How Not to Can at Home: Pickled Green Beans & Cauliflower

Doing for yourself something that's basically been done for you, your entire life, is a funny thing. Take canning and preserving for example. How many times have I opened a can of soup or jar of jam and thought nothing of it? But then, when I take the care and effort to can some pickled cauliflower and green beans myself to give as holidays gifts, I am left panicking over whether or not I'm going to poison someone.

We could get into the psychology of it and boy would I love to, but I think that at the end of the day, doing anything in which the process devotes an entire, extremely detailed section to "how failures occur" is stressful. There's just so much emphasis on sterilizing and bacteria and dos and don'ts, that it's easy to get caught up in what you may be doing wrong, when in retrospect, I don't think canned pickled vegetables runs the same risk of growing deadly bacteria in comparison to say, something like cream of corn or clam chowder (items more easily spoiled/ made more dangerous by time). Right?

Both Jam it, Pickle it, Cure it's version & ours:

OK, now that I've got you this far along, I want to tell you exactly how I came to the point of calling Matt at work and asking him the question: "You don't think I could actually poison someone, do you?"

First, I came to the conclusion that pickled vegetables would make great holiday gifts for coworkers. Second, I felt intimidated by the canning process so put it on the back burner. Third, I read LA in Bloom's Canning Visit with Jen Smith, which made the process seem so approachable and cozy—an activity that might be partnered with potato pancakes with yogurt and pumpkin butter—and decided that it was going to be No Big Deal. Fourth, and here's where things went the most wrong, I believe: I got started alone and without any of the special equipment.

Equipment Called for That I didn’t Have	How I Improvised
Very large pot with canning rack attached so that boiling water can fully surround jars during processing.	7-quart stockpot with pasta colander insert thing. Major mistake that turned what could have been a lovely afternoon of canning into some version of hell that kept me tied to the kitchen for five consecutive 10-minute water baths as this 7-quart stockpot only fit one jar at a time. (I wasn’t even using that big of a jar!)
Jar tongs to remove jars from boiling water.	Burning myself, mostly.
Funnel in order to funnel hot liquid into jar.	Ladle. This actually worked fine, though I think if I were doing a jam, I would definitely want the funnel in order to keep the outside of the jar clean.

I also think that a significant element I had going against me was the fact that I read the entire weckcanning.com website and all 18 steps of "canning safely" more than once, which basically turned me from a guileless but inspired canning novice into a well-informed but poorly-equipped canning novice obsessed with canning safely.

All of these issues aside, I successfully canned four out of the five jars of pickled green beans and cauliflower. With Weck jars, here is the way you check to make sure you have "succeeded": Once the jar is completely cooled, take the metal clips off and try to pull the lid up. If it doesn't come up, you are a success. If it does, you have failed. I failed on my very first one and have a few guesses as to why. One, because I left too much headspace between the liquid and the lid. Two, because I may not have processed it at a rolling boil for the full ten minutes. Three, because I willed it to fail with all of my self-doubt.

The good news? I refrigerated the fail and it was basically like having an opened jar of pickled green beans in the fridge. Delicious!

All this said, I really hope I haven't discouraged you from canning. If anything, I hope I've encouraged you to try it—just maybe with the proper tools and a friend who has canned once or twice before.

Or, at the very least, try it for the LOLs—here's a record of just some of the things I Googled that day:
canning fails
pickling fails
is all-clad nonreactive?
home canning what is the worst that can happen?
los angeles is at sea level?
what is botulism?
cute overload kitten (I needed a break.)

Pickled Green Beans via Jam it, Pickle it, Cure it

PREP AHEAD
You’ll need 3 clean pint jars with lids. You can buy canning jars with vacuum-seal lids (look for Ball or Kerr brand jars), or you can reuse jars from your pantry. If your jars aren’t new, make sure they are free of rust and odors and the lids seal tightly. When it comes to labeling, I’m astrip-of-masking-tape-and-black-Sharpie kind of a gal. However, if you are artistically inclined, feel free to createnifty labels either on stickers or tied around the mouth of the jar. Fancy or not, it’s important that you prepare somekind of label that lists the contents and date prepared.

3 pounds green beans, stems intact, washed and dried
9 cloves garlic, crushed
3 cinnamon sticks
3 bay leaves
3 tablespoons yellow mustard seeds
3 tablespoons brown mustard seeds
6 tablespoons dill seeds
3 tablespoons black peppercorns
6 teaspoons kosher salt
11/2 to 2 1/ 4 cups distilled white vinegar

INSTRUCTIONS
Add one-third of the green beans, garlic,spices, and salt to each jar. Fill each jar halfway with vin-egar (about 1/2 to 3/4 cups). Top off each jar with cool water.Seal each jar with a lid, and shake gently to dissolve the salt and distribute the spices. Refrigerate for at least 3 days.

HOW TO STORE IT
Refrigerated pickled green beans will beat their prime for 2 weeks but will keep for about 1 month.

HOW TO CAN IT
Carefully read through the canning directions on page 88 before you begin (OR, in my case, weckcanning.com one million times). In a nonreactive sauce-pan, combine the vinegar, 6 cups water, and the salt and bring to a rolling boil to dissolve the salt. Divide the beans, garlic, bay leaves, and spices evenly among 3 sterilized pint jars as directed, leaving about 1-inch headspace. Pourthe boiling vinegar solution into the jars, immersing the beans fully and leaving 1/2 inch headspace. Process in a hot-water bath for 10 minutes at altitudes up to 1,000 feet,15 minutes at altitudes up to 6,000 feet, and 20 minutes at altitudes over 6,000 feet.

VARIATION
For super-duper garlic pickles, substitute 6 cloves crushed garlic and 4 extra tablespoons of dill seeds for the cinnamon, bay leaves, and mustard seeds.Vampires need not apply.

Third Time's a Dud: Tortilla Soup with Pasilla Chilies, Fresh Cheese, and Avocado

Dear Sirs and Madams:
Sometimes I ask questions like: Has anyone seen my Mugi Miso? Or why won't my mom read my blog? Or, what's up with that (with the word that linking to a weird video)? And while all are very good questions, they are basically joke questions. Well, I have real questions this time--questions that I would love to get some real answers to. See, normally the pattern with Bon Appetempt is that we make something for the first time, we either succeed or fail, learn something about ourselves, post it and move on. But this post actually marks the third time we've attempted this recipe, and each time has birthed totally different results. We made the soup late at night the first time and as such, the photos were bad bad bad, but the soup was so good that we thought we would just make it again and get some better photos. Easy, right? Well, this second time the pictures weren't much better but the soup was bad. Same recipe, same process, opposite results. We were confused. We went for it a third time. How did we fare? Not so great.

The Pleasures of Slow Food's version:

our (third) version:

The recipe, as written in the book, calls for "2 pasilla chilies." The first time we made this, I purchased what I believed were 2 pasilla chilies. They looked like fresh, green peppers.

[Major sidebar for fans of Rick Bayless: Did you know that he is extremely active on Twitter? I wasn't sure if I could seed and stem the peppers sans gloves so I asked the question via Twitter and Mr. Bayless responded via direct message, almost instantly! He wrote: "Yes, but most people use latex gloves." Thanks, Mr. Bayless and thanks, technology!]

But then after chopping the peppers (with gloves), I realized fresh peppers made absolutely no sense in the context of the recipe as I was supposed to, "Add the chili pieces to the hot pan. Turn quickly as they fry, toast, and release a delicious aroma, about 30 seconds in all." Toast fresh peppers in 30 seconds? So confusing. Now, after a touch of research, I think that pasillas are dried peppers and fresh "pasillas" are a different thing entirely? Question 1: is this right? Lots of contradictory information floating out there on the Internet. Most seem to say it's the U.S. version of the poblano, some say pasillas are by definition dried (but don't tell that to Whole Foods) while others claim pasillas are really found only in Mexico. Anyone wanna chime in/sound off on pepper stuff? I am legitimately interested.

Back to the first time attempt: we continued on with the soup anyway and it was delicious. (See fresh peppers below.)

The second time we made it, we assumed it would be even better since we had learned our lesson and this time, bought dried pasillas.

We were wrong. This time, the broth seemed way too thin and kind of one-dimensional if not flavorless. And then we must have toasted the pasillas for too long because they tasted equal parts bitter and spicy.

Scared by the massive fail of this second attempt, we went against the recipe and back to using fresh pasillas for the third try, but we still couldn't capture the glory of that first try. The third one was average at best, and what is possibly worse is that I have no logical explanations. Each time, we opted out of frying our own tortilla chips and used the same chicken broth. So, how could they be that different?

Will we continue to chase the memory of that first soup and make this again? You bet. Also, Matt and I had an amazing midweek anniversary trip to Desert Hot Springs.

For recipe, click HERE.

2nd Annual Martha Stewart Easter Egg Challenge

Dear Friends:
Another Easter, another Martha Stewart egg fail.

Martha Stewart's version:

our version:

Here's my conclusion: you cannot wing Martha Stewart crafts. They're just about impossible to begin with, but to come close to having yours end up remotely like Martha's, you've got to be ultra prepared, and that means buying the specific craft tools called for and freeing up at least 4 hours of your time, not counting all the gathering of her rare tools.

I did make some changes this year despite what you might think from the results. Per Martha's recommendation, I used food coloring instead of a Paas kit, but even still, my eggs ended up all spotty and mottled.

The basic gist of Martha's egg dying process this year was to block off a section with tape, dip the egg into one color, then tape it off again in a slightly different area and dip it into another color. I didn't use the vinyl tape Martha called for but I did test out a few different kinds of tape I had on hand, ultimately deciding on gaffe tape. (Uh, shoulda sprung for the vinyl.)

So... as usual, the eggs didn't turn out so good, but on the flip side, the Easter egg hunt was a blast and the following senior year superlatives were given out to the stand out eggs of the class:

Class Clown: Spotty Red

Most Likely To Succeed:

Most Athletic:

Best Couple: Black-n-Blue and Messed-Up Orange

The final lesson? Of all the magazine covers, Martha's are the hardest (by far) to recreate--they always look a little too perfect and maybe it's just me, but I can never seem to come even close to them. If anyone has had more successful results on these eggs, I would LOVE to hear from you!

Also, This month's Martha Stewart Living had not one, not two, but THREE covers. (Please stop reading my diary, Martha.) Stay tuned for cover attempt #2...

Martha's Lemon Souffles

What is it that takes you from casually thinking a certain recipe might be good—from dog-earing the page, or mentioning to the person sitting next to you, "Oh, that looks good,"—to the action steps of writing down the ingredients, going to the grocery store and making the recipe come to life?

For me, it starts with a photo. I need an image of the finished product for inspiration. But, it goes far beyond that. If there's one thing I've learned from this blog, it's that the photograph needs to do more than just entice me with flavors or rather the idea of the flavors as imagined in my head, it must also win me over on a less conscious/more psychological level, a level that asks the question: does this recipe suit the kind of life I imagine myself living? Martha Stewart recipes almost always hit it home when it comes to meeting the needs of this latter element.

Take the below photo for example. The moment I saw it, I was committed to attempting the recipe. It's just magical—the way the souffle has puffed out of the ramekin, kind of on a tilt, like it's tipping its flat, perfectly browned hat to me. Anyone who could produce eight of these (presumably) after already serving a majestic main course and elegant appetizers, clearly knows something about living life. Don't you want more than anything to break through that crispy top layer with that well-placed spoon and take a bite? Doesn't the image seem to exude an air of organized optimism? Isn't it an absolute food dream?

Martha's version:

But alas, dreams don't always come true. Our version:

I match your disappointment and raise you one major bon appetempt FAIL.

Like I told Matt before I made him watch the episode of The Bachelor: On the Wings of Love where Roslyn gets kicked out because she wasn't there for the right reasons: Let's just get through this, OK?

So, this was another recipe I did with Mom back in Pittsburgh. This explains the existence of eight matching individual baking ramekins. This is also possibly where one of the major mistakes occurred. Obviously, the whole thing about souffles is that they are supposed to rise like crazy, so each ramekin needs a good buttering and then sprinkling of sugar to keep them from sticking, however, and I don't know if this really counts as a huge mistake or not, but after we did this, Mom read off a little note along the side (but not included in the main directions area) that said: To help them rise properly, use upward brush strokes to butter the dishes. Sooo, there was that.

There was also the failure of our egg yolk to turn thick like "a pudding" after whisking for one to two minutes. At the time, I didn't think it was that big of a deal, but afterward, Mom shook her head and said: "I knew we didn't get the egg yolk mixture thick enough."

I don't know, though. The recipe said that you could make these ahead of time by leaving the uncooked mixture in the ramekins for up to three hours and then just pop them in the oven after dinner, which is basically what you'd have to do if you were having a dinner party for eight since souffles must be served immediately, however, I believe we should have run a knife around the edges before we placed them in the oven, thus freeing them for their big rise. Again: I don't know, though.

I do know that ours did not rise at all. They puffed up a little like a normal cake. That was it.

Not to mention, they were so browned on top when I first checked on them, that I pulled them out prematurely. Big mistake. This is what an undercooked souffle looks like:

I pulled them off everyone's place setting and put them back in the oven and though this second time, they were no longer soupy and disgusting, the taste was still not great. More than lemons or sugar, I tasted the egg. And for the first time in recent memory, I wanted nothing to do with my dessert. Seriously, no one cleaned their ramekin that night. Sorry, family.

The (arguable) good news? I'm fascinated with the souffle now. Already wrote down the recipe for a savory, non-individual one.

BUT first up will be something for a bake sale for a good cause!

Cookies Without Borders: A Bake Sale for Haiti.

WHEN: Sunday, January 31, 2010. 2 – 5 pm
WHERE: Scoops Gelato. 712 N Heliotrope Dr. 90029. In East Hollywood, just north of Melrose, between Normandie and Vermont.
LOVE TO BAKE? If you love to bake and want to donate a few of your favorites, WE NEED YOUR HELP! Let these guys know and they'll give you more information.

For souffle recipe, click HERE.

Saveur's French Onion Soup

Making French onion soup is really much more about the equipment than cooking skills, and by equipment I mean broiler-proof bowls and a broiler with enough clearance to handle those bowls. I knew this going into it, but also knew that I really wanted French onion soup. It’s one of those dishes you crave on cold winter nights. It’s comforting, hearty to the point of decadence, and since the short ribs filled my meat quota for the month, its almost-vegetarian quality really fit the bill for everything I wanted in a post-Christmas but pre-New Year’s meal—that week where life lets up and minor to major indulgences become justifiable.

Saveur's version:

Photo: Andre Baranowski

our version:

Major letdown, no?

The funny thing is that when I made this recipe, I was in Los Angeles where winter means an average high of 68 and low of 47 and where fires are built mostly for the fun of it and are often put out prematurely following comments like, "Uhm, it's really hot in here." And now as I write this, I’m at home in Pittsburgh where there are no highs and lows as far as I can tell—everything is just super cold, all the time.

On to the recipe, which calls for braising the onions instead of cooking them on the stovetop, which I would recommend simply for the hour and half that your house will smell of butter, onions, wine and sherry. It’s such a particular smell—mildly vinegary but mostly rich and brasserie-like. And this is where I messed up—though you really wouldn’t have known it by the amazing aroma.

I halved the recipe, but failed to half the size of the braising dish, so the melted butter, sherry, and white wine didn’t fully cover the onions. Below are the onions after the first 45 minutes, uncovered—just a little burnt—and then after another hour, covered with foil. I was convinced the recipe was ruined, but after Matt and I sampled one of the burnt onions and it only tasted vaguely burnt, we pushed onward.

Up next was the bouquet garni, which prompted the Google search: what is a bouquet garni? Speaking of Google searches, what’s going on with Google search auto-fill? It’s getting kind of weird.

Anyway, as it turns out, a bouquet garni is a bunch of herbs wrapped in cheesecloth or sometimes leek leaves that is used to flavor a stew or soup. Here is mine sans cheesecloth or leek, neither of which I had on hand. I like to call this the Bon Appetempt loose bouquet garni (patent pending).

To get around the broiler and broiler-proof bowl problem, I decided to mound the gruyere and parmesan on top of the bread and put those in the broiler and then place them on top of the soup.

The results were solidly mediocre.

Unfortunately, the burnt onions flavored the broth much more than my makeshift garni had. Each bite tasted slightly of char. And even more sadly, I have no solutions for the person with a shallow broiler. I mean, would it work if I moved my oven rack up to the highest slot and cooked the bowls like that?

Of course, I really would make it all over again just for the onion and butter aroma to take over our apartment.

RECIPE from Saveur and based on one in Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells (Workman, 1989):
1 cup white wine
1⁄2 cup plus 3 tbsp. sherry
10 tbsp. butter
1 tsp. sugar
3 large yellow onions, thinly sliced
Kosher salt and black pepper, to taste
6 sprigs flat-leaf parsley
6 sprigs thyme
2 fresh bay leaves
2 qts. Beef Stock
12  1⁄2"-thick slices baguette
2 cloves garlic, smashed
6 cups grated gruyère cheese
2 cups finely grated parmigiano-reggiano

1. Heat oven to 425°. Combine wine, 1⁄2 cup of the sherry, 8 tbsp. of the butter, sugar, onions, and salt and pepper in a 9" × 13" casserole dish and braise, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the onions just begin to brown, 40–45 minutes. Remove casserole from oven, cover with foil, and continue braising in oven, stirring occasionally, until caramelized, about 1 hour more. Keep the onions warm.

2. Meanwhile, tie parsley, thyme, and bay leaves together with kitchen twine to make a bouquet garni. Put bouquet garni and stock into a pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, partially covered, for 30 minutes. Remove and discard bouquet garni. Stir in remaining sherry and cook for 5 minutes more.

3. While the broth simmers, spread the baguette slices with the remaining butter. Toast in a skillet over medium heat, turning once, until golden, 5–7 minutes. Rub the slices generously with garlic and set aside. Discard any remaining garlic.

4. Heat broiler with rack 6" from element. Arrange 6 heatproof bowls on a foil-lined sheet tray, divide onions and broth between bowls, and stir together. Place 2 baguette slices in each bowl; top each with about 1 cup gruyère and about 1⁄3 cup parmigiano. Broil until cheeses are browned and bubbly, 3–5 minutes. Serve immediately.