work with school lunches and the obesity epidemic in America. And he has a show about all that coming out on abc! He is my hero.

He is my hero because of all the extra-good stuff he does, but he wouldn’t be able to do all that extra-good stuff if he hadn’t laid a foundation of really really delicious food. A Jamie Oliver recipe has never done me wrong, and this stew was no exception. Hearty, smoky, and easy-peasy, to last for days and only get better as leftovers (smokier, more complex). This is like a really upgraded chili, all the more classed up with chopped hardboiled egg as a garnish, for a little contrast. Go make it, tonight, from my cookbook to your computer, and perfect for this inbetween time of year that’s not quite winter and not quite spring.

Chorizo and Chickpea Stew

Adapted from Jamie’s Dinners

Serves 8

Ingredients

-       6 oz. chorizo sausage, chopped

-       1 onion, peeled and chopped

-       1 clove of garlic (or more!), peeled and finely chopped

-       2 sticks of celery, chopped

-       2 bunches (maybe 1.5 lb) spinach, washed and chopped

-       1 – 28 oz. can tomatoes, with juice (either pre-diced, or you can chop them; also, JO calls for fresh tomatoes here, but it’s winter in Minnesota, and so that’s just not happening)

-       1 – 28 oz. can chickpeas, drained

-       5 cups chicken stock

-       2 oz. prosciutto (or Spanish ham)

-       hard boiled eggs

-       olive oil

-       salt and freshly ground pepper

1. Heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil in a large pot. Add the chorizo. Cook for a few minutes until fat is rendered, then add onion, garlic, and celery. Reduce heat and cover, cooking for about 15 minutes (without coloring the onions, though no harm will really befall you if they get a little brown).
2. Add spinach, tomatoes, chickpeas, and chicken stock. (Add more chicken stock or water if you think you need more liquid.) Bring to a boil, then lower heat and let simmer for about 40 minutes.
3. You don’t have to (but I did): Remove about a third of the soup and puree it in the food processor. This will make things more stew-y, rather than soup-y. Return puree to pot and give everything a stir. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
4. Remove from heat. Stir in prosciutto and 2-3 tablespoons olive oil.
5. Serve with grated (or finely-chopped) hardboiled egg on top.

Kevin is off gallivanting in Massachusetts and asked me to post in his stead. I’ve been roommates with Kevin for some time and have long a been beneficiary of his Food Junta posts, but this is my first official entry into the books. I’m glad I waited for this dish, because it’s really something.

And it’s especially something because, in true Food Junta fashion, it’s enormously easy. Risotto with a twist.

A quick word on the medium of risotto. There is a rumor going around that risotto is a difficult, forbidding dish. It requires patience, yes, but practically no skill. I find continually stirring the rice for 30 minutes calmly meditative, while others may find it simply annoying (and rightly so). If you are in the latter camp, I suggest you pay or trick someone into making it for you.

In any event, the time I put in on this dish was worth it. My friend who was over for dinner pointed out that risotto is really nothing but fancy-seeming macaroni and cheese. And it is. But there’s nothing wrong with that. This recipe balanced perfectly the brightness of the lemon against the richness of the risotto and Parmesan. Also, in the past, I have found myself straining to fully appreciate possibly-too-subtle notes of a mushroom or artichoke risotto. Here, flavor is not lacking.

I don’t have any inside knowledge to contribute, but, after several attempts at risottos that ended up tasting like chicken broth, I finally had the foresight to dilute the broth in half (3 cups chicken broth, 3 cups water. I imagine that this could be replaced with vegetable broth). Also I used the zest and juice of one whole lemon, and that seemed to be the right amount. I was able to feed four people with the dish, supplementing with roasted asparagus (pictured above) and bread and cheese. A wonderful time was had by all. And we all had risotto-filled, lemon-scented dreams.

Lemon Risotto
from Bon Appetit

6 cups canned low-salt chicken broth
3 1/2 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
2 large shallots, chopped
2 cups arborio rice or medium-grain white rice
1/4 cup dry white wine
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (about 3 ounces)
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
4 teaspoons grated lemon peel

Bring broth to simmer in large saucepan over medium heat. Reduce heat to low; cover to keep warm. Melt 1 1/2 tablespoons butter with oil in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add shallots and sauté until tender, about 6 minutes. Add rice; stir 1 minute. Add wine and stir until evaporated, about 30 seconds. Add 1 1/2 cups hot broth; simmer until absorbed, stirring frequently. Add remaining broth 1/2 cup at a time, allowing broth to be absorbed before adding more and stirring frequently until rice is creamy and tender, about 35 minutes. Stir in cheese and remaining 2 tablespoons butter. Stir in parsley, lemon juice, and lemon peel. Season risotto with salt and pepper. Transfer to bowl and serve.

Citius, altius, fortius, eh?

Good morning sports fans, and merry belated Winter Olympics. Weren’t they great, these past few weeks? Rushing home after work to catch some sweet biathlon footage only to find… really? More ice dancing? Okay, seriously, how many rounds of this are there? But in spite of tape delays, ice dancers and Apolo Ono’s soul patch, there was as always a lot to love about the Winter Olympics. I know that the image of a crowded late-night sports bar with half a dozen massive flat screens turned to a curling match is one I will cherish for years to come.

The host of these past games, Canada, is a surprisingly large country located somewhere north of Seattle, and as the photo above clearly shows, its chief exports include hockey players, beer, and maple syrup. Okay, so there’s no maple syrup in the photo (and honestly one of those silver bullets looks suspiciously like a Coors Lite), but I have it on good authority that the amber stuff is a treasured national resource. Brown gold. Canada-C. You know, like Texas Tea? Oh forget it. Tonight, as a tribute to our hockey overlords north of the border, and as part of Food Junta’s ongoing wall-to-wall Olympics coverage, I present to you: bourbon maple syrup. Swifter, higher, stronger! Sweeter, tipsier, earlier!

Times have changed since Nick Charles woke up and asked for “a drop of something to cut the phlegm” in Dashiell Hammett’s The Thin Man, and nowadays whiskey in the morning may not seem like the breakfast of champions, but bourbon and maple syrup are a natural combination of flavors. I had never mixed the two over breakfast before, but the pairing is by no means original: big-name distillers Evan Williams and Jim Beam have their own brands of pancake syrup, while on the bartending side maple syrup has become a popular ingredient at whiskey joints. And in Michigan one chef’s brand of maple syrup, aged in bourbon casks, has earned the closest thing America has to a royal warrant: “it’s one of Oprah’s favorites.”

Yet despite the great taste, the marketing, and all the Oprah-atic fervor, finding a recipe to make bourbon maple syrup at home proved to be a challenge, an emotional voyage, a journey of redemption; indeed, it would take heart, passion, spirit and determination, along with grit and an almost superhuman will to succeed, in order to endure all of the Google searches necessary to reach that one proud, golden, magic moment where –

What? Sorry, I’ve watched too much Bob Costas lately. Anyway I ultimately triumphed over adversity and found two recipes, one with a little liquor, one with a lot. The first proposed flaming vanilla beams (sliced open, seeds scraped out) in 2 tablespoons of whiskey, with the remnants being poured into 1 cup of syrup. Problem was, most of the liquid evaporated in the flames, leaving only a very (very) subtle vanilla flavor. Maple syrup is pretty damn good by itself, and this recipe just doesn’t add enough to be worthwhile. As long as I’m quoting literary booze-hounds in this post, Henry Chinaski famously said, “If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise don’t even start.” I assume he was talking about spiking maple syrup, and so today’s recipe, as if you even had to ask, is the one with a lot of booze. It is delicious.

This recipe is very simple, with two pretty obvious main ingredients. First, the booze: I know that bourbon is from Kentucky, not Canada, and I know that there’s even a brand of whiskey called Canadian Club, which really would’ve fit better into the whole narrative of this year’s Olympics. But Canadian whiskey is rye whiskey. Bourbon is sweeter and has a stronger taste, and for our maple-flavoring purposes it seemed like the best choice. So now it’s a NAFTA recipe, sue me.

On to ingredient #2: maple syrup, like ice dancing, has been plagued by scoring controversies. In your average supermarket’s maple syrup aisle (hey, a guy can dream right?), Grade A maple seems like the obvious choice. But be warned, syrup grades are based on purity, not quality. Grade A wins its high marks for being sweeter and lighter colored because it’s been filtered more – because there’s less maple in it. If I just wanted sweetness from my syrup I’d save money and boil sugar cubes. Don’t take the maple out of our syrup! Buy the darker, more flavorful Grade B!

But uh… angry mobs aside, all maple syrup is pretty delicious. And here, arguably, is how to make it better:

Bourbon Maple Syrup

Adapted, oddly enough, from this kosher butternut squash bisque recipe.

1 cup bourbon

½ cup brown sugar

½ cup maple syrup

Optional: 2 vanilla beans (de-seeded) or a drop of vanilla extract

Stir brown sugar into bourbon over low heat until the mixture is thickened, reduced by half. Add maple syrup, simmer for 3 to 5 minutes and let cool to room temperature. I might also suggest adding a couple of vanilla beans (surprisingly expensive) or a drop of vanilla extract during the simmering – adding the one highlight of the first recipe to the strong caramel, maple and bourbon flavors of the second.

Naturally you’ll need some sort of syrup delivery device at this point. Kevin’s Johnny cakes recipe from a couple weeks ago would be an obvious choice. Vanilla ice cream, it turns out, is another perfect match. But I, as usual, fell back on my Dad’s pancakes. This recipe, one of the first things I ever learned to cook, makes pancakes that are a little smaller, denser, and more flavorful than your average fat, fluffy diner flapjacks.

Dad’s Pancakes

Serves 2

Dry:

1 cup flour

1 tsp baking powder

½ tsp salt

1 Tbsp sugar

Wet:

1 cup liquid

1 egg

1 Tbsp oil

• Flour: I use 1/3 all purpose flour, 1/3 cornmeal, 1/3 white whole wheat flower. Collecting all those different flours may sound like a pain, but the flavor is well worth the effort and certainly got me hooked – I remember one morning years ago I woke up and discovered my parents were out of cornmeal flour, and I was so fixated on these pancakes that I decided it was worth my while spending 30 minutes using a mortar and pestle to grind polenta (which we did have)  into flour.

• Liquid: I use buttermilk for pancakes, regular milk for waffles. Double the oil for waffles. And if you really get wrapped up in the spirit (ugh, unintentional pun) of your boozy breakfast, go ahead and add a tablespoon of whiskey to the batter too. It’ll add a slight flavor and aroma to the finished product.

When the syrup was mixed, the pancakes fried, and the waffles… ironed?… I invited a handful of hungry friends over, and with Pat, a real, honest-to-Gretzky citizen of Canada, presiding over the festivities, we sat down to ponder whether maple syrup could really be improved. Now I love the stuff at least as much as the next guy, and I still don’t know if today’s recipe is really an improvement. But it is delicious, and it is different: slightly more liquidy, and with a rich caramel flavor. As Kevin mentioned in his Johnny cakes post, even old favorites can use a new twist some times, and it’s always worth experimenting with booze in your food.

Remember the Olympic motto, folks: The most important thing is not to win but to take part. I’m Bob Costas. Good night, America.

Saute onions and/or garlic, add vegetables and/or meat, add water and/or stock, add grains and/or pasta, season. That is the recipe for pretty much every soup that’s out there, and once you’ve mastered it (which honestly takes about 15 minutes), you are a soupier extraordinaire.

In my eating adventures for my other blog, I recently ate the best bowl of mushroom barley soup I’d ever had, though to tell the truth, I can’t remember ever having had a bowl of mushroom barley soup before that one. I think “barley” had always scared me off by sounding a bit too much like a health food ingredient, but I won’t make that mistake again. Barley is delicious, and so is this soup.

This recipe is from Zingerman’s Deli in Ann Arbor, MI, which seems to be a crazy and awesome place. Claire also has a book from there that I think she really likes. Claire?

I made few (by my standards) changes to this recipe: I used vegetable broth instead of meat, replaced the margarine with butter (Kashrut dictates that you can’t mix meat and dairy, but (1) I already nixed the beef broth and (2) I am a big fat butter-loving goy.), and skipped the parsley (you can almost always skip the parsley).

With regards to the broth, I used one quart of store-bought broth plus the mushroom water, plus enough water to make 2 quarts, and the soup came out plenty flavorful. Keep an eye on the soup after you add the barley, because you may want to add more liquid, as I needed to. Just add water a cup at a time and see how much the barley absorbs.

Additionally, instead of scooping the mushrooms slowly into the broth (Anyone know why I would do this?) I just poured the warm broth into the mushroom pot. It just seemed easier that way.

OK, so maybe I actually made more than a few changes, but the soup was good and the perfect supper for what I hope will be one of the last nasty days of this especially nasty winter.

Mushroom Barley Soup
from Zingerman’s Deli

2 tablespoons dried porcini mushrooms
2 tablespoons margarine
1 large onion, thinly sliced
2 ribs celery with leaves, diced
1/4 cup parsley
1 carrot, peeled and sliced
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 pound fresh porcini or other mushrooms
1 tablespoon flour
2 quarts beef broth or water
1 cup whole barley
2 teaspoons salt
1. Soak the mushrooms in enough hot water to cover for a half hour. Strain through a filter. Reserve the water.

2. Coarsely chop the dried mushrooms.

3. Melt the margarine in a stockpot and sauté the onion, celery, 2 tablespoons of the parsley, carrot, garlic, and fresh mushrooms until soft, about 5 minutes.

4. Lower the heat and add the flour, stirring every 30 seconds for about 5 minutes or until thick.

5. In a soup pot heat the broth or water. Add a cup of mushroom mixture at a time to the pot, stirring.

6. Turn the heat to high, and add the reserved mushroom water and barley. Stir well and add salt to taste.

7. Simmer, covered, for about an hour or until the barley is tender and the soup is thickened, stirring often.

8. Add additional chopped parsley, mix thoroughly, and adjust seasonings.

Here at Food Junta, we mention the Minimalist a fair amount. But in all my minimalist reading, I don’t think I’ve ever seen MBittz wax quite as poetic as he did over this ginger fried rice, adapted from his friend and cookbook collaborator (and majorly fancy pants chef) Jean-Georges Vongerichten. Rarely do I read a recipe that I feel a need to make quite as immediately as this, but between Bittman’s effusive praise, the short list of ingredients, and the quick prep time, I was sold.

As Bittman also says, don’t let the multiple steps here daunt you. They each only take a few minutes, and the whole thing can be done with just two pans (one for the rice and accoutrement, one for frying the eggs). The result is — if not as mindblowing as Bittman makes it sound — pretty darn good, particularly for a dish that is composed mostly of leftover rice that would otherwise sit in my fridge for a week before meeting its maker in the trash can. I used leftover brown rice, JGV recommends Jasmine, Bittsy recommends leftover white rice from Chinese takeout. Choose your poison.

The whole dish comes together in twenty minutes, tops; the bits of leek are like little jewels in a sea of rice, reborn, swimming in luscious egg yolk; all topped off with garlic and ginger crunchies, to boot. If you make nothing else from this recipe, do try the garlic and ginger crunchies. You could use them to top just about anything, and when has fried garlic ever made a dish less tasty?

One other note: the Minimalist serves this as a dish unto itself. While it would make a fine supper, I like something a little more vegetable-y and a little less carbohydrate-y for my main meal, so I served this on the side of a tofu-veggie stir-fry. Again, up to you.

Ginger Fried Rice

Adapted from Mark Bittman/Jean-Georges Vongerichten, NYT

Serves 4, but if you’re me, you’d prefer it as a side dish

Ingredients

- 1/2 cup peanut oil

- 2 tablespoons minced garlic

- 2 tablespoons minced ginger

- Salt

- 2 cups thinly sliced leeks, white and light green parts only, rinsed and dried

- 4 cups day-old cooked rice, at room temperature (I used brown rice)

- 4 large eggs

- 2 teaspoons sesame oil

- 4 teaspoons soy sauce.

1. In a large skillet, heat 1/4 cup oil over medium heat. Add garlic and ginger and cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp and brown. With a slotted spoon, transfer to paper towels and salt lightly.

2. Reduce heat under skillet to medium-low and add 2 tablespoons oil and leeks. Cook about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until very tender but not browned. Season lightly with salt.

3. Raise heat to medium and add rice. Cook, stirring well, until heated through. Season to taste with salt.

4. In a nonstick skillet, fry eggs in remaining oil, sunny-side-up, until edges are set but yolk is still runny.

5. Divide rice among four dishes. Top each with an egg and drizzle with 1/2 teaspoon sesame oil and 1 teaspoon soy sauce. Sprinkle crisped garlic and ginger over everything and serve.

I have always heard friends rave about Ben’s Chili Bowl in Washington, D.C. – it’s a bit of an institution to say the least. In fact, it’s become a can’t-miss whistle stop for presidential candidates, local politicians, and celebrities. Bill Cosby eats there. A lot.

Ben’s Chili Bowl is most famous for their “half-smoke,” a D.C. delicacy that I’ve never had the privilege to try. From what I can gather, though, half-smokes are a type of sausage and Ben loads them up with chili topping. Works for me.

After looking at some pictures of Ben’s half smokes online, I decided that approximation – rather than imitation – would be a better course of action. I opted for a veggie-heavy meatless chili topping, rather than the shapeless mess that Wikipedia showed me. After all, I couldn’t have my first post on Food Junta looking like something you wouldn’t risk feeding to your dog. After picking up some Semolina bread and hot pepper Italian sausages, I was off and running.

Good Spice Veggie Chili (All produce measurements in real world units because, really, who knows how many Onions make 2/3 of a cup)
1 ½ Onion, chopped
1 Red Bell Pepper, seeded, diced
1 large Carrot, chopped in rounds
5 cloves Garlic, minced
3 Jalapeño Peppers, seeded, diced
2 15oz. cans Black Beans, drained
28oz. can Crushed Tomatoes
15oz. can Kidney Beans, drained
12oz. can Sweet Corn, drained
2 Tbsp. White Wine Vinegar
Chili powder
Cumin
Cinnamon
½ C Bulgur Wheat

Due to limited pot selection, I chose to cook the chili in a crock-pot – ideally I would have allowed many hours for the chili to really get going, but I only had about two and a half before serving time. Because of this, I started of by simmering the onions, carrots, red peppers, and jalapeños on their own to soften them up. After about 10 minutes, I transferred everything over to the crock-pot, along with the beans, corn, tomatoes, and garlic. Then I got to stirring.  For spicing (outside of the jalapeños) I kept it simple: A dash of cinnamon, a larger dash of chili powder, a few tablespoons of chopped cumin, and a couple of glugs of white wine vinegar. Delish.

After a few minutes of stirring, I left the chili alone, perhaps the most beautiful aspect of crock-pot cooking. After the chili had ruminated for around an hour, it was looking a little too juicy for my liking, though, so I added about a ½ cup of bulgur, a cracked wheat that soaks up water and works nicely as a thickening agent. It did the trick nicely, and after another hour and a half, the chili was chunky and cohesive – perfect.

The remaining steps were fairly simple: Grill sausages, toast rolls, combine. Cover with chili. Eat.

The chili complimented the sausage quite nicely – the spice wasn’t too obtrusive, and the corn provided a sweet pop to balance the pepper in the sausage. It was good enough to hold its own as a stand-alone chili, and the bulgur gave it some extra weight to take it up a hearty notch. On the sausage, the chili was a nice texture complement to the crispy skin, and reassuring not to be overloaded with meat.

The bread held up under the combined weight, and was perfect for sopping up some extra chili that conveniently found itself ladled onto the side of the plate. Knocks against the dish: The chili could have used a little more time for all of the flavors to mesh, and the bread was almost too hearty – one gets the feeling that Ben’s half-smoke rolls dissolve in your hands as you chow down.

So let’s not call it a half-smoke, or compare it to Ben’s (although, photographically, I stand my ground). It’s a cheap, hearty meal. It’s good protein covered in your daily dose of vegetables. It’s a step up from a chili dog. It’s a Chili Sausage, and it’s proud to be one.

You know what else isn’t a trend? Bacon. Bacon is just good. It’s like meatballs in that way. Still, I can’t help but applaud the genius of the good people over at Bon Appetit, who managed to get both meatballs AND bacon on the cover of their January issue. The recipe: Spaghetti and Meatballs All’Amatriciana, which, BA notes, is classically made with guanciale (salt-cured pig’s jowl). Here, they’ve substituted slightly more user-friendly bacon, with the traditional Italian dish supplying a nice front for what I think was pretty clearly a moment of gluttonous genius that had to be gussied up a bit with a foreign language.

Often, in the many, many bacon-heavy recipes that I’ve either cooked or eaten at restaurants, the bacon seems almost an after-thought, like a nod to a trend and a ploy for orders. Not here. Here, the basic plays an intrinsic role, yet without ever taking on the diva-esque position so typical of it. Its smoky flavor permeates both the sauce and the meatballs (it’s included in both), becoming that certain je ne sais quoi that pushes a dish over the edge into new territories of flavor. Especially, I will note, after sitting for a day, an inadvertent discovery on my part when I was eating leftovers and found them all the more smoky and amazing than the day before.

You may want to take note of this observation, not just because you want your pasta permeated with as much bacon-y goodness as possible, but because these little porkers take a little longer than you might imagine to put together. It might just be that I was really enjoying the (three) All Songs Considered I was listening to, but I don’t think so; this is not a dish that comes together in haste. It took about two hours start to finish, frying the meatballs in three separate batches. And you know what, it was worth the work. It’s a pain to get all the ingredients for the meatballs, but their flavor ended up incredibly complex; I was particularly pleasantly surprised by the cheesey aroma they gave off while frying — the caramelization of the Parmesan.

So take your time with these, maybe make them a day ahead, and make them for a special someone, or someones, as I had the pleasure of doing. Serve with garlicy garlicy buttery garlic bread and salad, and a couple bottles of shockingly decent two buck chuck (or is it three bucks now? it may still be two here in the upper midwest…).

Spaghetti and Meatballs, with Bacon

Adapted from Bon Appétit

Serves 8-10

Ingredients

Meatballs

• 6 ounces uncured applewood-smoked bacon (about 6 slices), diced
• 2 large garlic cloves, peeled
• 2 pounds ground beef (15% fat)
• 2/3 cup chopped drained roasted red peppers from jar
• 2/3 cup panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)
• 2 large eggs
• 1/2 cup coarsely grated onion
• 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 tablespoon minced fresh marjoram
• 2 teaspoons dried crushed red pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Sauce

• 2 28-ounce cans diced tomatoes in juice (preferably San Marzano)
• 2 large garlic cloves, peeled
• 6 ounces uncured applewood-smoked bacon (about 6 slices), cut crosswise into thin strips
• 1 tablespoon (or more) extra-virgin olive oil
• 3 cups finely chopped onions
• 1 1/2 teaspoons dried crushed red pepper
• 2 cups dry white wine
• 1 tablespoon minced fresh marjoram

Pasta

• 1 1/2 pounds spaghetti
• 2 to 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 1/2 tablespoons minced fresh marjoram
• Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1. For the meatballs

a. Place bacon in processor. Using on/off turns, grind to coarse paste. Transfer to large bowl. Using garlic press, squeeze in garlic. Gently mix in beef and all remaining ingredients. Let stand 15 minutes.

b. Line large rimmed baking sheet with plastic wrap. Using moistened hands and scant 2 tablespoonfuls for each, roll meat mixture into 1 1/2-inch meatballs. Arrange meatballs on sheet. (Can be made one day ahead. Cover with plastic wrap and chill.)

2. For the Sauce

a. Puree tomatoes with juice and garlic in batches in blender until smooth.

b. Cook bacon in large pot over medium heat until crisp; transfer bacon to plate.

c. Add 1 tablespoon oil to drippings in pot and heat over medium heat. Add half of meatballs (or as many as you can fit). Cook until brown on all sides, turning carefully with small metal spatula, about 9 minutes. Transfer meatballs to baking sheet lined with paper towel. Add more oil to pot if needed and repeat with remaining meatballs.

d. Increase heat to medium-high. Add onions and crushed red pepper to pot. Sauté until golden, about 6 minutes. Add wine; boil until reduced by half, stirring up browned bits, about 8 minutes. Add tomato puree and marjoram. Boil until sauce thickens slightly, stirring occasionally, about 8 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

e. Mix bacon into sauce. Add meatballs; bring to simmer. Reduce heat to low; cover and simmer until meatballs are heated through and tender, 10 to 15 minutes. Season sauce with salt and pepper. (BA doesn’t say this, but in my opinion you could also stop here a day ahead, and just make the pasta fresh for your guests.)

3. For the Pasta

a. Meanwhile, cook spaghetti in pot of boiling salted water until just tender but still firm to bite, stirring occasionally.

b. Drain; transfer to large bowl. Toss with 2 tablespoons oil and marjoram, adding more oil to moisten, if desired. Divide spaghetti among bowls. Top with meatballs and sauce. Sprinkle with cheese and serve, passing additional cheese separately.