Raspberry Mousse

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Raspberry Mousse

2 cups frozen raspberries
Juice of ½ a lemon

2 envelopes of unflavored gelatin
2/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
2 cups cold heavy cream
1.         Place 3 cups frozen berries (you want them frozen here- it makes the measuring easier) and ⅔ cup sugar in a saucepan bring to a quick boil.   Blitz the fruit and its resulting syrup in a blender and pour through a wire mesh strainer. Sprinkle the gelatin over the warm fruit syrup. Let sit until gelatin softens, 3 minutes.
2.         Transfer mixture to a small bowl and let cool to room temperature, 20 minutes. In a large bowl, using an electric mixer, beat cream and 2 tablespoons sugar on medium-high until firm peaks form, about 4 minutes. Fold in raspberry puree mixture until combined. Refrigerate until set, about 2 hours.

The newest installment of the Cass Chronicles “Raspberry Mousse” will be available August 23rd, 2017.

https://www.amazon.com/Susannah-Shannon/e/B01BRUE3ZE/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Glazed Root Vegetables

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Glazed Root Vegetables:
(In this case either carrots or sweet potatoes—we need some color on that plate.) Root
vegetables are always available. This version uses a touch of brown sugar to add sweetness and a
scraping of fresh ginger to provide a kick in the pants. (That was truer than her readers would
ever know, she thought.)
1 lb of either sweet potatoes or carrots—peeled and cut into small moon shaped pieces.
2 TBL butter
About an inch of peeled fresh ginger, grated with a microplane grater.
1 cup of either orange juice or apple juice
1 cup of chicken stock
Bring the liquids to a boil in a pot with a tight fitting lid. Dump your veggies in. Cook
until tender with the lid on. When just fork tender—use a slotted spoon to remove the half
moons. Allow the liquid to boil down until it’s about 1/2 cup. Add butter, brown sugar and
ginger. Return vegetables to pot and stir to coat with glaze. It’s better if this isn’t done ahead of
time. The texture suffers. This dish is all about balance—sweet and spicy—familiar and unusual.
Absolutely worth the effort.

Meatloaf- it doesnt have to suck

-I know, I know, your mother made meat loaf on Wednesdays and it was covered in gloppy
ketchup and you did not learn to cook so that you could go make loaves of meat. Got it.
However, the simple fact remains, as my grandfather used to say when I was in chef’s school and
throwing balsamic reduction and tarragon in everything, “Honey, a man likes a tune he can
whistle.” So true, Poppa. Therefore, I present to you a flavorful, juicy meat loaf. Magnificent
alongside scalloped potatoes. Even better in a sandwich. (Recipe in index)
I let it get to just warm before slicing thickly and serving atop white sandwich bread with
mustard and white cheddar. I can’t even whistle (I can’t—not a single note—so I gave up my
goal of being a Native American tracker early in life) and I know this is a lunch to sustain
anyone—whether they are roofing or getting ready for a parent-teacher conference. Make it
today. It’s delicious!
To be clear, I am not roofing. I tried to put the stickers in the right spots on my Barbie
townhouse when I was eleven and learned right then that construction was not for me. Unlike
me, Killian can do anything he decides to do. It’s one of the many irresistible things about him.

Meatloaf:
1 1/2 lb ground beef
1 lb ground pork
3//4 cup cracker crumbs from saltines—finely ground
1 large onion finely diced-sautéed for about ten minutes over very low heat—just until
softened. Add 4 cloves of minced garlic—cooked with the onion. Allow to cool a bit off of the
heat.
1TBL prepared horseradish (not the creamy mayo type stuff)
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
Salt and pepper
For glaze:
1 TBL horseradish
1 TBL brown sugar
4 TBL ketchup- don’t need to measure- just squirt, stir, and eyeball.
Pour the milk over the cracker crumbs—once they are soaked through, combine all
remaining meat loaf ingredients. Spray a 10” Bundt pan with cooking spray. In a small bowl,
combine 1 TBL horseradish, 1 TBL brown sugar and 4 TBL ketchup. Spoon into the bottom of
your Bundt pan and lightly spread it around. Press the meat mixture into the pan and then place
the Bundt pan into a large roasting pan. While the oven preheats to 350 degrees, bring the kettle
to the boil. Pour boiling water around the Bundt pan and carefully hoist the whole shebang into
the oven. Forty minutes later, remove from its sauna and allow to cool in pan for at least ten
minutes. Using oven mitts that you have never liked anyway, lay a plate a top the meatloaf and
flip it over—gingerly loosen the pan and allow the glaze that you very cleverly put in the bottom
of the pan to ooze down over your crown of meatiness. Be careful with this—there might be
grease that oozes out of the upended Bundt pan and you don’t want to get burned.

I’m just an old fashioned kind of girl-

Bourbon cherries
Now, fresh is always best—and yet—pitting cherries is for the birds. Instead, we are
going to use several bags of frozen cherries. If you are a masochist, go ahead and use the fresh
ones. Who am I to judge how any of us gets our kicks? Do not for one minute, however, think
that it makes you a martyr for your art since in this case, it does not.
INGREDIENTS:
• 3 bags of frozen cherries 1 lb each
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• – A vanilla pod
• 3 cinnamon sticks broken in half
• 3 strips of orange peel-peel shallow- we don’t want the white stuff
• 3 cups rye whiskey don’t hesitate to use good stuff for this since it won’t be
wasted—After steeping our ruby gems it can then be drunk.
• 6 1/2 pint jars with lids—you can reuse the jars—but you must use fresh metal
lids and rings each time.
Dump the cherries into a colander set inside a non reactive pot (that means no cast iron
or copper) let them sit for several hours and when they seem thawed put a bowl on them to force
as much of the juice out as possible. If you’re so inclined feel free to do this in your fridge. I am
not so inclined. That would involve putting a plate or something under them and that just sounds
too much like work. After they have drained (save the juice), squeeze with your hands and then
arrange the cherries in your jars—you want them to be about 2/3 full. You might not need all six
jars. My powers of prognostication are not infallible. Add the honey, cinnamon and bourbon to
the juice and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Do not try to hurry this along. We don’t have
to have met for me to know that you look better with eyebrows. Whiskey is more than a wee bit
flammable. Once everything is dissolved and syrupy, remove from heat and stir in the scrapings
from the vanilla pod. Cut the pod into as many pieces as you have jars and distribute among
them. Use a skewer to push the orange peel down deep into the cherries and pour your boozy
syrup over all. Make sure each jar has a piece of cinnamon stick. Leave about 1/2 inch
headspace. Run a damp paper towel over the rim and quick as a wink apply the lids and screw
the rims on. The heat from the fruit will seal it all up. Between the sugar and the alcohol you
don’t really need to worry about botulism with these babies, but should you see anything that
looks like mold, don’t be a hero—toss it forthwith.
And now for the fisticuffs:
The only likelier way to pick a fistfight with another foodie would be to say “Real chili
has no beans or tomatoes.” Precisely the best way to enjoy an old fashioned is up for fierce
debate. I would skirt the entire issue by attaching a cute label that says “bourbon cherries—perfect on ice cream or in cocktails.” And that’s IT—they are on their own—no one has time for
that much conflict. Now, for myself, I prefer to fill a short glass with some ice—squeeze an
orange slice over the ice and then drop the slices into the glass. Add two fingers of rye and then
top up with another two fingers of our cherry bourbon (I have skinny fingers, your mileage may
vary). Garnish with at least one of our succulent Rubenesque cherries. Delicious. In fact, I think
one may be just what I need to finish this awful packing…
Make it delicious, Cassbourbon cherries

The Perfect Christmas Day Breakfast

Homemade sausage and french toast praline casserole.  You’re welcome.

Homemade Sausage: Okay, there are two ways to go with this. You can begin with about 2 pounds of pork butt and 1/2 pound of pork fat (you can buy fatback) and grind it coarsely in your meat grinder. (It will be much easier if the meat is very, very cold.) We have a meat grinder that belonged to Hazel’s grandmother—it’s manual, weighs about thirty pounds and cleaning it is a pain, but whenever I suggest we get a new electric one, you would think I’d suggested we go spin on Grammy’s grave. When I lived in Chicago, I most certainly did not have a meat grinder. So you can go with two and a half pounds of ground pork; it will still be delicious. Season with kosher salt (about t2 teaspoons) 1 and 1/2 tsp of freshly ground black pepper, 2 tsp brown sugar, 2 tsp fresh sage—cut as finely as you can get it, 1 tsp. Fresh rosemary (same) and a nice grating of fresh nutmeg you want about 1/2 tsp. Eyeball it. You can also add cayenne pepper here—if you have any doubt at all—add a pinch and fry up a tiny patty to see if the heat is right. I do not. If I’m serving with eggs, Killian adds hot sauce anyway, and I find that all I taste is hot when I add it. Now, my secret weapon. This is optional but takes it into the stratosphere of yumminess-3/4 tsp liquid smoke. Combine thoroughly and in a perfect world let it set overnight in your fridge. I know, life isn’t perfect, so if need be—proceed. Portion into small parties (I use a tablespoon as a measure) and fry over medium heat. You may need a little slick of oil for the first batch. You want them just cooked through—not fried until fluffy and dry in the middle. Yuck. These can also be cooked ahead and then warmed—covered with foil in a low oven. Praline Pecan French Toast Bake: 1 loaf of French bread—crust sawed off and cut into 1 inch slices Baking spray 1/2 cups half and half 6 eggs 1 tablespoon white sugar 2 tsp vanilla 1 tablespoon light brown sugar 4 tablespoons butter 1 cup chopped pecans Whisk together cream, eggs, vanilla, speck salt, white sugar. Spray a 9×12 baking dish with baking spray. Pour about half of the custard base into the pan and set the bread slices into it and then pour the remaining custard over. Cover with cling wrap and weight it with a smaller baking dish—leave overnight in fridge. The next morning, put the brown sugar into a saucepan and cook over low heat until it begins to melt and lose its graininess. Add the butter, when melted, stir in the pecans. BE careful—nothing burns like caramel—Nothing. Take your casserole out of the fridge and unwrap—pour the caramel and nuts over the top (weighting it down has meant that the bread doesn’t come up to the top and given you room for your sweet sludge of scalding…) Put the casserole into an unheated oven and turn the heat up to 325 degrees. You don’t ever ever want to put a glass pan straight from the fridge into a hot oven. That is asking for a shattered dish and an oven floor full of raw eggs and bread, a bad business all around…

Braised Red Cabbage

Braised Red Cabbage: 1 head red cabbage—very finely shredded 2 tart-sweet apples (Braeburn or the like) 2 tablespoons butter 1 tablespoon brown sugar 2 tablespoons cider vinegar Finely shredded cabbage is a problem. Throw any and all available kitchen technology at it. I use a food processor. You could use a mandolin—but, for the love of God do not skip using the hand guard. Grate the apple. Melt the butter in a large non-cast iron skillet. Toss in the cabbage and stir to coat. Keep the heat fairly brisk, but stir often. If it seems in danger of scorching, toss in 1/8 cup of water. Once the cabbage is fairly soft but still a wee bit toothsome, add the apple. Allow to cook for another 2-3 minutes and then stir in the brown sugar and vinegar. Toss thoroughly. This side dish has the distinction of seeming both very Germanic and yet, depending upon what it is served with, very old school English. It adds a nice jot of color to the plate and spanks your taste buds just a little bit. Very nice dish to have at your disposal.

How to Roast Your Perfectly Dry Brined Turkey

All right , so Mr. Tom the plump Turkey has sat in his salt mask for at least two days. Pull him out of your chill chest. Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Now—I am not big on insisting that everyone needs the same things in their kitchen—but you really do need the kind of meat thermometer that stays in the bird. Mine attaches by a cord that sits outside of the oven. You don’t want to continually open your oven, and poking it several times will merely release those juices we spent THREE DAYS creating. That would be crazy. Place your turkey on a rack in a roasting pan. Take a large piece of foil and press it over the breast. Remove it and set it aside. You will need it later and doing that to sizzling hot turkey will result in your eating a Twix from the vending machine at your local burn unit on the third Thursday in November. Be prepared. Meanwhile—in your food processor—combine a stick of butter (totally soft), two cloves of garlic and several tablespoons of olive oil. This is not the meal where we worry about fat. Go for it, it’s traditional. Whiz to a fine fluffy cloud of garlicky, buttery goodness. Again with the scrubbing your hands—get them good and clean and dry. Then you are gong to gently work your hands under the skin of the turkey—it isn’t attached to the flesh any more but it’s dry so you need to be gentle. You are going to rub your butter into the gap. It’s okay if you have small globs of butter in some spots—massaging from the outside, work the fat as evenly as you can around the bird. Place your meat thermometer in the thickest part of the thigh. If its programmable, set it for 165 degrees. Slide the turkey into your oven and immediately drop the heat to 350 degrees. No stuffing in the bird. I am sorry, but stuffing makes it harder for your breast and thighs to be ready at the same time. Yes, your grandma did it that way. She also used Listerine as a douche (I am not making that up—go google it—I will wait.) Do not worry about your stuffing—it will be meaty and rich—I swear. We will get to that recipe soon. Now look through your oven window. Avoid opening the door. Closer to the end of cooking you are probably going to have to open the door to slide in some things that need to cook, like the stuffing, or the sweet potatoes, so don’t do it now if you don’t have to. You don’t really need to baste, that’s the butters job—and frankly it’s much better at it than you are. The only reason to open the oven and look at the turkey up close is if you think the drippings are scorching. That must be avoided, since we are going to use those for our gravy. If it appears that they are burning, pour a few cups of broth into the pan—that’s why you need the rack, so your burnished, crispy turkey is not sweltering in a pool of liquid. The basic rule of turkey cooking is thirteen minutes per pound. Now, this formula assumes a commercially raised turkey—they will be far meatier and less muscular than a wild turkey. You may need to make adjustments for a wild bird. See ya soon from Slick Trench—this Thanksgiving is going to be delicious!