A few months ago, a friend made me grilled cheese sandwiches in a way that changed my own cooking method. She simply cooked it with a lid over the pan, but this made the cheese melt thoroughly and greatly improved the quality of the sandwich - more than I would have expected. I feel like I should pay that tip forward and provide my own tips for making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Like using a lid when making grilled cheese, this is quite simple but ends up solving all of life's problems. To avoid soggy sandwiches in packed lunches, put peanut butter on both pieces of bread. Yes, it's that simple! This keeps the jelly from soaking into the bread, which in turn keeps the sandwich presentable and your hands clean.
There's one little caveat, though: When making a sandwich to eat right away, only one piece of bread should be peanut buttered. When both sides have peanut butter, the jelly moves around more when you bite into the sandwich. I.e., more jelly oozes out the sides and makes a mess. If you are going to eat the sandwich right away, the jelly soaking into the bread isn't really an issue. In fact, the slight bit that it does soak into the bread helps it stay in place and reduces jelly spills.
Do you have any simple tips for the kitchen or life in general? Pay this tip forward (and back at the same time!) by leaving a comment!
Showing posts with label lunch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lunch. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Friday, September 24, 2010
Combining Two Food Posts
I have talked before of my love for macaroni and cheese. If my love for macaroni didn't come across in that post, rest assured that I love macaroni. I have also alluded to my worship of Parmesan cheese.
Imagine my joy, then, when inspiration struck to combine these two items into THE ULTIMATE CULINARY CREATION. I went about my usual macaroni and cheese process and wound up with a wonderful pot of macaroni for lunch. Oh no! I ate it all and forgot to add the Parmesan cheese!
No matter, I was having macaroni and cheese for lunch the very next day! How fortuitous! And unsurprising. This time, I set out the Parmesan right next to the butter so I wouldn't forget. And I didn't! After the usual preparation, I took a couple of bites and it was as excellent as always. I sprinkled a bit of Parmesan in a small area, and it was glorious! Well, it mostly tasted of Parmesan, but that's glorious! I sprinkled a bit more over the entire top and stirred it in. I sprinkled a bit more over the entire top and stirred it in. Eh, maybe one more time. Three is a good number, but it's definitely not an OCD thing.
And then I ate it. And with the Parmesan stirred in, it tasted like my regular macaroni and cheese. Perhaps someone with a more refined palate could appreciate it more. I was disappointed. On the other hand, my macaroni and cheese preparation process doesn't have to change, and my minimal ingredient list increases the availability of my most common meal (see Single Point of Failure).
Imagine my joy, then, when inspiration struck to combine these two items into THE ULTIMATE CULINARY CREATION. I went about my usual macaroni and cheese process and wound up with a wonderful pot of macaroni for lunch. Oh no! I ate it all and forgot to add the Parmesan cheese!
No matter, I was having macaroni and cheese for lunch the very next day! How fortuitous! And unsurprising. This time, I set out the Parmesan right next to the butter so I wouldn't forget. And I didn't! After the usual preparation, I took a couple of bites and it was as excellent as always. I sprinkled a bit of Parmesan in a small area, and it was glorious! Well, it mostly tasted of Parmesan, but that's glorious! I sprinkled a bit more over the entire top and stirred it in. I sprinkled a bit more over the entire top and stirred it in. Eh, maybe one more time. Three is a good number, but it's definitely not an OCD thing.
And then I ate it. And with the Parmesan stirred in, it tasted like my regular macaroni and cheese. Perhaps someone with a more refined palate could appreciate it more. I was disappointed. On the other hand, my macaroni and cheese preparation process doesn't have to change, and my minimal ingredient list increases the availability of my most common meal (see Single Point of Failure).
Friday, September 17, 2010
I Think I Could Learn Something From Paige Worthy
It's hard for me to call my writing inspired, but this post was inspired by the wonderful writing of the always lovely Paige Worthy. The stories she tells have a way of making me feel like my life is lacking something, though. For example, compare a recent meal of hers with a recent eating experience of mine:
For the fourth meal in a row, I prepare to make a box of Great Value macaroni and cheese. During a commercial break in Modern Marvels, I pre-scrub my macaroni and cheese pot (its only purpose), a black plate, and a small spoon until they are all but clean. I carefully add two small drops of dish soap into the pot and clean and rinse the three required dishes. I let them dry until the next commercial break, when I fill the pot with water and turn the burner on high.
The busiest part of the meal has begun. As quickly as possible, the box of macaroni is opened, the cheese packed down into the bottom of its packet, and a sausage and a stick of butter extracted from the fridge.
A long slice down the length and another to complete the cut, and the sausage is perfectly halved on the plate. Three quick strokes cause two chunks to fall off the end, each pair not quite exactly a quarter of an inch thick - just to prove I don't have OCD. The sausage chunks enter the warming water. A lick of each side of the knife ensures no flavor goes to waste, and makes the blade clean of all sausage pieces before cutting the butter - two and two thirds tablespoons that will rest on the cheese packet.
Soon, the water reaches a boil and the macaroni cascades from the box. I stir in clockwise circles, counterclockwise circles, and then a nice grid pattern. This is repeated every couple of minutes: nary a noodle can stick to the bottom. At long last, it's time to drain the macaroni. Thus the plate returns as a pot lid, and the last of the water is shaken out.
The appropriate amount of milk is splashed over the noodles after the butter and cheese have been added. Stirring until the butter is melted hurts as the small spoon digs into my index finger, but I persevere! I place the pot on a couple of cork trivets I've had since college and eat on the couch. As I sit down and see today's wondrous engineering topic on the TV, I have a moment of pride in my own efficiency in cooking. However, I savor the Modern Marvels and barely notice when I reach the end of the macaroni and cheese.
And for dinner, four grilled cheese sandwiches consisting of nothing but eight pieces of bread and four slices of American cheese. All cooked with minimal entropy. And minimal spontaneity.
For the fourth meal in a row, I prepare to make a box of Great Value macaroni and cheese. During a commercial break in Modern Marvels, I pre-scrub my macaroni and cheese pot (its only purpose), a black plate, and a small spoon until they are all but clean. I carefully add two small drops of dish soap into the pot and clean and rinse the three required dishes. I let them dry until the next commercial break, when I fill the pot with water and turn the burner on high.
The busiest part of the meal has begun. As quickly as possible, the box of macaroni is opened, the cheese packed down into the bottom of its packet, and a sausage and a stick of butter extracted from the fridge.
A long slice down the length and another to complete the cut, and the sausage is perfectly halved on the plate. Three quick strokes cause two chunks to fall off the end, each pair not quite exactly a quarter of an inch thick - just to prove I don't have OCD. The sausage chunks enter the warming water. A lick of each side of the knife ensures no flavor goes to waste, and makes the blade clean of all sausage pieces before cutting the butter - two and two thirds tablespoons that will rest on the cheese packet.
Soon, the water reaches a boil and the macaroni cascades from the box. I stir in clockwise circles, counterclockwise circles, and then a nice grid pattern. This is repeated every couple of minutes: nary a noodle can stick to the bottom. At long last, it's time to drain the macaroni. Thus the plate returns as a pot lid, and the last of the water is shaken out.
The appropriate amount of milk is splashed over the noodles after the butter and cheese have been added. Stirring until the butter is melted hurts as the small spoon digs into my index finger, but I persevere! I place the pot on a couple of cork trivets I've had since college and eat on the couch. As I sit down and see today's wondrous engineering topic on the TV, I have a moment of pride in my own efficiency in cooking. However, I savor the Modern Marvels and barely notice when I reach the end of the macaroni and cheese.
And for dinner, four grilled cheese sandwiches consisting of nothing but eight pieces of bread and four slices of American cheese. All cooked with minimal entropy. And minimal spontaneity.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
What Makes for a Good Reuben
I am somewhat known for my quest to find the best Reuben sandwich. A Reuben includes corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, and Thousand Island dressing on rye bread. A friend recently decided what I was going to eat for lunch (a practice I am perfectly happy with - it keeps me trying new things and makes for a good few seconds of conversation about why people choose a particular item for me). She chose the Pastrami Melt at Planet Sub because it had Sauerkraut like a Reuben, but wasn't the Reuben, which I probably got often already (I've never actually had the Reuben sub there). Before she ordered, she expressed regret that she didn't better know what I like. So, this blog post is for her.
A good Reuben for me involves each ingredient. The corned beef should be sliced thinly so that it easily tears apart. Nothing is more annoying than a thick slice of corned beef getting pulled out entirely just because you can't bite through it perfectly. Honestly, I don't often taste the corned beef all that strongly, so it's mainly a practicality issue. In general, the more cheese any food has, the better. A Reuben is probably the same way. I have not yet had a Reuben that had too much Swiss cheese. I have no idea why sauerkraut is part of a Reuben. Sauerkraut isn't particularly good, but it's on every Reuben, so who am I to argue? My favorite part of a Reuben is probably the Thousand Island dressing. So many places cripple their Reuben by skimping on the Thousand Island dressing. Finally, the rye bread should be thick enough to be sturdy in the face of grease from corned beef, Thousand Island dressing, and whatever liquid is part of sauerkraut. On the other hand, it shouldn't be so thick as to be a hindrance to the eating process. This also means the crust shouldn't be rock hard.
My quest for the perfect Reuben started when my grandma took me to O'Neill's many, many years ago. I actually haven't been back, but it was quite a good Reuben. It must have been in order to start a quest, no? Up until very recently, my favorite Reuben was in a place in Michigan that I don't know the name of, nor a location more specific than Michigan. This past weekend, I had brunch at The Cook Shack Cafe, and their Reuben was quite excellent. The corned beef was so greasy that it wasn't clear whether or not it was actually corned beef. It still could have used more Thousand Island dressing and slightly thicker bread, but it was great all-around.
I of course do not mean this to be a criticism of my friend's choice of entrees for me. I thoroughly enjoyed the Pastrami Melt despite the large amounts of sauerkraut and mustard. =)
A good Reuben for me involves each ingredient. The corned beef should be sliced thinly so that it easily tears apart. Nothing is more annoying than a thick slice of corned beef getting pulled out entirely just because you can't bite through it perfectly. Honestly, I don't often taste the corned beef all that strongly, so it's mainly a practicality issue. In general, the more cheese any food has, the better. A Reuben is probably the same way. I have not yet had a Reuben that had too much Swiss cheese. I have no idea why sauerkraut is part of a Reuben. Sauerkraut isn't particularly good, but it's on every Reuben, so who am I to argue? My favorite part of a Reuben is probably the Thousand Island dressing. So many places cripple their Reuben by skimping on the Thousand Island dressing. Finally, the rye bread should be thick enough to be sturdy in the face of grease from corned beef, Thousand Island dressing, and whatever liquid is part of sauerkraut. On the other hand, it shouldn't be so thick as to be a hindrance to the eating process. This also means the crust shouldn't be rock hard.
My quest for the perfect Reuben started when my grandma took me to O'Neill's many, many years ago. I actually haven't been back, but it was quite a good Reuben. It must have been in order to start a quest, no? Up until very recently, my favorite Reuben was in a place in Michigan that I don't know the name of, nor a location more specific than Michigan. This past weekend, I had brunch at The Cook Shack Cafe, and their Reuben was quite excellent. The corned beef was so greasy that it wasn't clear whether or not it was actually corned beef. It still could have used more Thousand Island dressing and slightly thicker bread, but it was great all-around.
I of course do not mean this to be a criticism of my friend's choice of entrees for me. I thoroughly enjoyed the Pastrami Melt despite the large amounts of sauerkraut and mustard. =)
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