Pollo al Ladrillo

This is my take on the ubiquitous Chicken Under a Brick preparation. In most Chicken Under a Brick recipes, the entire bird is butterflied and seared, then finished in a hot oven or grilled. It is a great way to ensure crispy skin and juicy meat. However, I have opted here to skip the part of removing the backbone and butterflying the bird and went straight for my favorite part of the chicken, the dark meat. In Uruguay, the chicken thigh is called muslo. If you want just the thigh, look for muslo corto, if you want the dark ¼ of the bird, it’s muslo con pata. For this dish, I purchased two chicken quarters – leg and thigh connected. You can use your favorite marinade for this dish. Some people choose a mixture of olive oil, lemon and rosemary, but my tastes are a bit spicier, so I chose chipotle peppers instead. I brought a stash of canned chipotle peppers in adobo sauce from the U.S., but you can get the same spicey and smokey flavor (with a little less heat) by using Chipotle Tabasco sauce, available in Uruguay.

What you will need:
· A large heavy oven-safe skillet (preferably cast iron)
· 2 Bricks wrapped in heavy aluminum foil
· 2 dark meat chicken quarters
· 3 canned chipotle peppers with 1 tablespoon of the adobo sauce
· The juice of one lime
· A splash of soy sauce
· Salt and pepper

Method:

Cut any extra fat off the chicken pieces, but do leave most of the skin. Rub both sides of the chicken quarters with salt and pepper. Using a blender, liquefy the chipotle peppers, lime juice and soy sauce. Coat the chicken with the marinade, making sure to get some under the skin. For best results, let the chicken marinate for at least one hour.

Preheat oven to 350° F / 180° C
Get your well-seasoned iron skillet nice and hot. Place the chicken in skin-side up to brown for about 2 minutes. Flip it over to skin-side down, loosely cover with foil and place the foil wrapped bricks on the chicken. Make sure to get good brick-to-chicken contact so the chicken is quite flattened in the pan. Let this sizzle away over medium-high heat for 5 minutes. Carefully (the pan, loaded with chicken and bricks is quite heavy) transfer the whole thing to the hot oven. Bake for 15 minutes, then turn the oven off and let it coast for 10 minutes more. When ready to serve, cut the legs from the thighs.

This is great with white rice and greens.

Buen provecho.

The Real Empanada

There is no escaping empanadas here in Uruguay. Most panaderias and rotiserias offer at least a couple of flavors – the typical ones are jamon y queso and, of course, carne. Additionally, there are several places near us that do nothing but empanadas. Unfortunately, they are often fried, without fail have bland insides, or are made from pre-fab, pasty dough. So, empanadas everywhere and not a good one to be had. So sad. However, I suspect that excellent ones are to be had from the home kitchens of many Uruguayans. The best empanadas I have had here (and I have tried many) came from a sweet, no-nonsense Uruguayan grandmother who had wrung the neck of one of her backyard geese just that morning so he could come to dinner in the form of empanada stuffing. And oh were those some tasty empanadas.

Cesar and I have no desire to sacrifice any geese for our home-made empanadas, so we chose ground beef as the star of our filling. We work as a team when it comes to empanadas (and most things). I am in charge of the flaky crust, and he, the tasty inside (that is best left to a Peruvian).

This is a good bit of work – not as labor intensive as croissants, for example, but a bit more complicated than sloppy joes. However, put in the effort (a rainy day is the ideal time, what else are you going to do?) and you will be rewarded.

First comes the pie crust… Say to yourself now: Pie crust is my friend. I do not fear pie crust. With only four ingredients, how hard can it be? To achieve a flaky pie crust, the secret is to just barely combine the ingredients. Do not overwork them or you will destroy the layers of butter which are responsible for creating crispy, flaky layers.

You will need:
· 200 grams (1 ¼ cups) of all-purpose, or pastry flour (in Uruguay, I use 0000)
· ¼ teaspoon salt
· 140 grams (10 tablespoons) of cold unsalted butter,
· 7 to 9 tablespoons of ice water

Method:
Cut cold butter into ½ inch pieces and place in a bowl in the freezer. You don’t want to freeze them, just make sure they are nice and cold so they won’t melt on you as you work with the dough.

Meanwhile, measure the flour and salt into a large mixing bowl. Add the cold butter cubes, toss to coat with the flour, then use a pastry blender or two knives to cut them into the flour mixture until cut into fine pieces.

Then, a little at a time, sprinkle in the ice-water while tossing the mixture with a fork. It will begin to barely hang together, but there will be a lot of loose pieces still. It will not be a solid mass. To the extent that you can, gather this into a ball and place it on a piece of plastic wrap large enough to wrap around it. Gather up the corners of the wrap to help you shape the dough into a disk. Press down on the top and sides of the disk to help the dough come together. Have faith, it will come together in the end. Store this in the refrigerator while you prepare the filling.

For the filling, you will need:
· 1 pound of ground beef
· ½ of a large onion (white or yellow will do)
· 1 teaspoon of ground cumin
· 1 teaspoon of paprika
· ¼ to ½ teaspoon of salt
· ¼ to ½ teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper
· 2 ounces of pitted Kalamata-type olives, chopped
· 4 ounces of raisins
· A bit of red wine

Method:

Chop the onion into fine pieces and sauté until slightly translucent. Add the ground beef and cook over high heat until brown. Add a splash of red wine to deglaze the pan. Stir, reduce heat to medium, add remaining ingredients and cook until beef is cooked through and the raisins are plump. Allow this to cool a bit as you retrieve your pie crust from the fridge.

Rolling the dough and assembling the empanadas:

Unwrap the dough and place it on a floured surface. I use a pastry cloth to guarantee the dough will not stick to the surface. Roll the dough out to about 3/16 inch thickness. Use a biscuit cutter to cut the dough into 5 inch rounds. Spoon a bit of the filling onto one half of a round. Then fold the round over into a semi-circle shape while using your fingertips to keep the filling away from the edge of the dough circle. Crimp the edges with a fork. You will have about 15 of these. Place them on a parchment lined sheet. For best results, refrigerate them for 20-30 minutes before baking. Just before baking, beat one egg and using a pastry brush (fingers work fine too), apply a thin coating of this egg wash to the top of each empanada. Pop them into a 400 °F / 204 °C oven, bake 5 minutes and reduce the heat to 350 °F / 176 °C and bake for 15 minutes longer until slightly browned.

Buen provecho.

Who's Afraid of the Artichoke?

I am in artichoke heaven at the moment. While typing this, I will have to stop occasionally, press my fingers to my nose, and inhale deeply. Mmmmm, that’s good. My artichoke reverie was induced by six little purple beauties we bought at the feria last week and I just got around to cooking. Well, cooking isn’t really the word. I just got around to bathing them in butter, olive oil, white wine and lemon, with some garlic and purple basil thrown in for aroma. Good God, that’s good stuff. ….yum.

About two weeks ago, small – but not quite small enough to be called baby - purple artichokes began appearing at the Atlántida and Parque del Plata ferias. They are called “alcaucil”. Back in Virginia, dainty purple artichokes would be found in season at Whole Foods, for a pretty penny. I would avoid these on principal because they would most likely have been shipped from some place far away, would cost a small fortune and would never live up to expectations anyway. However, here, they are about six pesos each and were probably plucked just a day or two before showing up in the feria.

If, like many people, you are intimidated by the pokey artichokey, don’t worry and just remember that they are a great excuse to eat butter. For me they are special because when I was a kid, my mom would prepare them simply steamed and served with melted butter as a treat. Okay, any kid for whom an artichoke is a treat must be a little weird. I digress.

Back to the artichokes: Here is how I prepared them tonight:

Use this recipe if you have small artichokes. You will need:
6 small purple artichokes
1 stalk of purple basil
3 or 4 cloves of garlic
Olive oil
Butter (real butter, NOT margarine)
White wine
Lemon

First, cut off most of the stem, leaving just a stump behind. Then cut off approximately the top quarter of the artichoke. Use your judgment on this – don’t take off too much, but remove the part that you know you surely wouldn’t want to eat – the spiky top part. Then, with scissors or kitchen shears, clip off the thorny top of each remaining petal. Your artichoke will resemble a rose at this point. Then slice them in half lengthwise so you have a pretty cross-section of the artichoke.

Now, finely mince three or four cloves of garlic and fresh herbs of your choice. I chose purple basil, also fresh from the feria. Heat up some olive oil and butter in a pan large enough to hold all of your artichoke halves in a single layer. Sauté the garlic and herbs just until fragrant, then place the artichokes in, cut side down. Add a generous amount of white wine (about and 1/8 inch deep in the pan), and a small squeeze of lemon. Cover, but watch so that your pan does not dry out, or you will have a burnt mess. I let this get to the point where the liquid was nearly gone and the butter and garlic were nicely browned. This gives it a wonderful nutty flavor. At this point, add more wine (about as much as before) to deglaze the pan. Give the pan a little shake to loosen up any brown bits on the bottom. Add a cup or so of water and cover the pan, and check occasionally to make sure you have enough liquid. Add wine and or water as necessary. Your goal is to have almost no liquid left after about 20 minutes, when the artichokes will be nice and tender and ready to eat. At this point, flip them over to expose the cut sides and dab each half with a bit of butter and a sprinkle of salt (preferably sea salt, but I must admit, my good sea salt came from the U.S.) When they are cool enough to eat, you’re ready to go.

What, you are new to artichokes and don’t know how to eat them? Easy and fun. Peel off a petal. Fleshy side down, scrape off the “meat” with your teeth. Eat as you go – peel, scrape, peel another one. As you work your way to the inner petals, they will become more and more tender and you can eat them whole. It’s okay to lick your fingers once in a while too. These little artichokes don’t have any nasty chokey spiky things inside, so you can eat the whole thing. Don’t stop when you are out of leaves and just have a little stump remaining. This is the heart, the very best part of the artichoke.

Buen provecho.

Oh, and my apologies, but we were so excited about these, we gobbled them up before I thought to take a picture. Here they are, raw:

Berenjenas Bonitas

Ah, beautiful eggplants - that deep purple shine, their coy green tops, their rubenesque curves... Eggplant, known as berengena here in Uruguay, has become one of my favorite vegetables. They are available year-round at the ferias and at grocery stores and are reliably good. I have cooked a ton of eggplant and have never had a bad one here. Their firm flesh, either cooked until just yielding easily to knife and fork or reduced down to a rich, earthy mush, can take on the flavor of any sauce. However, the eggplant is at its best when its own flavor is allowed to come through, as in my current favorite recipe for eggplant. This dish is never the same for me twice. Occasionally I will throw in some garlic or sun-dried tomatoes, or use basil if I don't have mint, sometimes it includes cherry tomatoes, sometimes not. It is a versatile dish which you can alternate endlessly according to what you have on hand, or your mood.

Buen Provecho.

2-3 medium size eggplants
Half of a white onion
15-20 cherry tomatoes
2 red bell peppers
8-10 ounces of feta cheese (I buy it at the Tienda Inglesa in Atlantida)
Balsamic vinegar
Olive oil
6-7 fresh mint leaves

Preheat oven to 375 ⁰F/ 190 ⁰C
Cut the unpeeled eggplants into half inch cubes. Slice the onion thinly from end to end into half moon shapes. Cut the red bell peppers into half inch squares.
Put half of the red bell pepper, the eggplant and the onion in a large bowl and toss them with approximately 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and toss again. Turn this mixture out onto an oiled, foil covered baking sheet and roast for approximately 30 minutes, until the eggplant is just slightly browned and tender, but not mushy.

While the eggplant is roasting, put the remaining red bell pepper into a large bowl. Cut the cherry tomatoes in half, lengthwise. Finely chop the mint and add it. In a small bowl, whisk about 3 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar and about 2 tablespoons of olive oil with a touch of salt and pepper until slightly thick. Set this aside and wait for the eggplant to be done.

Once the eggplant is finished roasting, allow it to cool for 5-10 minutes, or as long as you can stand to wait. Toss it with the red bell pepper, cherry tomatoes and mint. Add the dressing and toss until everything is coated. Then crumble in the feta cheese and gently toss.
This salad does not look very pretty in the mixing bowl, but plated it looks fabulous.

Welcome to Foodistas of Uruguay, Unite!

Thank you for visiting this blog. I hope that it will turn into a go-to spot for expats and Uruguayos alike who love good food and like to try new recipes.

The constant complaint I hear is that Uruguayan food is boring and lacks variety. I have made this complaint myself, vocally, and ad nauseum. Fortunately, I love to cook. The lack of variety here is somewhat balanced by the high quality of the raw ingredients to be found. We are fortunate to have weekly ferias offering a colorful bounty of farm-fresh produce. We also get beautiful eggs. If you have migrated from a first world country up north, you probably love these huge, orange-yolked eggs yourself because the ones you are used to from home pale in comparison. And let's not forget the meat. Uruguay is a country of carnivores for whom simply-prepared meat cooked over coals is akin to a national religion.

Come back for weekly posts about what's new in my kitchen as well as interesting posts from
other contributors about their creations and restaurant finds. I will also post guides about where to find ingredients and what they are called in Uruguayan Spanish. I hope not only that you will read this blog, but that you will make it your own too by commenting on recipes and contributing stories about your own culinary finds in Uruguay.

Buen provecho.