Category: Food

A small sourdough boule with its cut face toward the camera, and a cast-iron bread oven in the background

Hearty peasant fare

January 7, 2026 /

My hard copy of the A Couple Cooks sourdough bread recipe, sitting in plastic page protectors in a black binder, lists its printing date as 6/11/20. A lot of people decided to get into sourdough early in that year, of course; I’m one of the subset who managed to make a habit of it. The frequency of my baking varies inversely with Chicago’s ambient temperature, but over the course of the year I produce a simple, crusty boule more weeks than not.

I have some friends who are enviable bakers, braiding loaves and turning out flaky pastries and producing all kinds of desserts. That’s not me. Aside from the odd batch of cookies for neighbors, I make one kind of artisan bread, one kind of thin-crust pizza—about which more some other time—and a pan of focaccia or dinner rolls for special occasions. My ambitions are modest but I take pride in my consistency.

But I reflected this morning, as I let the loaf shown above cool on the rack, that the way I make bread is both uniquely mine and bound up in my relationships. Mom was the one who first directed me to that recipe, almost six years ago, and also the one who encouraged me to experiment with the much simpler Bread In Five Minutes book eight years before that. I still follow the ACC steps for bulk fermentation and folding, but my flour mix and hydration are quite different, and so are my in-oven temperatures and timing. Both of those I adapted from Ken Forkish, whose book my boss recommended, and whose pizza I was sharing with my friend Matthew a decade ago.

When I score my loaves for baking, I use a three-slashes-and-wheat-stalks pattern I borrowed from my friend Bronté. One big assist in getting me to a consistent practice was the surprise gift of a cast-iron bread pan from my friend Josh. My 2020 sourdough culture itself, still going strong, grew from a mix of wild yeasts in a bag of Sir Galahad flour and the air near the shore of Lake Michigan. And nothing has contributed more to successful habit-forming than the kind words of Kat, who gave me my nice bread knife, and who always gets the first slice.

Pretend I put something poetic here about breaking bread and community and whatever, you get the point. I spent most of my adult life avoiding baking, out of background intimidation and anxiety about getting it wrong. I have indeed gotten things wrong, quite a few times, especially in the early goings. But over the years, my sense that I owed it to my loved ones to keep trying helped sustain my efforts. What else is that but the staff of life?

A top-down view of one of my very first really successful loaves, showing where the crust has split longitudinally with a wheat-stalk scoring pattern alongside the fissure.

A sourdough boule on a cooling rack, held up against a snowy back yard.

Half a loaf of sourdough bread, held up by hand in front of a window showing a brick wall opposite.

A sourdough boule held up on a cooling rack, dramatically lit from a window.

A cracked sourdough boule still sitting on parchment paper in the cast-iron pan.

June 19, 2023

“Singapore is the only country in the world where it’s legal to sell ‘cultivated’ (lab-grown) meat for human consumption, and Huber’s Bistro in Singapore is the only restaurant in the world that actually sells the stuff. But you can’t just waltz in and try it. I was back in Singapore this week for a conference, so I tried my luck and, much to my amazement… Here’s how it went.”

Notes from the New Normish

April 15, 2020 /

Hi, we’re alive and fine. My privilege is as evident as ever, as my daily routine of isolation with Kat resembles what Maria called “an extended snow day,” mostly but not entirely without snow. I hurt for the sick and grieving; I worry for the essential and vulnerable; I watch Bon Appetit and experiment with vegan baking; I do my internet job and I watch out my window and wait. Here are some things that have held my interest in the last little while.

  1. As mentioned in asides, I read too much about menswear online and off these days. My favorite habit is to bargain-hunt for clothes from Japan on eBay, prance around the living room in them to aggravate Kat, and then secret them away so I can buy more. But the emergent result is that I’ve learned a lot about things I might have disdained ten years ago. I don’t have any special interest in James Bond, for instance, but Matt Spaiser’s blog about the tailoring of the films has taught me a ton about men’s fashion in the last sixty years. His post on how Cary Grant’s suit in North by Northwest (1959) went on to influence Bond’s costuming is a great example of the dry clarity of his writing.
  2. It seems like I’ve never written about Porpentine Charity Heartscape here before, which is strange, as her work has loomed large in my view and admiration for… seven years? Eight? Her work in writing and game design blends the sweet, the filthy, the transgender and transhuman, the pure and the skin-crawlingly cute in a way I find singular in every sense. If that sentence doesn’t hint at some content warnings, then I hope this one does. But that boundary is very much worth braving if you are so emotionally equipped. Her recent story “Dirty Wi-Fi” on Strange Horizons is a good introduction to her prose and perspective.

  3. Despite my limited dabbling in microelectronics, I can’t follow many of the technical specifics in this review of process and call for aid on a final, perfect Super Nintendo emulator. But the SNES was a system that still informs my design and aesthetic sensibilities, twenty-seven years later, and I respect the author’s work very much. The most striking quote to me:

    “I can tell you why this is important to me: it’s my life’s work, and I don’t want to have to say I came this close to finishing without getting the last piece of it right. I’m getting older, and I won’t be around forever. I want this final piece solved.”

    What an extraordinary thing it seems, to me, to know what your life’s work is. I hope one day I do.

I often consider locking all the older entries on this blog

July 10, 2018 /

But that would prevent me from making deep cuts like this: Mitch McConnell spoke at my college graduation. I was very young and very tired when I wrote that entry, and McConnell, though well into his career, was not quite the architect of enormity he has since become. Elaine Chao spoke too, and it’s amusing to me now that I called her a “fervent liberal.” I wonder what I’ll have to laugh at fifteen years from now.

This came to mind because earlier this week, McConnell got harangued at a restaurant in Louisville, and because when I read the story I realized it was a restaurant I know. I feel compelled to explain why I find this amusing as well: the Bristol is maybe the worst place you could pick to eat on all of Bardstown Road.

It’s an iceberg-salad, sirloin-well-done kind of place, where everything costs about twice and tastes about half what it ought to. It’s also right in the middle of some of the best food in the city, and for that matter in the state. McConnell is among the most powerful living humans and a multimillionaire; he could afford to eat every night at Jack Fry’s, 80-odd years old and still killing it, or get the farm-to-table prix-fixe menu at Lilly’s, both within a few blocks of the Bristol. Those were once-a-year treats when I was digging myself a debt hole there back in grad school. McConnell could have thrown a stone and hit someone’s baked brie or lamb burger at Ramsi’s Cafe on the World, or turned the other way for a thick, crispy Louisville-style pizza at Impellizzeri’s, which still has an hour wait every night. He could have had the most delicate fish I’ve ever tasted at Seviche. He could have gotten his teeth stuck on the candied short ribs at North End Cafe. For fuck’s sake, he could have gotten better food at Burritos As Big As Your Head.

But he went to the Bristol, possibly because none of those other places would lower themselves to seat him. And he got overcharged for probably a tasteless beer and a milquetoast burger that would recoil from the notion of spice. Forgive me if I hope someone spat in it.

This post is mostly an excuse to make myself hungry thinking about how good it smells just to walk past open doors on that street, and how fond my heart is of that place and time. Lynn’s Paradise Cafe isn’t there anymore, or Nio’s 917, or Twice Told, and neither are most of the friends I used to sit down to dinner with. But Louisville is still home to much of my family and to a lot of restaurants that punch way above their weight. You have to really love something to make it that good, in a small city. If food is a way of feeling, then I think taste is a way of caring, and in at least those little ways, our little lives are better than his.

More cooking stuff

August 21, 2010 /

I have these two recipes in text files on my desktop, which is dumb because I can’t see my desktop when I need to use them and I am separated from my desktop by three hours and a mountain range. Both are extremely healthy and require a sophisticated palate to appreciate.

Dirty Chicken
(so named by Kara & co on True Blood night; brought to us from Kentucky by Monica)

1 cup shredded or cubed mozzarella
1/2 cup cheap ranch dressing
1/2 cup hot wing sauce (yes, you can buy this in bottles at Safeway)
8 oz cream cheese
1 10-12 oz can chicken (like canned tuna, only… it’s chicken)

Mash up in a glass or ceramic bowl. Microwave for three or four minutes, stirring every minute. Eat with chips. Serves party.

This next one is what I made for months when I wanted potatoes until I discovered an amazing secret recipe for perfect french fries, which I am not going to link to because it is too awesome. MY THIRD-BEST POTATO RECIPE: I HEREBY BEQUEATH IT.

Boiled Fried Potatoes

About 8-10 new potatoes, either Yukon gold or red
3 Tbsp butter
Kosher salt
1 Tbsp thyme
1/2 tsp white pepper
Water

You need a seasoned cast-iron skillet for this because otherwise they’ll stick like demons.

Mash up a tablespoon of the salt and the thyme with a mortar and pestle. Scrub the potatoes and chop them into 2-3 little discs per potato, cutting off the ends so both sides have an exposed surface. Place the potatoes in a single layer on the skillet, add just enough water to cover them, turn the burner to medium-high and add the mixed salt and thyme and the butter. Then wait for the water to all boil off.

When it’s gone–you will know because the tenor of the hissing sound has changed and the bubbles look different–turn the heat down to medium. Continue to fry the potatoes, flipping once and moving the interior potatoes to the sides of the pan once the first side is golden and crusty. When both sides are golden and crusty, add more salt and pepper, then eat. This serves about two hungry people.

NOTE: You can substitute olive oil for the butter but it’s not as bad for you.

Protip

August 9, 2010 /

Maybe everyone already knows this, but whenever I make a cream sauce for pasta, the recipe calls for heavy cream and I never have any on hand. What I usually do have is sour cream, which works way better! The taste and texture are great, you don’t have to reduce it, and it combines with olive oil more easily. You can splash in a little milk or water if it’s too thick.

(Awesome things to sauté and toss in said sauce: garlic, shallots, tomatoes and shrimp or smoked salmon.)

Lamb Pseudotagine with Raisins

February 9, 2010 /

(Imagine there is a succulent picture of an orange-yellow-brown lamb dish in a skillet here, because I forgot to take one.)

I’m writing this down because it’s something I synthesized from whatever came up when I typed “lamb tagine raisisn raisins” into Google and I don’t want to forget it. It was really good. Thanks again, cast-iron skillet! (Thanks for the cast-iron skillet, Mom.)

We used a package of little loin chops for this, but the originals say shoulder or leg would work fine too, and since it’s marinated I don’t doubt it. Serves two and a half.

Meat
1 lb lamb of some kind
1/4 cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
1 Tbsp honey
2 Tbsp chopped cilantro
Pinch of saffron threads
1 tsp paprika
1 tsp ground cumin
2 Tbsp tomato paste
Salt and pepper

Toss this all around in a plastic container or bag, seal it and marinate in the refrigerator overnight. You can probably get away with a couple hours if you’re in a hurry.

Vegetables

1 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 sweet onion, halved and sliced radially
3 more cloves garlic, chopped
1 tsp ground cumin
1 1/2 cups stock of some kind
2 carrots, or 2 cups baby carrots, chunked
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup chickpeas
1 cup golden raisins

You also need a cast-iron skillet with an oven-safe lid. Preheat your oven to 400 degrees.

Put the butter and olive oil in a skillet over medium heat and melt. Put the onions in and brown, then toss the garlic in just long enough to toast it. Add the stock, cumin, carrots, and cinnamon. Get the lamb out of the refrigerator and put it in, keeping it on the heat just long enough to get it white on both sides; the whole dish should be simmering.

Cover the skillet and put it in the oven; cook for 1 hour. Remove the dish and add raisins and chickpeas, stirring around a little bit so the raisins will flavor the liquid. Cover again and put back in the oven for 30 minutes.

Now you’re done! We had this with couscous, but you could do rice, of course, or put some chopped and peeled potatoes in when you add the carrots.

September 25, 2008 /

Leonard was here for a week! It was great! I didn’t blog about it because I was too busy hanging out with Leonard. Leonard didn’t blog about it because he apparently spends two weeks out of three on airplanes, to the point that travelblogging has become passé. The world demands Leonard.

Kara and I tried to show him the good side of the city: we ate at a lot of restaurants, played a lot of games, climbed a waterfall and discovered that happiness comes in gourds. Leonard also fixed my stupid hard drive (twice!) and helped me find a new grip on a game design problem that’s been bothering me for months. I can only assume that when Sumana visits in November, she will improve my gas mileage and teach me how to get free money from the government.

By the way! Kara and I are dating, in case you care but are not on Facebook. It is also great! Dating, I mean; Facebook is mostly okay.

FINALLY NAILED IT

May 30, 2008 /

This is mostly for my own records. The correct way to rejuvenate your roommate’s leftover half-steak (kept in a Ziploc container overnight) is as follows: slice thin and put it back in the container, splash a little balsamic vinegar and olive oil on it, seal the lid and shake around to coat. Let marinate for ten minutes. Dump on a piece of foil and broil in the toaster oven for a couple minutes more. Sandwich with farmer’s market lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise between halves of crusty roll from the bakery down the street. Ride the flavor horns.