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Better Than Southern Fried Chicken?

The crackliest chicken you can imagine.

I caught your attention with that title, didn't I? Well, the same thing happened to me, when I stumbled on a recipe in The Atlantic.com's food section in a post about Bangkok street vendor fried chicken--the recipe for which the author cajoled from the street vendor, then scaled down for use in the kitchen. And yes, he called it better than Southern fried chicken here in the U.S.

Bangkok is a fascinating place which I'd love to visit someday. The cuisine there encompasses not only the various styles of Thai cooking--Southern, Northern, Northeastern, and Central--but also neighboring cuisines from Burma, Malaysia, and especially China. I became particularly fascinated with the place upon reading a recent piece in a recent issue of The Art of Eating, the always-thorough and thoughtful food magazine that we've recommended in the past.

From the author's passionate words about this fried chicken, I was convinced to try it. He wrote about this food with deep feeling and respect, recalling the chicken's superbly crackly crust, a flavor imbued with fish sauce and cilantro and a hit of black pepper, and painting an image of a mysterious man on a bicycle with a propane tank who prepared it right in the street.

I went for the cheapest bag of rice flour

The key difference between Southern fried chicken and Bangkok fried chicken is rice flour. Rice flour produces a lighter result than wheat, and can give food a remarkable crispness (It's popular with gluten-free eaters, and some people even prefer a pizza dough made from rice flour because of that crispness). But it's been used in Asia forever in all kinds of dishes, and batter for fried chicken is one of them.

I don't know much about rice flour, but it wasn't hard to find at the local Korean market. I saw prices for the same amount of rice flour as high as $5.99 and as low as 99 cents.

I prepared the recipe with great anticipation, allowing the chicken to marinate in heady mixture of cilantro stems, black pepper, fish sauce, garlic, chile flakes, chicken stock, and the all-important rice flour for 24 hours. Then I got some hot oil going in a Dutch oven and even dug up my thermometer to make sure I had the temperature right. I cooked it up and it looked fantastic.
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Highlights from Barcelona on the Cheap

While Nick has been saving the world with quick no-soak-beans and investigating the roots of Wisconsin bratwurst (part of my family is from Wisconsin and I hope to weigh in with strong opinions on the subject sooner than later), I've been on the run, away from a kitchen, squeezing every trip out of Europe I can afford. Which isn't much at the moment. But a lack of cash didn't deter us from enjoying some of the best food Barcelona has to offer. This week Elin and I return to the States, and we have only murky plans to return to Europe, so we felt like this was our last chance--even if it would be on the cheap.

We arrived in Barcelona on a sunny day, and were immediately swept up. The energy of its streets, its stylish confection of modern and classical architecture, the big-heartedness of its people--and of course, the food.

Remembering our trip to Catalonia, the word generosity comes to mind again and again. George Orwell wrote all the way back in 1938 in Homage to Catalonia of the "essential decency" of Catalan people, "their straightforwardness and generosity," as well as something else, a "generosity in a deeper sense, a real largeness of spirit, which I have met with again and again in the most unpromising circumstances." No doubt his romantic observations remain fundamentally true to this day.

What I loved about Barcelona was its mix of old and new, the Parisian-like architecture I associate with European cities animated with modern gestures, dreamy visionary buildings that add up to a slap-dash, energetic melange of style. There is a now-ness to everything that's invigorating.

To try and save a little cash, our approach to eating in Barcelona was to avoid full-on meals and spend our time grazing in tapas bars, aiming to try as much as possible. Because while generosity describes Barcelona's people and lifestyle, it also happens to describe the size of the prices. Our dinner was often a baguette, wedge of cheese, cured ham from the grocery store, and a bottle of 4 euro wine--which is nothing at all to complain about, especially the fact that a 4 euro bottle of local wine can be remarkably good. After a filling breakfast and dozens of little plates of food throughout the day, the simplicity of that kind of meal was perfect.

The following were our highlights from our time in Barcelona.
Braised Short Ribs in Barolo

My first adventure, somewhat failed, in using my new Le Creuset pot.

by Blake Royer
Yesterday I wrote about my new blue purchase, a Le Creuset dutch oven. The saleswoman teased about being able to cook anything down in there, and I decided to take her word and and lift the lid on unexplored regions of my culinary mind. I wanted to cook the toughest, cheap cut of meat and turn it into a succulent, mouthwatering experience. It was time to braise some short ribs. Short ribs, apparently, are all the rage, thanks in part to Mario Batali's influence. Though many expensive cuts of meat are softer, and better for grilling, neglected cuts of meat can have more flavor and be fall-off-the-bone tender, if cooked properly. In this case, properly means a long arduous process occupying many steps over 3 hours. But I had the magic pot and a bottle of hearty Italian wine that could distract me from eventual 10pm dinner bell. If only I could figure out what braising meant.
Mexican Chopped Salad with Avocado Dressing

IAfter seeing me mess up some perfectly fine sprouts, the people spoke and they resoundingly told me to roast.
by Nick Kindelsperger<
Philadelphia Fish House Punch
Deep-Dish Pizza: Round 2
Macaroni Gratin vs. Macaroni and Cheese

By Blake Royer I’ve already done my public fawning over...
Homemade Compound Gin (No Bathtub Required)

I cannot be fooled. If a bartender accidentally swaps vodka for some gin in my drink, I can tell. I'm not trying to be difficult, but I will send it back. Why?

Because I hate vodka. Hate hate hate hate it. I hate the way it smells, and how it makes me feel. While I can talk your ear off about every other spirit you throw at me (Gin, Rum, Tequila, and especially Bourbon), I don't really have anything nice to say about that clear tasteless spirit. So when I was left with an unwanted bottle of vodka after hosting a party, I decided to see how I could transform it into something else. Hopefully I wouldn't have to pour it down the drain.

I related this dilemma to Michael Nagrant, Chicago food writer extraordinaire, he immediately told me to make gin. I laughed. I mean, can you even make homemade gin? I'd never heard of doing this outside of Prohibition, and most of those examples involved bath tabs and horrible, horrible liquor that was affectionately compared to rubbing alcohol.

But what he was calling for was an infused spirit, one that used the familiar flavorings of gin (mostly juniper, but also coriander, fennel, cardamom, black pepper, and allspice among others). Essentially I'd be creating what I think is called a compound gin. It would be cloudy instead of clear, but it would hopefully taste the same. Nagrant explained that gin is essentially just a flavored vodka, a statement I'd definitely heard before but never really thought I could put into practical use. Still, I was skeptical.

There is no doubt that most top quality gins are not compound gins. They are infused and then distilled. No matter what I did, I'd never be able to set that up at home. I may make my own hard cider in my spare time, but distilling is utterly complicated and thankfully illegal at home. Anyway, most of the really average gins are compound gins to begin with. So this is essentially a technique to turn a cheap bottle of vodka into a pretty respectable gin.

I'd never reach the level of Plymouth, Junipero, or Hendricks. But I might just beat that bottle of gin you bought off the bottom of the shelf for 8 bucks.
Tomato Conserva: How to Make Homemade Tomato Paste

There isn't much argument that summertime is the peak season for cooking. It never gets easier than in August: the produce is top-notch, everywhere, and cheap. Locavores are finally settling down and enjoying themselves instead of passing judgement on the rest of us for buying zucchini out of season. You can make dinner by cutting up tomatoes and fresh mozzarella and calling it a masterpiece. My CSA vegetable delivery is overflowing with watermelon, cucumbers, and of course, tomatoes.

It's also the time when ambitious cooks get into things like pickling and canning to preserve the harvest. Which is how I ended up looking through old bookmarks and re-discovering a post on Food with Legs for Tomato Conserva, adapted from the very excellent Cooking By Hand, written by California chef Paul Bertolli.

The process was appealing for two reasons: one, and I am leaving town today for San Francisco, and I had a bag of tomatoes to use up. But more importantly, I've been trying to convince my wife for about a year now (which is as long as we've been married) that registering for a food mill was an absolutely necessary thing to do for our wedding. Our anniversary has come and gone, and it hasn't left its box. So it was time to use the damned thing, if for no other reason than to bolster my own arguments.

Tomato conserva is like homemade tomato paste, except it has none of the metallic edge, and it has a fancy Italian name. The flavor is exceptional, super deep and tomato-ey (sorry, that's the best word there is) and if you keep it in the fridge under a layer of olive oil, it will last for quite some time, according to Bertolli. You use it like a condiment: spread on grilled slices of baguette with fresh goat cheese, dolloped into a nice bowl of white risotto, or used anywhere you might employ tomato paste to add a richer, fuller flavor to a sauce. Bertolli also mentions an intriguing idea, stirring it into the dough for fresh pasta to make a red-hued noodle.

But when I saw this, what I had most on my mind was homemade ketchup.

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The crackliest chicken you can imagine.

I went for the cheapest bag of rice flour