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 Max Castle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Max Castle. Show all posts
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Pea & Ham Soup
When my husband and I got engaged, we called his parents in Australia to tell them, and one of the first things I asked his mom was, "What does he like to eat?" Before she could answer, he called out, "Pea and ham soup! Tell her how to make pea and ham soup!" So she very kindly did. I had never had it before, and I have to admit, the first time I saw it, all green and Exorcist-prop-like, I had serious doubts. But it's actually pretty damned yummy. This last time, I made it using the still-meaty remains of our honey-roasted Christmas ham, and it was outstanding - if you've got one available, I would recommend that over ham hocks. My hubby claims his mom can make it taste wonderful with canned ham as a base, but I haven't been brave enough to even try that yet.
On my lunch hour, about six hours before we planned to eat, I melted half a stick (1/4 cup) of butter in a big, heavy-bottomed soup pot over low heat. I chopped a medium onion very fine and sweated it in the melted butter until the pieces turned translucent - if you hear sizzling, your heat is up too high. If it turns brown, you've cooked it too long; start over.
To the sweated onion, I added the ham (the meaty bone or a couple of hamhocks, just enough to have about a cup's worth of meat in the soup when it all cooks down), a pound of split peas, seven cups of water, a cup of chicken broth, and an envelope of onion soup mix (the kind you'd use to make chip dip). I put a lid on it and turned the heat up to high. When it started to boil, I stirred it and turned the heat down to low, just enough heat to keep it simmering. Then I left it alone and went back to work. My sweetie checked on it every half hour or so all afternoon to make sure it had plenty of liquid and to stir to make sure the peas weren't sticking to the bottom of the pot. If it gets too thick, just add water.
Four hours later, I came home and took the lid off the pot - the whole house smelled wonderful, and my husband smiled at me and said, "I love you soooo much." I fished out the hambone and all the chunks of meat and skin still big enough to catch with tongs and set it all aside on a plate to cool enough to touch while I seasoned the soup to taste - some freshly ground black pepper and a teaspoon or so of dried parsley flakes. I didn't think it needed any more salt, but I noticed both my husband and my dad salted theirs in the bowl, so taste it for yourself and see. I removed all the skin from the ham and chopped, tore, and shredded the meat into very-small-bite-sized pieces before adding them back into the soup. I brought it all back up to a hard boil and let it cook down for another half hour. Some recipes I've seen say blend it all up with a hand blender, but the peas cook down to nothing but a thick, vivid green liquid; there's no evidence they were ever separate objects at all. And I like to be able to see and taste the chunks of ham.
I served it with Jiffy corn muffins, and both my husband and my dad seemed to love it. This recipe makes about six to eight servings, I think; I still have leftovers in the refrigerator. My husband had another bowl for lunch today. It was so thick, I had to add more water to it to heat it up, but it still tasted really good.
On my lunch hour, about six hours before we planned to eat, I melted half a stick (1/4 cup) of butter in a big, heavy-bottomed soup pot over low heat. I chopped a medium onion very fine and sweated it in the melted butter until the pieces turned translucent - if you hear sizzling, your heat is up too high. If it turns brown, you've cooked it too long; start over.
To the sweated onion, I added the ham (the meaty bone or a couple of hamhocks, just enough to have about a cup's worth of meat in the soup when it all cooks down), a pound of split peas, seven cups of water, a cup of chicken broth, and an envelope of onion soup mix (the kind you'd use to make chip dip). I put a lid on it and turned the heat up to high. When it started to boil, I stirred it and turned the heat down to low, just enough heat to keep it simmering. Then I left it alone and went back to work. My sweetie checked on it every half hour or so all afternoon to make sure it had plenty of liquid and to stir to make sure the peas weren't sticking to the bottom of the pot. If it gets too thick, just add water.
Four hours later, I came home and took the lid off the pot - the whole house smelled wonderful, and my husband smiled at me and said, "I love you soooo much." I fished out the hambone and all the chunks of meat and skin still big enough to catch with tongs and set it all aside on a plate to cool enough to touch while I seasoned the soup to taste - some freshly ground black pepper and a teaspoon or so of dried parsley flakes. I didn't think it needed any more salt, but I noticed both my husband and my dad salted theirs in the bowl, so taste it for yourself and see. I removed all the skin from the ham and chopped, tore, and shredded the meat into very-small-bite-sized pieces before adding them back into the soup. I brought it all back up to a hard boil and let it cook down for another half hour. Some recipes I've seen say blend it all up with a hand blender, but the peas cook down to nothing but a thick, vivid green liquid; there's no evidence they were ever separate objects at all. And I like to be able to see and taste the chunks of ham.
I served it with Jiffy corn muffins, and both my husband and my dad seemed to love it. This recipe makes about six to eight servings, I think; I still have leftovers in the refrigerator. My husband had another bowl for lunch today. It was so thick, I had to add more water to it to heat it up, but it still tasted really good.
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