Meal of oat (oatie, oatie, oat…)*

While I enjoy oatmeal – both as a breakfast option and on a purely existential level – it’s not the most…exciting meal in the world. You can dress it up with apples, bananas, cinnamon, brown sugar, almonds, dried cranberries or coconut all you want, but eventually, oatmeal gets boring. Eating it becomes an exercise in conspicuous virtue rather than enjoyment. The prospect of yet another bowl of the stuff becomes increasingly daunting.

It was while in the grip of this state of mild aversion and incipient loathing that I hit upon an idea: fried oatmeal. Instead of heating up a pot of oats and sticking them a bowl, I decided to carve off a slice or two of leftover oatmeal and cook it up in a skillet. As with the beefy beans recipe I mentioned a while ago, thinking about this basic recipe in a slightly different way yielded an interesting – and tasty – result.

Fried Oatmeal
(serves 4-5)

1 recipe steel cut oatmeal (1 cup steel cut oat groats, 4 cups water, 1/2 cup half and half [optional] hefty pinch of salt; bring to a boil, then simmer 35-40 minutes, or until all the liquid has been absorbed by the oats), transferred to a rectangular storage container and allowed to set up overnight into something with a loaf-like consistency.

For each serving, you will need:

1/2 apple, diced

1/2 banana, quartered and sliced

1t butter

1t brown sugar

cinnamon to taste

Slice the oatmeal loaf into two 3/4-inch sections per person.

Heat a small skillet over medium-high heat. Coat the pan with a quick hit of nonstick cooking spray. Add the oatmeal slices to the hot pan. Cook 5-7 minutes on a side, or until toasted brown in color. Remove the cooked oatmeal slices to a serving plate.

Return the pan to the heat and add the butter. Once it has melted, add the apple and banana, followed immediately by the brown sugar and cinnamon. Saute 2-3 minutes until the fruit has heated through and softened. Serve this warm “compote” over the top of the oatmeal slices.

The result is something a bit like a flourless bannock or a thicker and moister oatcake. The pan-frying treatment browns and crisps the surface of the slice, which gives it a toasted, nutty flavor. The sautéed fruit provides traditional oatmeal accompaniments, and serves as a way to add a little sweetness to the otherwise neutrally-flavored oatmeal.

*Someday, The Kid will hear the song “Jungle Love” by Morris Day and the Time, and she will be terribly confused.

Burger, Pittsfield, Massachusetts

I take my burgers seriously. By the same token, I’ll note the charms of In-N-Out Burger were lost on me the one time I had occasion to try a double double, which I know calls my burger street cred into question in some circles. This gastronomic lapse notwithstanding, my personal gold standard includes Bartley’s in Harvard Square, and O’Sullivan’s in Somerville, MA. Lanesboro’s Olde Forge serves a terrific burger as well, but there it’s mostly by way of accompanying their beer menu, for which any superlative is too faint praise.

Recently, The Lovely Wife, The Kid, and I visited Burger, the recently-opened spin off of Pittsfield’s Spice restaurant.

Burger’s decor called to mind an idealized fast food joint, with a central aisle for ordering, and a range of table, booth, and counter seating arrayed throughout a large, well-lit, and comfortable dining area. There were a few retro signs (a Coke-branded luncheonette sign, and other, similar adornments) hanging on the walls, but these were tastefully restrained, thematic accents rather than an indication of mistaking aggressive kitsch for design sensibility. Granted, the faux broken plaster and distressed brick near the back entrance was a bit cheesy, but I saw it as a sign of the pride the owners take in the work they have done renovating the building. That pride was apparent in the caliber of the service as well; from counter to table, it was efficient and friendly.

Now, the ideal burger must have a nice crust on the outside, while being rare and juicy on the inside. It should be mostly pink in the middle, but not so undercooked that the meat lacks texture. I’ll rarely say no to a nice slice of cheddar and a couple strips of crisp bacon on top of my burger, but when trying a new place, it’s best to let the sandwich speak for itself.

The Lovely Wife and The Kid chose to have their conversation with Burger’s Classic 1/4 Pound burger. TLW’s medium well burger was a bit overcooked for my taste, but that’s going to be true of any medium well burger anywhere. TK’s medium was more to my liking, as it held on to more of the beefy flavor that TLW sacrificed on the altar of doneness.

This being a special occasion, I opted for Burger’s Kobe burger. It came slightly less than the medium rare I ordered, which meant that the balance of juiciness to texture wasn’t where I prefer it to be, but it was still incredibly rich and flavorful. It was definitely worthwhile as both a curiosity and an indulgence, but ultimately, the classic burger acquits itself so well that there is little reason to indulge except to be indulgent.

While all the burgers were quite good, the real star of the show was the rolls. Most of the time, I take the roll — or the rye, in the case of a patty melt — for granted. It’s a mere container, a delivery system for the patty payload. If it’s doing its job, you don’t notice it. On either extreme however, the roll can make or break your burger. Bad bread can ruin an otherwise excellent slider. Great bread can elevate an average burger to heights undeserved on the merits of the meat itself. While Burger’s burgers are well above average, their rolls most definitely put them over the top.

The bread itself had a slight sweetness similar to a Portuguese roll. The inside was moist, with an almost steamed texture, while the outside was apparently finished on the grill, or on a grill press. The result was bread that adhered, almost melted into, the patty, while having a crisp texture on the outside.

For sides, we ordered plain french fries, chili cheese fries, and eggplant fries. TLW’s eggplant fries were the clear winner, and that’s coming from someone who usually prefers to avoid eggplant. They were light and crunchy without being greasy. The result was something that tasted like a glorious hybrid of french fry and onion ring.

The plain fries were nice (although next time, I might opt for the “dirty,” which I take to mean skin-on, variety), thick cut, crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside. The only way these might be improved is by including a bottle of malt vinegar among the condiment options on each table. I’ve got nothing against good old ketchup, but chips this good and this substantial would be best with salt and vinegar.

The fries also served as a solid foundation for Burger’s chili cheese fries. The fries had the structural integrity required to support the mass of nicely flavorful chili, accompanied by straight-from-the-nozzle Technicolor orange processed cheese. Unfortunately, beside a hefty burger and a large milk shake, these fries were perhaps an exercise in undue optimism. They were very good, but more than I could handle. Next time, I believe I’ll opt for Burger’s sweet potato fries.

[Another suggestion: gravy for the fries, either alone, or as part of the classic gravy and cheese goo tandem affectionately known as Disco Fries.]

The shakes were merely all right. The consistency was nice — neither too milkily thin nor so thick you risk an aneurysm trying to suck it through the straw. I had a coffee shake, and the Lovely Wife and The Kid each opted for strawberry. Burger’s shakes weren’t overly sweet, which is nice. Too much syrup is often the unfortunate norm, and Burger avoided this pitfall. Our shakes were indeed coffee-esque and strawberry-ish, but I believe Burger accomplished this by using less syrup — and sacrificing flavor along with sweetness — rather than by using a syrup with a higher flavor to sweetener ratio.

For those for whom a burger just isn’t a burger without a cold beer alongside, Burger offered several varieties, as well as wine for more refined tastes. For those for whom wretched excess is an excellent starting place, Burger featured a range of spiked shakes that blend in various spirits along with the ice cream and other flavorings. The serving counter also boasted a tempting array of cookies, pastries, and other delectables for who prefer their decadence in solid, rather than liquid, form. I can offer no assessment of those, as we had a dessert date with some whoopie pies from Molly’s Bakery in North Adams (but that’s a story for another day).

Burger is located at 279 North Street in Pittsfield Massachusetts; 413-997-9797; www.eatatburger.com; open from 11:30 a.m. daily.

More Cookin’ with The Kid

Necessity is the mother of invention, and The Lovely Wife is, apparently, the mother of necessity. On the walk home from Natural Bridge State Park, and faced with the dreary and mundane prospect of a dinner of baked pork chops, brown rice, and steamed broccoli, she challenged us to come up with a more interesting, but still palatable, meal. No shrinking violets we, The Kid and I rose to the occasion. We scoured the fridge and the pantry, and came up with the following tastiness:

Pantry Pork Soup
(As developed by Bart Modern and The Kid, August 5, 2007)
————————

1T sun dried tomato oil
1T olive oil
1/2 t chili powder
1 medium onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, chopped, diced, pressed, or sliced, as you see fit
2-3 T oil packed sun dried tomatoes, chopped
2 medium carrots, sliced lengthwise and chopped into 2-quarter thick half moons
2 center cut pork loin chops, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
(Note: chicken would work just as well, I suspect, although it would require changing the name of the dish)
1 can black beans, drained
1 quart chicken stock (I like the stuff from Pacific) [One quart makes a fairly thick, stew-like soup, as the noodles absorb a fair amount of the liquid. For something brothier, add 1/2 quarts, or pre-cook the noodles.]
5 oz (1/2 package small egg noodles)

Bonus level: ***Secret Ingredient*** — if you should happen to have the remains, say 1/3 to 1/3 cup of a truly excellent homemade ragu bolognese kicking around the fridge, why not add that to the recipe? It certainly didn’t hurt in our case. Got a can of white beans in the pantry instead of black beans? Shine on you crazy dinner makin’ diamond! Want to make it truly vegetarian by using tofu instead of pork? Go for it! Improvise! Innovate!

Heat the oils in a medium-sized stockpot set on medium high heat. Add the chili powder, stir for a few seconds. Saute the onions for 3-4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until they just start to take on some color.

Add the garlic and the sun dried tomatoes, and saute 1 minute. Add carrots and saute 1-2 minutes.

Add the pork cubes, and season with salt and pepper. Cook about 3-5 minutes, or until the pork is no longer pink on the outside. Add your ***Secret Ingredient*** at this point. When the pork is ready, add the drained black beans, and stir to combine.

Pour in the chicken stock, reduce heat to medium, and simmer for 15 minutes. Add the noodles, and simmer an additional 10 minutes. Season to taste and serve.

The Kid was integral to both the creation and the preparation of this dish. As long as she’s interested in learning her way around the kitchen, I’m thrilled to act as her guide. Except in the area of baking. That’s her mother’s area of expertise.

Cooking class

Entertained and inspired by Pixar’s Ratatouille*, The Kid asked me to teach her to cook. After talking it over for a bit, we agreed we would begin by trying to cook one meal a week together.

For our first foray into the world of gastronomic education, we pored through a children’s cookbook by a certain ubiquitous culinary celebrity. In our defense, I’ll note that we acquired this book at a time prior to this celebrity’s ubiquity crossing over the line into full-scale overexposure. After rejecting a few promising candidates, we settled on cold sesame noodles as our inaugural dish.

Admittedly, this was an exercise in measuring and stirring more than actual cooking, but it’s always good to begin by learning, and ultimately mastering, the fundamentals. Making the dish was educational for both of us. The Kid learned how to measure and mix and pour. She learned that sesame oil smells really good on its own, and that you can identify the distinctive taste of the oil in the finished dish. I learned that if you’re using a cookbook from someone famous for quick and convenient cooking, you have to account for the trappings of convenience.

For example, we’re a natural peanut butter household; although the recipe didn’t specify this, I must assume it was formulated using processed peanut butter. The noodles were terrific, and nicely peanutty, but they were lacking the hint of sweetness I expected from the dish. As a result, the saltiness of the tamari was a bit more assertive than I expected without any sugar to balance it out. Next time, we will either use the processed, hydrogenated oil-laden and besugar’d stuff made by the nice folks at Skiff or Jippy, or else we will add a little bit of sugar or honey to the dressing. Or a dash of duck or plum sauce maybe. Hey, I bet that would work aces.

The recipe we used called for about a cup of shredded cabbage to give the noodles some added crunch. Again, the author being a fan of speed, convenience, and short cuts, the recipe recommended using prepackaged cole slaw mix to get the job done. It worked fine, but it also left us with the better part of a package of shredded cabbage and carrot.

As it turned out, I had a fend for myself evening last night. As I was pulling a piece of leftover chicken out of the fridge, I noticed the slaw mix. In a burst of inspiration/improvisation, I created the following East-meets-Southwest fusion dish:

Bart Modern’s Barbecue-Shu Chicken

2T vegetable oil
1 medium yellow onion, sliced thin
1/2t Kosher salt
1t chili powder
1/2-1t crushed red pepper flakes
1/4c cider vinegar
2 cups shredded cole slaw mix
1/2c homemade barbecue sauce (or your favorite store-bought sauce)
1 barbecued chicken leg quarter, skinned and meat shredded off the bone. (Note: grilled pork or beef or tofu would work just as well, I suspect)

Heat the oil in a large skillet. When heated, add the onion, salt, chili powder and crushed red pepper flake. Cook over medium heat 3-5 minutes, until the onion softens and starts to brown. Add the vinegar (stand back from the pan to avoid inhaling the nasal passage scouring steam that rises when the vinegar hits the hot pan). Throw in the cabbage, stir to combine, and allow to wilt down, another 3-5 minutes, add the barbecue sauce and the chicken, and simmer until the chicken is heated through.

Serve with warm flour tortillas (I think. Didn’t actually have any on hand when I created the dish, but I think they would work fine. Of course, everyone knows that you never get enough pancakes for all the mu-shu when you order it at a restaurant, so eating it as is would be perfectly acceptable. It certainly worked for me).

*Highly recommended for animaniacs, cinephiles, and foodies alike. Should you happen to be all three, then ooh la la! We’ve been getting a lot of mileage out of the line “I killed a man…with THIS thumb!” ever since we saw the film.

18. About Alice, by Calvin Trillin

Once again, I find myself wrestling with the question of whether the item I’m choosing to log is, technically speaking, a book.

Cover, dust jacket, pages? Check.

Words on the page, arranged in a more or less logica sequence, combining to communicate a series of ideas, to paint a textual picture, to sum up a life? Check.

Perhaps I’m thrown by the size of the volume. Seventy-eight slim pages, and that’s a generous tally once you factor in the, shall we say liberal, margins. At that size, we’re dealing with something book-ish, but an actual book? I’m still not sure.

On the other hand, it does meet the technical definition of a book. I did read it, no matter that I knocked it off in about forty minutes. So, a book it is, then.

This is not normally the sort of book I would read. It’s more sentimental than my ususal fare. It’s a summary, in a few short chapters, of what made Calvin Trillin’s late wife, Alice, so unique and important to him. Indeed, I never would have read it but for a funny domestic coincidence.

I recently picked out Trillin’s Travels with Alice at the library. Aside from an occasional New Yorker piece over the years, I’ve never read much Trillin. I know he’s well-regarded as a writer, so I decided to rectify my deficiency and give one of his books a try.

I happened to leave the book on the table. When The Lovely Wife noticed it, she called me into the kitchen and pulled About Alice from her latest library haul. Great minds, and all that. Or perhaps this was a development more in line with what’s bound to happen when you set the proverbial infinite number of monkeys to work at their infinite number of typewriters? Either way, it’s the sort of thing that happens every now and then in a marriage.

It’s the sort of silly moment Trillin might celebrate in thinking about Alice. I suspect it’s the sort of moment he misses in the wake of her passing.

Ultimately, while every human soul is unique, and every marriage doubly so, love and loss are universal, as are the obligation to appreciate the fact that every day we draw breath is a gift, and the charge to live life to its fullest, no matter how much time we have in which to live.

Hopefully, it doesn’t take a book to teach us any of that, but it’s sure nice to get a reminder every now and then.

As for the rest, @#$% it. If it meets the technical definition of a book, and I find something to say about it when I’m done, then it is a book for my purposes.

Doctor Who and the Daleks (1965)

It’s the little things that matter. As a long-standing fan of the BBC version of Doctor Who, I was less bothered by the large-scale changes in this first cinematic adaptation of the television series than I was about the little touches.

It was easy to accept the convention of calling the main character (played with dotty, if underutilized, aplomb by Peter Cushing) “Doctor Who” instead of merely “The Doctor,” as was established in the series. It was harder to accept the notion that this Doctor was a human of the absentminded scientist variety rather than a myserious and irascible alien. Both interpretations have an air of the unworldly about them, but Cushing’s ethereal demeanor seems less suited to galactic crusading than the superiority — larded with a host of other qualities in greater or lesser proportions by the host of actors who have assayed the role over the past four decades — of the television Doctor.

It was easy to accept the TARDIS as something cobbled together by a lone genius tinkering in his garage workshop. It was harder to accept the sight of the TARDIS without the accompanying TARDIS dematerialization sound effect.

It was easy to accept the Daleks as armored killing machines bent on the eradication of their enemies. It was harder to accept that they would go about the killing without uttering their familiar battle cry “Ex-ter-min-ate!”

Regardless of these small differences, the film version captures the spirit of Doctor Who, or at least the spirit of the original programs. That is to say it is a children’s program first, and a rollicking intergalactic adventure second. It’s easy to tell the good aliens from the bad aliens, even if it does take a few moments to adjust to the alien-ness of the good aliens. Adults are variously kind, bumbling, or background nuisances. When watching the film with The Kid, it was suggested that Susan, Doctor Who’s precocious granddaughter, has a lot in common with Lucy Pevensie from the C.S. Lewis Narnia books. It’s a good comparison, both in terms of character and intention.

Forty years on, the film shows its age. The internal logic — or lack thereof — of the film is shaky at best. The characters are two-dimensional, and that’s being generous. But despite it’s many shortcomings, the film still manages to have a tremendous amount of kinetic energy and a sense fun that carries it over the rough spots, provided the viewer is willing to grant Doctor Who and the Daleks some leniency.

Great Googly Moogly

Dark Chocolate Mint Kit-Kat.*

Chocolate and mint: after chocolate and peanut butter, this is arguably the greatest confectionary tandem in the known universe. The combination of slightly bitter chocolate and the cool, almost astringent, cleanness of mint is one of those things that make life worth living.

And Kit-Kats? They are, hands down, my single favorite candy bar on the planet. Chocolate and wafers, simple, yet elegant. I know the Hershey people have screwed around with all manner of bastard varieties in recent years — Triple Chocolate, White Chocolate (blergh), Mega Fudgey, Choctastic Laxitive**, and so forth — but I’ve never really been tempted to stray from the one true path.

Until now. Dark chocolate, mint, and wafers? You got me, Hershey’s. I’m not made of stone here. Bitter, cool, and crispy? I’m sold. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not looking to get my heart broken here. I know this is just as likely one of those temporary test marketing things. I have no doubt that no sooner will I let the dark chocolate mint monkey climb on my back than it will get snatched away, leaving me aimless and adrift, a shambling, muttering wreck of a sugar junkie.

* In the interest of full disclosure, I should note that The Lovely Wife, reading over my shoulder, has observed that Steve Almond called, and he would like his culinary obsession back. So yeah, read Candyfreak. It’s good.

** I’m lying about these last two.