Tag: marinade

Normally, when I cook, I like to find a recipe online, then cook something completely different. That way, every time I make something, it's an organic, unique recipe, and different whenever I make it. The few times a recipe comes out perfect, of course, I prepare it the same way; however, usually I'm trying to find a new way to make food.

And so today's recipe comes into play. I'd been browsing the chicken recipes in the wikibooks cookbook, and found my way to a recipe for Garlic Lemon Chicken. The thing that drew my attention was a Lebanese sauce named toum. So, after glancing at both recipes for about half a second, I was off.

The first goal was to make the toum. I knew that it involved garlic, olive oil, salt, and lemon juice; it was only about halfway through the recipe that I realized it required the oil and lemon juice to be added to the macerated garlic-salt mixture in small doses, to increase the volume. I'd also added cayenne to the recipe; the first taste, before I thinned it out with the garlic and oil, was like a garlic nuclear bomb.

I started by shucking two full bulbs of garlic and running them through the processor, then adding salt, pepper, cayenne, sesame oil (I was out of olive), and lemon juice, until I had a mighty bowl of deadly garlic paste. At this point in the recipe, my plan was to saute the chicken breasts, slather them with this liquid kryptonite, and then braise them for a scary long time.

Things changed when I noticed that the original chicken recipe called for a completely different marinade, and for the toum to be used as a dipping sauce for something else entirely. Funny how the little details kick in at the last minute. To make up for the lack of moisture (I doubted that the toum would keep the chicken moist during a long cooking time), I deglazed the skillet I cooked the chicken in with a can of chicken broth and some gin. I didn't bother reducing because (1) I needed moisture, and (2) I wanted to find a way to weaken the gargantuan garlic heat in the toum. In order to justify my decision, I found a recipe online labeled Shish Taouk Toum, which involves making chicken kebabs after marinating in a liquid that included (a tiny amount of) toum. Alright. Somebody made chicken and let it touch the Garlic Death. I was treading in somewhat charted territory. Onwards.

I put the chicken breasts into the oven, slathered with toum, and poured in my deglazing liquid, setting the temperature to 250 degrees. My plan was to make the chicken, taste it, and see if it was too strong to eat. At this point, if it were indeed too strong, I'm pretty sure my plans to fix it involved making rice.

After a couple hours on low heat, I opened the oven. The house smelled like garlic for three days. We eventually served it over orzo. Not the best garlic chicken ever, but not bad either.

Happy Thanksgiving and related holy days from Edible Unknown! My particular Thanksgiving opened my eyes to the wonders of allspice, a Carribean ingredient named by the English, who thought that it included the flavors of cloves, nutmeg, pepper, and cinnamon, among others.

You see, I was making dinner, and in lieu of turkey (which I bloody well hate, no matter what Ben Franklin thought) we had this honey-cured ham. Not being in my normal kitchen, I searched around the spice cabinet, which had unfortunately been through a bit of a downsizing (as no-longer fresh spices were removed). So I did what any good person faced with a ham might do- I took a slice, started dumping spices on my hand, and took several taste tests until I came up with a combination I could do well with.

This was a bit of a shotgun Thanksgiving in the sense that the shopping had already been done, and I had not enough time to make anything representing a marinade. After using foil paper, a well-sized crockery, and some water to build a punk-rock dutch oven for the ham, I patted every inch I could with a mixture of allspice, garlic powder, salt, and pepper, then combined more of this in some melted butter (for drenching it halfway through the cooking process).

Another hurdle to overcome was the organic sweet potatoes, which turned out not to be the ordinary orange tubers we are all used to, but instead a starchy, thin, white-flesh job. Starchy as they were, I didn't think straight baking would be enough, so I dismantled some potatoes and put them into a casserole with some water, baked until soft, mashed, then mixed with orange juice, cloves, black pepper, butter, and brown sugar. When the ham was out and the oven set to broil (to roast some corn on the cob), I sprinkled brown sugar across the top of the casserole and let it caramelize.

It wasn't particularly bad, but as often happens with experimental dishes, it was much better once the flavors had time to set. Or so I heard, the next day.

Here's to holiday adventure! See you later, when I'll be discussing how best to cook relatives who overstay their welcome.