Happy drippy day, chefs. We hope you've all got a mask to wear when you're out and about, our new normal everywhere.
Rob returns today with a love letter to his range: Two nights ago I broiled off a marinated flank steak. The best thing from that meal is the leftovers. Flank steak in the pan, and green beans, shallots, and butter on the sheet pan.
Let’s talk appliances. Heidi knows how much I love my range, a Jenn-Air
double oven with so many cooking methods I will never exhaust the
possibilities. The top oven broils, toasts, bakes, warms, and the
bottom oven broils, proofs dough, dries fruit, convection bakes, and of
course, just bakes. The setting I love the most is convection roast.
Living in an urban, shared space, I can’t
grill, so this is a life saver. I don’t know how it does it, but damn,
it makes everything taste better.
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Reheating flank steak on the stove could be pedestrian. But I have secret weapons. . . frozen flavor bombs.
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Whenever I cook off a roast, chicken, or turkey, I skim the drippings and let them sit overnight in the fridge. Once firmed up, I take a small ice cream scoop and add them to my freezer bag. When reheating meat or for any other dish, there is a flavor bomb at the ready to up the game on sauces, dressings, whatever.
One goes right into the middle of the skillet.
Green beans get tossed in butter, salt, and herbed mustard with blue cheese. A few minutes in the convection roast and they are savory.
All in all, the leftovers plate up nicely.
(Oh yes they do...)
Hohokum projectile point
“Scribe”
Notched out
on this crust of field—in the day
that comes after us,
where you saw the earth
almost happen again: the echoing
furrows have closed,
and for this one-more-life have ransomed you
against the avid murmur
of scythes. Count me along, then,
with your words. Nothing,
even on this day, will change.
Shoulder
to shoulder with dust, before
the blade and beyond
the tall dry grass
that veers with me, I am the air’s
stammered relic.
on this crust of field—in the day
that comes after us,
where you saw the earth
almost happen again: the echoing
furrows have closed,
and for this one-more-life have ransomed you
against the avid murmur
of scythes. Count me along, then,
with your words. Nothing,
even on this day, will change.
Shoulder
to shoulder with dust, before
the blade and beyond
the tall dry grass
that veers with me, I am the air’s
stammered relic.
Trillium
Music
Here’s one for our
friends south of the border…
Mexican police raise
coronavirus awareness with Mariachi song
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