People who cannot abide the sight, smell or taste of canned tuna will find the very idea of this recipe appalling, and that's fine - I feel the same way about sushi. But when it's cold and dark outside, and I'm tired and hungry, this is something that fills me up in every way. Gorgeous Sister #1 has perfected something similar with canned white meat chicken, but you'd have to ask her about the seasonings for that one.
I also learned something with my last post about the cookies - it's a helluva lot easier to use a standard recipe format. So I'll try to split the difference, give a good ingredient list then ramble at will on how to put it together.
Tuna Noodle Casserole
Ingredients:
1 lb bag of egg noodles or box of seashell pasta
1 large can of tuna or albacore, packed in water, drained
2 cans of cream of mushroom soup
Generous sprinklings (about a teaspoon):
Minced onion
Dried sage
Garlic powder
Dried parsley flakes
Dashes:
Salt
Black pepper
Red pepper flakes
3 cups of shredded sharp cheddar cheese
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
Cook the noodles by the package directions - for me, 11 minutes in a full rolling boil gives me al dente noodles, perfect for this casserole. While the pasta is cooking, I mix together the tuna, the soup, and all the seasonings. And yes, I know what that looks like. And yes, I have smelled it. To me, it smells good, I swear.
Drain the cooked pasta thoroughly. I drain it in the colandar (colender? Hansel? Haaaan-sel??!?) in the sink first, then pour it back into the hot pot to steam off the excess water. Mix in the sludge-looking other stuff thoroughly until all the noodles are coated and there's tuna throughout.
Spray a two-quart casserole dish with cooking spray or grease it with butter. Spread half of the tuna noodle mixture in the dish, cover it completely with cheese. Repeat with the other half.
Bake at 375 degrees for fifteen minutes, until the cheese is completely melted and starting to brown in spots. All of the ingredients are basically cooked when it goes in; you're just melding flavors and melting cheese. Serve hot. This makes about six generous servings. Refrigerate any leftovers and reheat in the microwave with a sprinkle of water for 2-3 minutes.
I have put a beaten egg in this before, but it didn't add anything much taste or texture-wise and made the casserole take longer to bake, so now I leave it out. There are those who would insist you need something crunchy on top, like breadcrumbs or crumbled potato chips. If you want that, feel free; just don't tell me about it. <shudder> Seriously, if you do put a topping on it, dot it with dabs of butter first so it doesn't burn or dry out and bake it as long as it takes to make the topping crunchy.
This was one of the first things I ever cooked for my husband, and he loves it. He also proved his priceless worth as a husband because of this dish. One night we were both exhausted and starving, and I had dragged myself to the kitchen to make this while he was working on something else in the living room. I went through the whole process, waited for it to bake, reached into the oven to take it out - and promptly dropped it in the middle of the kitchen floor. Hot tuna noodles and cheese went EVERYWHERE, and I screamed a series of words no proper lady should know.
He came running in, certain I had done myself some dread injury. To his eternal credit, when he saw what had happened, he didn't laugh until AFTER he had hugged me and told me that 1)it smelled delicious and its loss was a tragedy, and 2)we were going to KFC to get a bucket of chicken. Then he laughed his ass off. Now it's become a tradition in our marriage; I make this, but he's the one who takes it out of the oven.
Showing posts with label comfort food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comfort food. Show all posts
Friday, January 21, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Spaghetti
When I was a little kid, my mom's spaghetti was my favorite food - no question, no wavering; if you asked me what my favorite food was, I said spaghetti. It was what Mama cooked for me on my birthday or when I was sick; it was what I begged my grandmother in Virginia to make for us every Saturday night when we'd make our monthly weekend visit. Over the years, we've refined the recipe - one of my gorgeous sisters found the genius finishing touch when she started adding the fresh bell pepper, I think. But the basic outline has remained the same my whole life, and I still love it. Foodies and Italian cooking purists will faint, no doubt, but they're welcome to pour their al dente whole grain orecchiette back into their extra virgin olive oil and organic basil pesto and eat it without me.
This past Saturday night, the Thunder from Down Under and I realized we are broke beyond bearing, so broke we couldn't afford to go out to eat. But by damn, we had the stuff to make spaghetti. I called up Gorgeous Sister #1 (Gorgeous Sister #2 being somewhat more solvent and eating out with friends) and told her to bring her hubby and her kid over for spaghetti night.
I found two foil-wrapped lumps in the freezer that together made between 1.5 and two pounds of ground beef. (Side note: Why can't the grocery store package ground beef in two pound packages instead of 1.34 lbs or 1.79 lbs or whatever? I always have to either have too little or buy two and have too much and end up with all these little frozen meat wads.) I browned the meat over high heat with a generous sprinkling of dried minced onion (between 1 and 2 tablespoons, I'd say; a small onion's worth) and about a teaspoon of minced garlic bottled in olive oil. (I keep a jar in the fridge at all times because life is too short to smash garlic just to have spaghetti, but dried garlic powder makes God cry.) I drained the fat from the meat and put it back in the pot with a can of Hunt's spaghetti sauce, 'flavored with meat,' over medium heat. This is the cheapest non-store-brand sauce you can buy, usually about a dollar a can, and I swear to you it makes the best spaghetti sauce base, better than any of the brands in jars. Trust me just one time, and I promise you'll never spend five bucks on a jar of sauce again. I added two small cans of tomato sauce, half a teaspoon of Italian seasoning, a half a teaspoon of dried basil, two shakes of dried red pepper flake, and a generous pinch of sugar. After this was all stirred together, I beheaded and gutted a green bell pepper, sliced it in quarters, and laid it on top. I turned the heat up to high, brought the sauce to a boil, then knocked it back down to a simmer and left it alone for half an hour, stirring every ten minutes or so.
I cooked a two pound box of regular spagetti in my humongous pasta pot - let your salted water come to a full rolling boil before you put in your pasta, then cook for exactly 11 minutes. I have a love/hate relationship with that pot. It's the only one I have big enough to cook pasta or soup, but it's so big, it's hell on earth to wash it. I have tried every possible angle and configuration to fit it in the dishwasher, but it just will not go.
For the bread, I cheated and used a perfectly yummy frozen product with what they claim is five different cheeses on it. But if you want to make my grandmother's classic garlic bread, it's easy - slice most of the way through a loaf of 'French' or 'Italian' bread from the deli section of the grocery store, making slices that are barely held together at the bottom. Slather butter in all of the cracks and sprinkle in garlic salt (not garlic powder, garlic salt - God still cries, but only for your high blood pressure).
Usually I would make a tossed salad with this or at least open up a bag of pre-washed salad and dump it in a bowl. But Saturday night, we lived dangerously and saved room for ice cream instead.
This past Saturday night, the Thunder from Down Under and I realized we are broke beyond bearing, so broke we couldn't afford to go out to eat. But by damn, we had the stuff to make spaghetti. I called up Gorgeous Sister #1 (Gorgeous Sister #2 being somewhat more solvent and eating out with friends) and told her to bring her hubby and her kid over for spaghetti night.
I found two foil-wrapped lumps in the freezer that together made between 1.5 and two pounds of ground beef. (Side note: Why can't the grocery store package ground beef in two pound packages instead of 1.34 lbs or 1.79 lbs or whatever? I always have to either have too little or buy two and have too much and end up with all these little frozen meat wads.) I browned the meat over high heat with a generous sprinkling of dried minced onion (between 1 and 2 tablespoons, I'd say; a small onion's worth) and about a teaspoon of minced garlic bottled in olive oil. (I keep a jar in the fridge at all times because life is too short to smash garlic just to have spaghetti, but dried garlic powder makes God cry.) I drained the fat from the meat and put it back in the pot with a can of Hunt's spaghetti sauce, 'flavored with meat,' over medium heat. This is the cheapest non-store-brand sauce you can buy, usually about a dollar a can, and I swear to you it makes the best spaghetti sauce base, better than any of the brands in jars. Trust me just one time, and I promise you'll never spend five bucks on a jar of sauce again. I added two small cans of tomato sauce, half a teaspoon of Italian seasoning, a half a teaspoon of dried basil, two shakes of dried red pepper flake, and a generous pinch of sugar. After this was all stirred together, I beheaded and gutted a green bell pepper, sliced it in quarters, and laid it on top. I turned the heat up to high, brought the sauce to a boil, then knocked it back down to a simmer and left it alone for half an hour, stirring every ten minutes or so.
I cooked a two pound box of regular spagetti in my humongous pasta pot - let your salted water come to a full rolling boil before you put in your pasta, then cook for exactly 11 minutes. I have a love/hate relationship with that pot. It's the only one I have big enough to cook pasta or soup, but it's so big, it's hell on earth to wash it. I have tried every possible angle and configuration to fit it in the dishwasher, but it just will not go.
For the bread, I cheated and used a perfectly yummy frozen product with what they claim is five different cheeses on it. But if you want to make my grandmother's classic garlic bread, it's easy - slice most of the way through a loaf of 'French' or 'Italian' bread from the deli section of the grocery store, making slices that are barely held together at the bottom. Slather butter in all of the cracks and sprinkle in garlic salt (not garlic powder, garlic salt - God still cries, but only for your high blood pressure).
Usually I would make a tossed salad with this or at least open up a bag of pre-washed salad and dump it in a bowl. But Saturday night, we lived dangerously and saved room for ice cream instead.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Chicken Pie
I've been home a lot this week because we've had several inches of snow and ice, so I've been cooking a lot of comfort food. (And eating a lot of chips, it must be said.) Chicken pie is one of those dishes that you can make as simple and cheap or as fancy and complicated as you want - I kind of split the difference on this one. I had the time to roast the chicken myself, but I didn't even try to make pastry - the Pillsbury dough boy makes better pie crust than me; I have come to accept this. And by the way, any resemblance between a homemade chicken pie and those little frozen things called 'pot pies' is purely coincidental. I have no objection to those; there are times when they feed an essential TV-dinner-loving morsel of my soul. But they ain't chicken pie.
About mid-afternoon, I took a whole, 2-pound fryer out of the fridge, unwrapped it, washed it off, took the giblets and neck out of the body cavity (it has to be done, so hitch up your sweats and do it; the chicken can't care any more), rubbed down the skin with the end of half a stick (4 tablespoons) of butter, then put it in one of those oven browning bags with the rest of the half-stick of butter, a big yellow onion, cut up, and a generous sprinkling each of salt, pepper, and dried rubbed sage. (Fresh sage would work, too, of course, but I wouldn't buy it special for this dish.) I tied it all up in the bag as instructed on the package (shake a tablespoon of flour inside before the food goes in, cut six slits in the bag after it's tied up) and put it in a 350 degree oven for the next two hours until it was roasted through and golden brown. I took it out of the oven, cut open the bag, and let it cool for another 45 minutes to an hour.
I skinned the chicken and stripped the meat off the bones, then cut it into small bite-sized chunks and put it in a heavy soup pot with the strained drippings from the pan. I added a can of cream of mushroom soup, a can of hot water, a half cup of packaged chicken broth, a bag of slightly defrosted frozen mixed vegetables (carrots, green beans, corn, peas - all of which you could add separately if you wanted, but again, why bother?), and four small boiling potatoes, peeled and diced to be about the same size as the carrots in the mix. (If I'd had a mix that had potatoes in it, I would have used it, but since I didn't, I had to peel potatoes.) You could use canned mixed vegetables, too, I suppose, but they'd end up squishier in the finished pie. I cooked all of this down on medium-low heat until the liquid was reduced to about half and the potatoes were just soft - about thirty minutes. Then I mixed two tablespoons of corn starch with two-thirds of a cup of hot water until the starch dissolved, then mixed it in to thicken the broth and give it a silky sheen.
I sprayed a long, oval ceramic casserole dish with non-stick cooking spray - my mom always used a round, deep-dish casserole with a lid, and I would prefer that, too, but I don't have one. I took three of the pre-made Pillsbury pie crusts (the refrigerated kind, not the frozen) out of the fridge and softened them slightly per the package directions. I lined the bottom of the casserole with one and a half, pressing the edge together tight, then poured the filling inside - I actually ended up with more filling than I needed, so I put the excess in a freezer-tight container and stuck it in the freezer. I'll make one of those little pot pies later. Then I put on a top crust made from the other one and a half pre-made crusts (no need to press the edges together on top; they'll bake together nicely), crimped it together all around the edge with a fork, trimmed the excess, cut a few slits in the top in a star pattern, and stuck it in the oven at 400 degrees. The filling was already cooked, so it was just a matter of baking the crust through - 30 to 45 minutes, depending on your oven. I let it cool for about ten minutes before I served it, just to let the juices settle and thicken.
We ate it all on its own, but a green salad would go with it well. It served six adults generously with enough for one person's lunch left over.
About mid-afternoon, I took a whole, 2-pound fryer out of the fridge, unwrapped it, washed it off, took the giblets and neck out of the body cavity (it has to be done, so hitch up your sweats and do it; the chicken can't care any more), rubbed down the skin with the end of half a stick (4 tablespoons) of butter, then put it in one of those oven browning bags with the rest of the half-stick of butter, a big yellow onion, cut up, and a generous sprinkling each of salt, pepper, and dried rubbed sage. (Fresh sage would work, too, of course, but I wouldn't buy it special for this dish.) I tied it all up in the bag as instructed on the package (shake a tablespoon of flour inside before the food goes in, cut six slits in the bag after it's tied up) and put it in a 350 degree oven for the next two hours until it was roasted through and golden brown. I took it out of the oven, cut open the bag, and let it cool for another 45 minutes to an hour.
I skinned the chicken and stripped the meat off the bones, then cut it into small bite-sized chunks and put it in a heavy soup pot with the strained drippings from the pan. I added a can of cream of mushroom soup, a can of hot water, a half cup of packaged chicken broth, a bag of slightly defrosted frozen mixed vegetables (carrots, green beans, corn, peas - all of which you could add separately if you wanted, but again, why bother?), and four small boiling potatoes, peeled and diced to be about the same size as the carrots in the mix. (If I'd had a mix that had potatoes in it, I would have used it, but since I didn't, I had to peel potatoes.) You could use canned mixed vegetables, too, I suppose, but they'd end up squishier in the finished pie. I cooked all of this down on medium-low heat until the liquid was reduced to about half and the potatoes were just soft - about thirty minutes. Then I mixed two tablespoons of corn starch with two-thirds of a cup of hot water until the starch dissolved, then mixed it in to thicken the broth and give it a silky sheen.
I sprayed a long, oval ceramic casserole dish with non-stick cooking spray - my mom always used a round, deep-dish casserole with a lid, and I would prefer that, too, but I don't have one. I took three of the pre-made Pillsbury pie crusts (the refrigerated kind, not the frozen) out of the fridge and softened them slightly per the package directions. I lined the bottom of the casserole with one and a half, pressing the edge together tight, then poured the filling inside - I actually ended up with more filling than I needed, so I put the excess in a freezer-tight container and stuck it in the freezer. I'll make one of those little pot pies later. Then I put on a top crust made from the other one and a half pre-made crusts (no need to press the edges together on top; they'll bake together nicely), crimped it together all around the edge with a fork, trimmed the excess, cut a few slits in the top in a star pattern, and stuck it in the oven at 400 degrees. The filling was already cooked, so it was just a matter of baking the crust through - 30 to 45 minutes, depending on your oven. I let it cool for about ten minutes before I served it, just to let the juices settle and thicken.
We ate it all on its own, but a green salad would go with it well. It served six adults generously with enough for one person's lunch left over.
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