Please Sir, I Want Some More
Tuesday, October 26, 2010 at 6:26PM I haven't had many cooking opportunities lately, but I've also been quite lazy. I could make good food, or pay someone to make great food--and handle the cleanup. Tough choice. To force myself back into the kitchen, I promise my girlfriend's mother that I will start cooking for her daughter again. That's a promise this Boy Scout can't break.
Now I find myself in a small kitchen--in which I cannot lay across on the ground if desired--armed with a cast iron skillet, a pot, and a recently acquired ceramic knife (butter knives weren't cutting it anymore), staring at my hungry belle. I miss my Japanese steel and French pans, but I remember that it is I who does the cooking, not them. Of course a 10" Classic Shun Chef Knife slices more gracefully than the bright orange (assumed sharp) toy laying in front of me; a Staub dutch oven performs great unseen magic during slow braises deep in the oven; and having more heavy bottomed pans than burners is completely necessary for a cook raised with the 'be prepared' mantra--but being a good cook is often about ingenuity, and sometimes sacrificing presentation for flavor.
This is the perfect time to try my grits of insane greatness. There's a very satisfying feeling about cooking grits in southwest Virginia. Like biscuits, grits cannot fail in this region. The stars won't allow it. Now all I need is a good melting cheese, like Chihuahua, to fatten my mixture of tiny grains, and chorizo, the reddest, fattiest, fresh sausage to cross over our Mexican border. Besides, I made a promise to feed m'lady well--and she needs plenty of protein and calcium to stay healthy.
While shopping for ingredients, I immediately find my favorite five minute Quaker, but struggle to locate my more ethnic ingredients. I confront the butcher about the missing chorizo, and he tells me that he doesn't even know what a chorizo is. What does it look like? Are they fast?
After a quick chat I am redirected to the sausage case; which, to my chagrin, houses hot dogs, country sausage, and kielbasa. The country sausage appears to be a blank porcine canvas, so I pick up cumin, coriander, garlic, and chili powder as well before venturing to the dairy case.
I quickly eliminate all non-dairy cheeses from my view, and begin the search for my grits' suitor. After a few minutes, I dreadfully begin to settle on pepper jack, when out of the corner of my eye, I spy a cheese package not labeled in English. Or Italian. For whatever reason, this grocer carries oaxaca cheese, a fresh Mexican cheese made from skim milk that is similar to mozzarella. The oaxaca's creaminess will combat the hellfire of spice I'm about to throw into my pot of grits.
Upon my return to the kitchen I crank up the weak, yet more fuel efficient electric stove to the big dot on the dial. Casting aside the need for cutlery, I throw in hand-torn bits of fresh sausage for browning and rendering, seasoning with great, unmeasured purposeful dashes of spice. I may not have chorizo, but this sausage is going to be just as red, as well as its colorful renderings.
I pull the the sausage from the pan and pour water in to release any remaining porky bits from their steel captor. Once the water comes to a boil, I add the quick grits, stir, lower the burner, and cook covered for five long minutes.
After five minutes, I uncover the pot and am greeted by a puff of hot steam. The grits are cooked, but still need to be flavored. While stirring, I slowly add all of the procured oaxaca cheese (in the same manner one would turn a bechamel to a cheese sauce). Remember, there can never be too much cheese; just not enough other stuff.
Finally I return the sausage to the pot, completing the grits of insane greatness. I quit stirring in fear of the wooden spatula splintering against the thick, cheesy gruel gilded with spicy sausage. The pouring of grits commences slowly, inching forward like a fat kid over a chest-high hurdle. It isn't pretty, but the final splat is worth the wait.
Proud of my great return to the kitchen, we quickly dig into our hot mounds of joy before they turn to road patch. Each sausage-filled bite burns our tongues, which are then soothed by the creamy oaxaca cheese. We both leave our plates empty with full, warm tummies of sausage and goo; and I, with a promise fulfilled.
;)
Reader Comments (3)
See, you were just fine with my super-limited kitchen... how little you need to make it tasty!
Do you always use instant grits? I never have, but am tempted. Seems much faster...
Always. 5 minutes and done. If you're mixing in cheese, no one will ever know :D