Leftovers Love: Zucchini Pickles

These pickles, which you got a peek of recently in sandwich porn, were made by simply slicing up a small zucchini that I had not used in my zucchini-onion sautée (they were 3 for $1 at my beloved Mr. Melon), and plopping the coins into the brine left over from my dill-horseradish (cucumber) pickles. (I made these a couple of weeks ago, so don’t think I used rancid veggies or anything.)

They are an excellent addition to sandwiches, as recently documented in the aforementioned porn, and were a hit when I served them as an accoutrement to lamb tacos made with fried scraps of leftover lamb roast, jalapeno jack, iceberg lettuce, sour cream, and cilantro on warmed flour tortillas. Sadly, gentle reader, I did not capture a photo of these tacos, as they were devoured too quickly.

Spread leftovers love, it’s the Brooklyn way!

Quick Dill-Horseradish Pickles (100% Artisan-Free!)

Gentle reader, in today’s gentrified hipster Brooklyn it is impossible to swing a dead cat without hitting a jar of “artisanal” pickles with some precious hand-designed-label and obscure seasonings. (Also, most of the gentrified hipsters are big on animal rights, so you should probably just avoid swinging dead cats in general.) But I recently found myself with a couple of English cucumbers and a bunch of fresh dill, all of which were about to turn brown and mushy—so, at the risk of perpetuating a stereotype, I made my own little batch of pickles. Let the record show, though, that they were by no means artisanal, whatever that even means.

I sliced the cucumbers into coins, although you could also do spears, or lengthwise halves if you use a Kirby cucumber, which is shorter. (I don’t really recommend pickling with whatever those regular ’Merickan cucumbers are called, because the peel is very waxy and the flesh is watery/porous, so it will break down in the brine and get mushy.) You could also use a different veg altogether, like cauliflower florets, zucchini spears, carrot sticks, mushrooms, radishes—the possibilities are pretty much endless.

I used my mom’s very easy and quick recipe/method for the brine…

Smoking Is Addictive: Brisket

Gentle reader, between the 100-plus-degree temps afflicting Brooklyn this summer and the fact that I have a new new job, my commitment to cooking at home has kind of fallen by the BQE-side. In fact, I have barely set foot in my kitchen in weeks, other than to deposit cold beers in the fridge and then take them out. (Mad props to Alyce for picking up my posting slack and then some!)

However, thanks to our friend Lawyer Mike, I do have some food news to report. You see, it turns out that smoking meat is every bit as addictive as smoking cigarettes or crack, though perhaps slightly less carcinogenic.

You may recall that on Memorial Day weekend, I smoked a pork shoulder at a friend’s place. This experiment gave rise to a weekend-ly smoking ritual: Since then, that friend, Lawyer Mike, has regularly embarked on meat-smoking projects—including ribs, pastrami, pork butt, and brisket—on pretty much every subsequent Saturday this summer (with The Rob's sporadic assistance). While all of these endeavors have yielded results ranging from "pret-tay, pret-tay good" to "nomnomnomnom," Mike's second take on brisket was a serious case of practice makes perfect—OMG, it was fantastic.

Now, I'm not gonna lie: Apart from repeatedly whining "When is it gonna be readyyyyyy?!", my only involvement in this meatsterpiece was slicing it up (which busted open the preexisting chopping callous at the base of my right index finger, causing a blister—does that count as a sports injury? Because I've never had one otherwise...) and subsequently eating it. But I feel that you, gentle reader, should nonetheless reap the benefits of this triumph of smokeration.

Thus, I grilled Lawyer Mike (get it? Because a smoker has a grill, and also he is a lawyer—see what I did there???) on the steps he took to create this unbelievably tasty and tender hunk of meat. (Caveat eater: This will take time, and lots of it.) Here’s what he told me:

To brine or not to brine

Well, it's a question.

I had never thought about brining, until I heard about it from my lovely co-blogger Kitty, and then I was intrigued. I had a barbecue coming up and thought I would give it the old college try. Of course by the old college try, I do NOT mean drinking box wine directly from the box and playing beer pong, but feel free to partake in those activities after the grill is turned off.

I have, recently, developed a fondness for drumsticks. Don't ask me why I didn't like them in my earlier years, I have no explanation for my strange, youthful preference for boring breast meat. Thinking back on my requests, as a kid, for only breast meat, I actually think it can be attributed to my mother's excellent cooking. As a child I had no idea that breast meat could be dry and tasteless until I was much much older- THAT'S how good my mom is. Seriously.

Brining and Dining

Above: Brined and roasted pork loin with fennel.

Brining is one of my most favoritest foodie techniques. It is super-easy, impresses people, and makes cheap supermarket meat taste like grass-fed-free-range-Niman-Ranch-whatever. It only takes a few minutes to put the brine together, cool it, and throw the brining meat into the fridge, but you can let the flavors develop anywhere from overnight to a week.

The fundamental of brine is not even a recipe, just a ratio: You want 8 cups of water to each half cup of salt. (For a Thanksgiving turkey, you'd want about 32 cups of water.) To this, add something sweet (honey, molasses, or maple syrup), probably about as much as the salt. Heat the water in a pot on the stove until the salt and sweetener dissolve. Then add a bunch of stuff. Here are some suggestions regarding said stuff; I tend to use some or all of the following, depending on what I have in the house:

• Garlic cloves
  
• Peppercorns
  
• Dried chili peppers (add while the water is hot so they will reconstitute, or un-dehydrate)
  
• Chili pepper flakes
  
• Thyme sprigs
  
• Bay leaves
  
• Cumin seeds
  
• Mustard seeds
  
• Cilantro sprigs