The ability to utilize leftovers in a creative manner could be one of the most overlooked skills as a home cook. Hash and eggs is a simple breakfast delicacy that rivals biscuits and gravy for points on the greasy morning satisfaction index. I had seasoned and hot-smoked an entire side of brisket (probably about 10-lbs), sliced it up, slathered it in a homemade bbq sauce, and left it to get friendly in the refrigerator. The cuts that didn’t make it into the freezer were transformed into a handful of lunches, and a few breakfasts and dinners. Each time the brisket took a new form it put a smile on my face and made the initial eighteen-hour cooking process more worthwhile.

What You Need:

• two red potatoes, diced
• one-half yellow onion, diced
• splash of olive oil
• 1T. butter, plus a pad for mounting
• 1/2c. white wine
• 1/4c. chicken stock
• salt
• pepper
• a sprig of fresh thyme, picked
• 1/2-lb leftover brisket, diced
• egg, fried over-easy

The Process:

placed two diced red potatoes and a diced half of a yellow onion in a skillet over medium heat with a splash of olive oil and 1T. of butter. cooked slowly until the potatoes were almost fork tender. added 1/2c. of white wine, a splash of chicken stock, salt, pepper, and fresh thyme to the skillet and brought up to a light simmer. placed 1/2-lb of diced leftover sliced brisket on top of the simmering potatoes and onions in the stock and wine solution. covered and let steam until the brisket shredded easily. mixed all of the contents of the skillet together and simmered on slightly higher heat until the liquid had reduced. hit with a pad of butter and continued cooking until at the proper consistency. transferred the hash to a small plate and placed under the broiler until golden brown and crispy on top. served along side a fried over-easy egg.

Do you know what six-thousand cook books look like? Have you ever seen a pile of All-Clad cookware stacked so high that it nearly reaches the ceiling? How about an entire wall of Kitchen Aid mixers and attachments? The two test kitchens and facilities at the (appropriately named) America’s Test Kitchen headquarters are decked out, to say the least. Produced from inside of the walls of their Brookline, Massachusetts fortress of food-nerdery are the publications Cook’s Illustrated, and Cook’s Country, as well as the America’s Test Kitchen television show.

I was fortunate to be invited over to ATK’s spot for a tour and lunch one day during the month-long period each year in which the entire season of filming for the television show occurs. It seemed like an all-hands-on-deck type scenario in the building, and the kitchens were jam packed with activity. I was able to snap a few pictures and chat with some of the talented cooks during a morning lull in filming. In one of the kitchens Dan prepared some stocks over one of the kitchen’s center island burners, instilling a momentary vision of a foodie’s version of the wall of sound, replacing speakers with high end stainless ovens and mixing bowls.

On our way to grab some lunch, I was escorted through the winding back hallway off of the main test kitchen. The entire length of hallway out to the alley was lined with different types and brands of gas and charcoal grills. When we got to the back alley there was more action taking place. A cook there was monitoring the state of a large roast beef, which was being seared off on a mammoth gas grill just outside of the back door of the ATK facilities.

I enjoyed some great conversations with my guides from the Test Kitchen and a fantastic sandwich at a deli-style lunch spot called Cutty’s which was in walking distance from the ATK headquarters. Cutty’s was opened by former ATK chef Charles Kelsey, and might just be one of the only lunch destinations that could coax me across the river if I needed a fix for a mean sandwich. The special of the day was an amazing in-house roasted roast beef sandwich on a black pepper brioche with thousand island dressing, crispy shallots and cheddar.

The warmer-than-home springtime sun finds me on a dock anxiously overlooking the intracoastal waterway behind the small resort town of Isle of Palms. Accompanied by a cooler of beers, a camera, and a notepad I notice a small white fishing craft with an outboard motor making its way around the bend of the waterway and toward my location. It was a few hours before the evening low tide and the South Carolina sun was beating down.

The Captain is island native Devin Sadler. His face is toughened by the abusive South Carolina sun. Sadler’s age is hard to pinpoint because, for most of his life, he has been living on the edge of paradise, making a living by doing something he loves. He smiles as he loads my gear onto his boat and pilots us from the dock explaining enthusiastically the intricacies of his profession. Sadler is one of forty South Carolina farmers, and one of only three on Isle of Palms with a mariculture permit for the year-round farming of clams. A one-man-show, he plants and harvests clams every day alone on his boat in the South Carolina weather. For the last ten years he has been planting between three and four-hundred-thousand seeds per year on his forty-acre lease of land near Dewees Inlet on the Intracoastal. At any given time he has around eight-hundred-thousand clams in varying states of maturity, and has harvested-to-order as many as ten-thousand clams in a day.  I ask Devin how he keeps track of different beds and their contents.  With his twenty years of experience and a wry wit he answers, “You remember where you put your wallet, right?”

We careen through the bends of the waterway and eventually anchor near a small island mass, a pile of shells and debris dredged up during the making of the Intracoastal. It didn’t look much like what I was expecting; really I didn’t see anything at all except a few white poles sticking out of the water. Sadler decides we need to drink a few more beers and wait for the tide to lower before we can see the beds and harvest clams. I was under the impression previously that clams came from large mechanized farms like most of our other edible commodities. This may be the case, but not for the product of Sadler’s Southern Light Clam Farm.  In fact, I don’t think his process could be less mechanized. His approach is very natural and appears to be extremely sustainable. He plants locally raised clam seeds (baby clams about the size of a dime), into the beds along side his older clams. The clams eat naturally occurring algae and microorganisms from the water. The waste they produce feeds other small organisms like shrimp and mud minnows. The clams are harvested either as little necks (about one inch thick), or more commonly as larger more mature top necks (approximately one and a quarter inches thick), which take approximately one and a half years to grow to maturity from a seed. One-hundred percent of the product farmed and harvested by Sadler goes to local customers, be they local restaurants or long-time island visitors and residents. Most of his clams are harvested-to-order, but if there are any clams that have been out of the water for more than three days, he replants them in special beds to ensure healthy and fresh stock. During our trip the water appeared murky, Sadler explained to me that the spring algae bloom was in full swing. The water in the farming area is crystal clear in the winter, and contains less than 28-ppm of fecal coliform.

Sadler pulls on waders and gloves and lowers himself off of the boat and into the hazy green water. Grabbing a large perforated bucket he makes his way along the mud flat to the beds he intends to harvest and maintain this evening. His job is not easy and crops are not guaranteed at all; crop growth varies based on a variety of environmental conditions and predators such as crabs, sharks and stingrays, which feed on the clam seed. But predation is not confined to the clam ecosystem; relentless and dangerous groups of poachers are constantly trying to steal clams from his beds. He says that the poachers look for his truck and trailer in the parking lot where he launches his boat, and if they do not see his truck they pillage his crop. The poachers, typically armed, captain lightweight row boats outfitted with large outboard motors, to allow for a quick get-away while over-loaded with heavy product. Altercations involving gun-fire and physical combat between poachers and farmers are not uncommon on the waterway. Sadler says poachers tend to be from areas further up the waterway. They come down the waterway and harvest clams from farmer’s beds because they do not have land leases themselves, and have exhausted the legal state clamming areas and the naturally occurring clam beds. They also harvest clams in restricted polluted areas. If someone was to get sick from the polluted clams, it could potentially jeopardize the ability for the legal farmers to sell their crop in the island area.

Pulling up the mesh that protects the nestled clams in their bed, Sadler works his hands down into the pluff mud of the riverbed. His hands emerge from the water with a few muddy specimens. He rinses the clams off in the river water, evaluates their size, and inspects them for any noticeable defects. He places a few top necks sized clams in his orange bucket and repeats the process until he has filled the orders for the day. Sadler says that when selecting clams from a local grocer it is important to inspect the product for freshness and quality. The shell of the clam should not be too light in color, there should not be any unpleasant odors coming from the clams, and the clam shells should be tightly closed. If the clam shells are slightly gapped open, they should close after a light tapping on the shell, otherwise they should be discarded. Sadler says that as a rule of thumb, if the clam shells are still open when you get them from the market to your house, they are not prime for eating.

At this point the sun had started to set and a cool breeze started working its way across the waterway. Throwing on some windbreakers, we pulled up anchor and motored back to the dock where our journey had began. Pulling up to the dock, I recalled the night before, when Sadler had prepared his original recipe of Clams McGeechee for my family and myself. The fresh clams, which had been steamed in a flavorful broth, were the meatiest that I had ever consumed. Sadler has been trying to develop a market for his clams down on Isle of Palms, but has found that the local restaurants would rather source mass-produced, oversized, and tough clams for frying than invest in a high-quality local product, to be prepared and served using more delicate techniques. It was interesting to hear that most of the chefs that place orders with him have spent time cooking in New England, or have an affinity for the more northern coastal cuisine. The appreciation that his product deserves has been lost on the local audience in the past, but Sadler is optimistic that cuisine in the area will turn around and start to focus more on the bivalves that he loves so much.

What you need, for Clams McGeechee:

• 3-4 dozen clams, washed
• 3T. garlic, minced
• 2T. fresh oregano, chopped fine
• 2T. fresh basil, chopped fine
• 1 pinch red pepper flakes, crushed
• 1/2 lemon, juice and zest
• 1/2c. olive oil
• 1 onion, diced large
• 1 green bell pepper, sliced
• 1 yellow crookneck squash, cubed
• 1 loaf french bread
• 1c. white wine
• salt
• pepper

The Process:

lightly browned a diced onion in a large stock pot containing 1/2c. olive oil. added a pinch of salt and pepper, one sliced green bell pepper, one diced yellow crookneck squash, and 1c. white wine. allowed the mixture to come to a healthy simmer, then added 3T. minced garlic, 2T. fresh chopped oregano, 2T. fresh chopped basil, zest and juice from 1/2 lemon, and a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes. added 3-4 dozen top neck size clams (approximately 1.5 inches in thickness), and steamed/boiled on high heat until all of the clam shells had opened. poured into a large dish and served family style with a loaf of french bread for sopping, and a palmetto pale ale to wash it down.

[photos: ABP, copy edit: PLR, DC]

There are only a few foods that I would say I honestly love, and have loved for as long as I can remember. As I age my palate becomes accustomed to a more diverse range of flavors leading me to seek out more interesting and complicated foods.

Leaving these childhood favorites to nostalgia, few foods are allowed to transition from childhood to adulthood, most notably: cereal, ants-on-a-log, and, of course, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich (Q: “What’s the difference between a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a peanut butter and jam sandwich?”).

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich does not require an upgrade; it has a great crunch and mouthfeel, features the perfect mix of salty and sweet, and accommodates a huge variety of possible ingredients.

This endless roster of fillings, which can be substituted without straying from the original form, makes the peanut butter and jelly sandwich somewhat unique. One of my favorite ways to admire a sandwich is to cut it in half and look at the layers in cross-section. Peering into the slightly-pinched cross-section of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich exemplifies simplicity. While it is not very likely that the peanut butter and jelly sandwich will be replaced by peanut butter and jelly sandwich 2.0, if it were to happen, this would be the sandwich that would knock it off the pedestal.

In this sandwich, the peanut butter has been replaced by a simple and crunchy cashew butter, slightly modifying the roots of the sandwich. The cashew butter is adhered to the bread by a thin layer of dulce de leche, which enhances the richness of the sandwich and lends an unmistakable caramelized flavor. The jelly component is a rich apricot jam, topped with a layer of thinly-sliced ripe bananas. Moving away from the classic wonderbread envelope, a rustic sourdough bread adds a subtle fermented note and a worthy wrapper for the new cast of ingredients.

What you need:

• 2c. raw cashews
• 3-4t. canola oil
• Pinch sugar
• Pinch salt
• 1 small can of sweetened condensed milk
• 1 ripe banana
• Apricot jam
• Sourdough bread

The Process:

made some cashew butter by grinding up 2c. or so of raw cashews with 3-4tsp. of canola oil (a splash at first and then add until at the desired consistency), a pinch of sugar (to taste), and a pinch of salt (to taste). reduced some sweetened condensed milk into a medium-thick dulce de leche syrup/cream. smothered some iggy’s whole wheat sourdough with the dulce de leche, followed by the cashew butter, placed some sliced bananas on top, smeared the other side with a nice meaty organic apricot jam, and put it together. served with some nice honeydew melon.

Nothing really signifies the beginning of spring in New England like the availability of delicious and fresh seafood and produce. I know that it’s a little early to start getting excited about the availability of seasonal foods, but after a long winter of braising greens and root vegetables, I start to pine for a heaping pile of ceviche enjoyed in the sun with a nice sparkling beverage.

Ceviche is a simple dish with a unique mouthfeel and taste which is a result of the process of denaturing fresh seafood in a marinade with a high concentration of citric acid. To complement the intense flavor of citrus, ceviche typically includes a sharp front end provided by some thin sliced red onion, fresh middle ground with a handful of cilantro, and then a spicy finish with a touch of heat from chili peppers. My interpretation of this dish replaces the cilantro with the anise-like flavor of fresh tarragon, and adds the depth provided by some ripe cubes of bartlett pear. A doughy, grilled chapatis and a Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand complete the dish.

What you need:

• 1/2-lb raw scallops, sliced into 1/3-in thick slices
• 1/4-lb raw shrimp, de-veined/peeled, butterflied
• 1/4-lb sea bass, sliced into 1/3-in thick slices
• 4 lemons, juiced
• 4 limes, juiced
• 1/2 of a red bell pepper, chopped fine
• 1T. habenero pepper, chopped fine
• 2 cloves garlic, crushed
• 1t. salt
• 1/4c. extra-virgin olive oil
• 1/2 of a large pear, diced
• 1/4 of a red onion, sliced very thin
• 2 scallions, sliced thin
• 1/2T. tarragon + 1 sprig (garnish), chopped fine
• 1t. sugar
• black pepper, cracked

For Chapatis:

• 3/4c. warm water
• 1t. salt
• 1 3/4c. all purpose flour + more for dusting

The Process:

marinated 1/2-lb of raw scallops, 1/4-lb of raw shrimp, and 1/4-lb of sea bass, all of which had been sliced into rounds or cubes about 1/3-in thick, in the juice from four lemons and four limes, the zest from one lime, 1/2 of a red bell pepper finely chopped, 1T. of finely chopped habenero pepper, two cloves of crushed garlic, and 1t. of salt. let this stand covered in the refrigerator for one hour, lightly mixing once or twice along the way. strained most of the marinating liquid and added to the seafood and pepper mixture: 1/4c. of extra-virgin olive oil, diced 1/2 of a large pear, finely sliced 1/4 of a red onion, 2 finely sliced scallions, 1 1/2T. of finely chopped fresh tarragon, 1t. sugar, and fresh cracked black pepper to taste.

mixed 3/4c. of warm water and 1t. of salt into 1 3/4c. all purpose flour, kneaded and let stand for 30 minutes at room temperature. took globs of the goo with a floured hand and pushed them into rounds and stretched to shape on a floured work surface, then placed each flattened dough piece on a low temperature grill until slightly charred and still moist on the inside. the best tasting ones were puffed full of air but still a little gummy around the edges.

plated the ceviche in chilled bowls on a larger plate with the chapatis and a sprig of tarragon.

Did a little bit of digging through my blog archive this morning and found a post about a sandwich that I made a while back that would be great on a nice sunny day like today. Tossing the fresh sliced tomato in a light citrus dressing adds a little bit of much needed acid and bite to a sandwich with a heavy base of bacon and cheese. The basil lends a fresh summery touch to the sandwich which really completes the overall flavor profile. This is a really simple sandwich that is best enjoyed on the patio with a pint of unfiltered white ale,  or something equally refreshing.

I usually write entries in a narrative format. So, the following is a breakdown of ingredients to assist in piecing the recipe back together:

What you need:

• Thick sliced, high-quality bacon, cooked (save the drippings)
• Whole wheat bread, toasted (I used tuscan whole wheat)
• Sharp cheddar cheese, sliced (Dubliner is cheap and decent)
• Fresh basil, picked from the stem
• Tomatoes, sliced thin (out of season right now, but you might be able to find a few good ones at your local grocer)

To dress the tomatoes:

• Juice from 1/2-lemon
• 1T. extra virgin olive oil
• 1T. black currant jam
• Pinch of salt
• Pinch of pepper

The process:

cooked up some 1/4-inch thick slices of some local farm bacon. spread some of the bacon drippings on a few slices of toasted tuscan whole wheat bread. placed on the bread some thin slices of dubliner cheddar, the bacon, whole leaves of fresh basil, and some tomatoes which had been tossed in some olive oil, lemon juice, and black currant jam.