Bon Appetit's Orecchiette Carbonara / Self-discoveries via Food

I think this recipe might be a turning point both in this blog and my relationship with food as a whole. I KNOW. I need to step back and sleep on it (vague reference to act one of this amazing episode), but I'm just going to barrel through. It all starts with the fact that I chose to make this dish for part of Matt's birthday present. Matt really likes heavy pasta dishes. I usually turn my nose up at them saying, "But Matt, it's sooooo heavy."

Thus begins, the tale of pasta carbonara. Here is B.A.'s version:

And here is mine:

I started off slicing some leeks. By the way, did you know that the best way to get the grit out of them is to give them a 5-10 minute water bath? I didn't, but it's true. The dirt and what not just falls to the bottom.

I don't eat a lot of meat, especially bacon and so, I didn't know what I was missing out on in the cooking process. There is something really satisfying and almost magical about watching these fatty two-toned strips turn into the crispy, glistening pieces of food I'm familiar with.

On their way:

I guess I'm just (the last person on earth to be) impressed with bacon as a cut of meat. Look how pretty it is next to the parsley.

And hey, it's not done, let's use its fat to sauté the leeks:
Here's where things got really WEIRD for me. I always assumed carbonara was made of cream, but NO, it's just eggs, and almost raw eggs at that. Here's me beating the room temperature, raw eggs with parmesan cheese:

And then, and this is where I mentally gave up on the recipe, you pour the egg/parmesan mixture over the bacon fat, leeks, and cooked pasta while the heat is off. I kept rereading the recipe, asking, "Really? Bon Appetit? With the heat off?"

I was completely convinced that I wanted nothing to do with this dish on a food source level--as much as bacon impressed me, I had to be honest with myself. The sauce was made from bacon fat, barely cooked eggs and cheese. whaaaa?

On top of that, I was even more convinced that I was doing it wrong. I was positive that either the eggs were going to be runny or that they were going to curdle/ chunk up on me.

I added the bacon and parsley and though it looked prettier and the eggs weren't chunky, I was still very, very skeptical.

But then, something happened to me. I took a bite...
and it was amazing. I think I ended up eating almost as much as Matt did.

To review, the lessons learned:
1. don't judge a recipe by its ingredients.
2. I do like fatty, meaty foods.
3. i'm not as bad of a cook as I thought I was/ used to be. thanks, BLOG.

Bon Appetit's Cocoa Nib, Chocolate, and Citrus Dacquoise

The biggest challenge warrants the biggest bon appetempt post yet: Welcome to the Cocoa Nib, Chocolate, and Citrus Daquwhatthef@#k, which would be a three day odyssey of cake prep, baking, assembly and general dish washing.

their version:

my version:

I couldn't get the drizzle right, so I photoshopped it. Hardly noticeable, right?

Starting with cocoa nibs.
We didn't have a coffee bean grinder or an herb grinder, so I grabbed the hammer out of Matt's tool box and went at it. As motivation, I thought about how I would never get the drizzle right in the final photo as I pounded away...

And now, the kitchenaid's debut!
This machine came in handy not once or twice, but four times. First, with the two meringue layers.
Next, with the below mixture for the chiffon cake, which called for more egg whites to be whipped and then added to the chocolate mixture. And finally the making of the mascarpone whipped cream mixture (not pictured), which we whipped twice, under-whipping it the first time out of fear that it would curdle and then, the second time out of fear that we hadn't whipped it enough.

Check out the peeling off of the parchment paper:
At this chiffon-cake point, Matt and I were already in a state of shock over what this cake was asking us to do when we got to the marmalade. I had already bought orange marmalade, but when I went back to the recipe to see how much I was supposed to slather on top of the chiffon cake, I realized that the marmalade was clickable--to a recipe for blood orange marmalade! nooooooo way, bon appetit. We were already essentially making three separate cakes and fillings from scratch, so we had to draw the line and use the jarred stuff. (BIG deal?)

Now for the scariest moment--combining the two stacked layers.
I couldn't get a shot of how much the cake was sagging in the middle when we transported it because I was too busy repeating stuff like "please no, please no... not again." And alas, it worked.

We happily topped it off with the last meringue layer and began the first coating of chocolate glaze.

A shot of it in mid clean-up.

the second layer of chocolate glaze.

Transporting it to our friends' house. (Can anyone spot my eye in this picture?)
After a delicious meal made by Jodi (who will hopefully be posting a guest bon appettempt) we cut the cake and let me tell you, it was awesome. Or as my loving step-dad might say: Dacqwonderful.

Bon Appetit's Smoked-Tea-Infused Chocolate Pots de Crème

I had wanted to make this recipe ever since I read a comment about it on bon appetit's website that began: "This recipe doesn't work." The comment author went on to get nasty with bon appetit in general since she had apparently emailed them and no one had responded to her and she was banking on these for a dinner party. Very sadly, B.A. has since removed the comment. You just have to take my word for it.

Here's their version:
And mine:

The recipe started out innocently enough with some finely chopped chocolate.

Then got a little freaky with the addition of some loose Earl Grey. (I didn't have the weird smoked tea it called for.)

which we threw into the cream/milk mixture:

As my one grandma taught me: never be afraid of getting your hands in there.

One of the tools I do have (thank you, Jodi) is this silver mesh strainer and it always comes in handy.
After we added the strained cream and egg mixture to the chocolate, the recipe called for us to chill it overnight, and here is where the recipe got a little worrisome. In the morning, the mixture was just as watery as it had been the night before. Matt was saying things like "It's better to have at least bonattempted, right?"

Still, we kept the faith and put them in their water baths and slid them into the oven, though after 55 minutes, they were still completely watery. So, we gave them 10 more minutes, then 10 more, then 10 more, then 10 more...

And hey, they finally firmed up. We chilled them again in the fridge and then got down to business. Though the tea flavor was extremely mild to nonexistent, they were completely delicious.

Gourmet's Fresh Pasta with Crabmeat, Peas and Chile

hi, bon appetempters! check what's on tonight's menu:

their version: (via Gourmet)

my version:

(We used a green chile pepper instead of a red, thus the slight color variation.)

So, this recipe called for two culinary firsts: 1. cooking with chile peppers. I only used half of the "vein" inside the pepper so as not to burn my face off. Also, I washed my hands immediately after handling the serrano so as not to accidentally rub my eyes with pepper juice and end up burning my face off.
and 2. cooking with crabmeat. speaking of which, want a way to rid fresh crab of shell fragments? Put it in the broiler for a minute - the shell fragments will turn RED. Who knew? These people.
(Picture taken pre-broiling. Once again, forgot to take post-picture. My bad.)

People commenting on the recipe online were complaining that the sauce was too bland, so we preemptively added extra olive oil.
Conclusion: this was really delicious, though I wouldn't recommend it if you're on a budget--fresh crabmeat is no joke. (We sprung for it b/c of a some Whole Foods credit.) Up next: crazy dessert time.

The Dawn of a New Era

As promised, I have news, blog-changing news. As previously mentioned, I am moving (this blog post is coming at you from the Forrest City, Arkansas Hampton Inn) and in the process, have managed to acquire something, something amazing. Can you see it among the moving mess?

Here's a close-up:

This changes everything.