IT training things a monkey could cook

Things a Monkey Could Cook
Menu Coordination for Beginners
by
Jean Stites
Copyright 2012, Jean Stites.
All rights reserved.
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To Grandma Hazel, who was a natural in the kitchen,
And to Aunt Norma, who told me I should write a book,
And of course to Mom, who—God love her—fed us all.

On the Menu
Chapter One: Introduction and Helpful Tips
Chapter Two: Chili and French Bread
Chapter Three: Crab-stuffed Mushrooms with Garlic Bread
Chapter Four: Sweet and Sour Pork with Rice
Chapter Five: Meatloaf with Twice-baked or Oven-fried Potatoes and Chilli Sauce
Chapter Six: Oven-fried Chicken with Peaches, Biscuits, Gravy and Green Beans
Chapter Seven: Pizza, Calzones, and Pizza Rolls
Chapter Eight: Shrimp Eggrolls with Fried Rice or Ramen Noodles
Chapter Nine: Spaghetti and Meat Balls with Veggie Sauce
Chapter Ten: Beef and Bean Burritos or Tostadas


Chapter Eleven: Stuffed Flounder with Tomato and Zucchini Casserole
Chapter Twelve: Chicken Parmesan Subs and Green Salad with Vinaigrette Dressing

Chapter Thirteen: Scallops au gratin with Deep-Fried Potatoes and Cole Slaw
Chapter Fourteen: Spinach Manicotti and Stuffed Mushrooms
Chapter Fifteen: Shrimp Cocktail and Green Salad with Ranch Dressing
Chapter Sixteen: Chicken Chimichangas
Chapter Seventeen: Macaroni and Cheese with Applesauce and Steamed Broccoli
Chapter Eighteen: Roast Turkey, Stuffing, Almond Green Beans, and Ambrosia
Chapter Nineteen: French Toast, Strawberry Jam, and Sausage
Chapter Twenty: Mushroom and Cheese Omelets
Chapter Twenty-One: Cinnamon Rolls
Chapter Twenty-Two: Strawberry Shortcake
Chapter Twenty-Three: Chocolate Chip Cookies
Chapter Twenty-Four: Boston Cream Pie
Chapter Twenty-Five: Half-Moon Cookies
Chapter Twenty-Six: Strawberry Cake Roll
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Brownies
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Classic Cherry Pie
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Carrot Cake
Chapter Thirty: Cream Puffs and Eclairs
Chapter Thirty-One: Rainbow Birthday Cake
Chapter Thirty-Two: Chocolate Cream or Chocolate Mousse Pie


Chapter One
Introduction

Greetings to you, who longs to throw together tasty treats that can’t be beat, right
there in your own home sweet home!
Originally the title of this book was Timing is Everything, but I felt it would be far
too dull. Nevertheless, the original point of this tome is to help those already comfortably
constructing a sandwich to get an understanding of how to get an entire menu full of

complimentary recipes to simultaneously hit the table at the peak of perfection. The
monkey thing was just a cheap lure to get you inside the cover, but was also intended to
create the impression that cooking can be fun and relatively simple—which it is.
Yes, I’ll bet there’s definitely a contented ape somewhere who can go beyond
making a sandwich, and if he or she can do it, surely you can too!
At least I think so...
What, I must ask, do you have to lose?
Not as much as you have to gain, I assure you, if you’ve been living on fast or frozen
food. Expect an immediate trade up in terms of sensual experiences and to get a lot more
value out of your food dollar. Just make sure you’ve got a fire extinguisher handy....
While I'm only joking, of course.
Or not, perhaps, in the case of those just beginning to monkey around in the
intimidating jungle of cuisine....
So anyway, at first this book was all about meal coordination for the beginning cook,
and then I realized that of course I had to throw in a lot of desserts at the end to really
make it a party—although those of you who already throw perfect parties aren’t going to
learn much from me. On the other hand, if you suspect that any primate could throw a
better one, I’m going to try to spare you a lot of pain and suffering by telling you in
perhaps excruciating detail just what to do when and why.
Please remember that this is only my way of doing these things, and I keep changing
my mind. Cooking, like everything else, is enhanced by personal style, and you’ll
develop your own tastes—for example, in seasonings—as you gain experience. In actual
fact, I hardly ever make anything quite the same way twice, since the experienced cook


will constantly be making allowances due to issues like the quality of the ingredients or
the tastes of those headed for the table.
Of course, precision in measurements has to do with the complicated chemistry of
cuisine, and is much more crucial in baking than in, for instance, salad making. On the
other hand, playing fast and loose with ingredients in any recipe is also a recipe for

disaster. The main thing to remember when experimenting with something like a pasta
sauce or a salad dressing is that in cooking—as in life—balance is everything. The
fundamental rule is that no specific ingredient should shout out its identity from the
finished dish.
Think circumspect elegance.
Think smooth....
It’s just like Chopin tossing off a nocturne: if you’re really good, nobody will be able
to tell exactly what's in there, while the extrasensitive may be reduced to tears....
You can do it!
It’ll all be worth it too, because you truly are what you eat, as they say, so eat good;
while in terms of ingredients, I sincerely hope you’ll find at least a few things here that
suit your dietary taste and needs, as I try to throw a relatively healthy and happy party.
Also, bearing in mind that a lot of beginning cooks may be watching their budgets,
I’ve tried to choose recipes made from things that aren’t too expensive and are readily
available in most American groceterias. As a matter of fact, I briefly considered calling
this book Dirt Cheap Dining, since—having chosen to spend my life in nurturing
occupations—I’ve always lived fairly close to the edge of destruction, and so was forced
by my almost insanely demanding personal standards to learn to cook nearly everything
my family loves from scratch in my sleep.
There are worse fates!
You are what you eat!
Cooking is the first—and in some respects still the finest—of art forms, as it can
nurture both and soul. My Grandmother—to whom this book is principally dedicated—
was so good at it that she seldom bothered to write measurements into her recipes, which
is one of the reasons why my personal standards became so high in the first place.
Yes, the pathetic, almost unnatural craving I still have for her long-lost chocolate
pudding is one of the things that inspired me to write this little book for her greatgrandchildren and you by extension, so that she and I can continue to conjure up tasty
treats for everybody from the Great Beyond....
I feel, you see, almost a cosmic duty. For instance, my Aunt Norma—a victim of the
very same craving as my own—was once foolish enough to try to duplicate the chocolate

pudding recipe, over and over and over, in a truly tragic case of creeping insanity.
May God have mercy on us all!
Amen.
Helpful Safety Tips
And now, here’s the first round of what will surely be several important safety tips,
inserted throughout this book in a somewhat maternal fashion, because I just can’t help
myself.


First of all—in the spirit of prevention—I’ve come to feel that those who yearn to
cook are often also creative, right-brain types who cringe at the realization that survival
in the kitchen requires third-grade math skills, and so I begin with the following
equivalents:
*
3 teaspoons = 1 tablespoon
4 tablespoons = 1/4 cup
5 1/3 tablespoons = 1/3 cup
1 quart = 2 pints = 4 cups
*
This should be especially helpful when doubling recipes; and I realize that readers
outside the USA may be thinking metric, and so apologize that there’s no such
equivalents in the recipes.
I’m sorry, but being a right-brainer, I just hate math....
Next: please remember that a great kitchen—like a great mind—is usually a clean
and calm place as well, so tidy up along the way and yours will be more efficient,
healthier, and less accident-prone. Better to compulsively wash and dry everything than
to spread germs and slippery havoc wherever you go. Go buy a package of cheap bar
wipes, rather than spend a small fortune on paper towels. Julia Child always had a
kitchen towel hanging from her apron, and when I noticed that my life got a lot easier.
And then, when learning to slice and dice—and forevermore—never, never, never

take your eyes off the knife once it’s in your hand. This is dangerously bad form
comparable to taking one’s eye off the ball in games of sport, with potentially much more
serious consequences. For instance, once little Chopin’s parents realized that he was
destined to be one of the greatest pianists that ever lived, he was thereafter forbidden to
even touch a knife....
And on that note, we come to the most important safety tips of all: keep that knife
way out of reach of your toddler and leave those pot handles turned at angles that
can’t be bumped; while if you feel yourself moving too fast, you’re probably asking
for trouble. Watch out, in particular, for cats and kids underfoot....
Keep cool, as a rule.
While another classic way to ask for trouble is to turn the heat on anything all the
way up. You really don’t need to do that to achieve a vigorous boil or bring oil to frying
temperature, while the highest of heat equals the greatest potential for things to start
moving too fast. Contrariwise, don’t turn the heat down too low. If it’s not bubbling at
all, the magic of kitchen chemistry is not kicking in.
And speaking of heat, although these days almost all ovenware is relatively
indestructible, should you decide to keep something on hold in the refrigerator before
baking—and you’re using some cool, perhaps inherited, glass or ceramic cookware—
please be very sure that your treasured bakeware can go cold into a hot oven
without cracking, or you’ll be so very sorry on a multitude of levels....
Similarly, if you decide to freeze something like leftover applesauce in glass jars for
long-term storage, remember to leave a little headroom in those jars for expansion, since
we all remember from science class that water expands when it freezes; and if you didn’t
pay attention in class—and you still haven’t learned to pay attention to me—well then,


you’ll just have to learn the hard way, and the rest of the class won’t feel sorry for you,
now will we?
Let’s see: what else...?
Ah, here’s a good one: never serve anything that requires dunking of any kind to

a crowd unless you’ve removed all the furniture and carpeting from the room. Even then
—especially if there’s children present—there’s bound to be at least one laundry-related
tragedy. Ditto anything remotely runny or easily crumbled—like tacos—where the
potential messiness factor goes right through the roof, because if that stuff drips on
somebody’s shirt, it may just stay there forever....
While in a similar vein, here’s an especially important tip for beginning bakers: flour
+ an open window + a delightful summer breeze = disaster.
Plus, here’s something that I was in denial about for years, but which is actually very
important for those of you who plan to cook for crowds: be aware that—in terms of your
personal health—tasting this and that all day long for testing purposes can actually
amount to eating another entire meal if you’re not careful. Especially if you start
indulging in a nice big spoonful, when you know very well that a tiny taste is all that’s
needed, because—well, it just tastes and smells so good...
And mulling over the subject of healthier cooking now brings me to the subject of
parchment paper: a minor miracle that’s always been available to chefs—now to be had
in my groceteria; and if you can find it and afford it, I strongly advise you to line your
bakeware with it. Not only does it turn even the most antique of pans into a truly nonstick surface, it takes a major chunk of fat out of your diet, while making everything
brown correctly. Now that I finally have access to it, the hours I used to spend scrubbing
bakeware have begun to seem like nothing but a bad dream....
However, memories linger, to the point where I myself am old enough to always be
suspicious of the phrase non-stick cookware—especially when it comes to the delicate art
of baking. Nevertheless, even back then—occasionally up to the elbows in the slimy
fallout of some amateur meltdown—I knew what I’m once again telling you now, which
is that all this bubble, bubble, toil and trouble is well worth it.
You can do it!
Would I lie, just to sell a few books?
Trust me, I want life to be a party for my loved ones and the rest of creation by
extension, and a party—as everyone knows—just doesn’t really feel like a party without
great food....
Well all right then, let’s go monkey around in the kitchen!

Chapter Two
Chili and French Bread


Well, way back in the Pleistocene Era, when I first started keeping house, one of the
best friends I ever had told me with divinely reassuring conviction that any fool can make
chili, and she was right. If I were going to actually try to teach a monkey to cook
something, this recipe might be it. Hopefully, the ease of chili-making will then leave
your mind free to learn how to bake bread if you’ve never tried it before; but if you’re
intimidated or bored by bread-making, just go buy a loaf or some flour tortillas and you’ll
still find plenty of satisfaction.
However, if you’ve begun to think that this cooking thing is kinda fun and you get
really excited by the aroma when you drive by a bakery, then you’d be doing yourself a
big favor by learning how to bake bread. I’ve cranked out thousands of loaves, and had a
great time spoiling my family with it to the point that I’ve come to feel the need to leave
this book behind, if only to prevent them from going into some sort of withdrawal.
Plus, I hope I’m correct when thinking that I’ve also saved thousands of dollars that
were much better spent at the bookstore, while eliminating at least a few cryptic
chemicals from our diet....
So why not give it a try?
The next time you find yourself with a cold winter’s day and nowhere to go, fill your
home-sweet-home with the smell of this meal and by dinnertime everyone will be your
slave. The longer the chili simmers, within reason, the better it tastes. Plus, you can make
vast quantities and freeze the leftovers for a fast and just-as-good-as-the-first-time treat.
While in terms of timing, this is a menu that can take all day, or as little as three
hours if you shorten the process by using the canned kidney beans; but if you do it’s
really not such a good idea to buy something labeled chili beans, since they may already
contain added flavorings.
Otherwise, this whole thing takes about seven hours, but the first four are just a

soaking period for the beans, during which time you could go rob a bank or something
and come back. This is an especially good idea if you plan to also buy your bread at a


bakery, since a little extra cash will come in handy in that department; plus you get to run
two errands at the same time, so you see it really pays in so many ways to cook from
scratch!
Live and learn...
Well anyway, after the soaking period, you start the beans and chili simmering away
on the stove, and then go to work on the bread, where rising time will vary according to
the air temperature in your kitchen. However, during both the rising and the baking
you’re once again free to do something else—just checking in once in a while to stir up
the chili and make sure that it’s still bubbling away in a low-key sort of way. I’d have to
ask Betty Crocker to tell you why, but for some reason it’s one of those things that just
tastes better if it simmers away—blending those flavors nice and slow—for a really long
time....
And then, this recipe will feed four of the aforementioned slaves, who may trample
you when the bread comes out of the oven. Don’t stand between them and it while trying
to explain that—to really be at its peak—the bread needs to cool off for just ten minutes
or they may turn on you.
You think I’m joking, don’t you?
I just hope you have the good sense to grab the best piece.
Sequence of Events
For best results, start soaking the dry kidney beans about 7 hours before you plan to
serve.
After about 4 hours, proceed with the chili recipe.
Mix up the bread once all is bubbling away on the stove, leaving everything to
simmer and rise for about 1 hour.
Shape your loaves—letting them rise again for ½ hour, and then it’ll need another 20
minutes to bake.

Once the bread’s done, let it cool for about 10 minutes before slicing—and at this
point your meal can wait for hours if necessary, since the chili will only be improved by a
long, slow simmer, while the bread can be briefly refreshed in the oven.
Chili
*
½ cup dry kidney beans
1 pound ground beef
1 large onion, chopped
½ teaspoon salt
2 to 4 tablespoons chili powder
2 large cans = 1 to 1½ pounds fresh tomatoes, peeled and chopped
*
Attention parents: if your child flees in terror at the mere mention of an onion, be
sure to chop it into very large pieces, which will reduce in size, but still be large enough
to be easily found and removed, as compromise rules.
*


Wash the beans, place them in a small saucepan, pour boiling water over all,
cover and let them soak for about 4 hours. You may recall that in the previous chapter
I said you could shorten this time if necessary, but in this case you want your beans to
remain intact, so extra care is called for. You may also recall that traditionally you soak
beans in cold water overnight, but....
Drain the beans into a colander, rinsing both them and the pot. Return them to
the saucepan, cover with water to ½ inch above the surface of the beans, bring to a
boil, and then let them simmer over medium-low heat for about an hour; and also
unlike the previous chapter, you aren’t thinking in terms of fork-tender here. That
happens later, after they’re added to the chili mixture, which comes next.
While the beans are simmering, in your biggest saucepan, begin to brown the
beef over medium heat, but don't break it up too much, because you want to end up with

recognizable chunks.
Also, the amount of fat in this recipe depends on the grade of meat you’re using; and
I know that there are those who claim that the flavor of the fat is essential, and who
would certainly be appalled as I now advise you to pour off most of it into a cup after the
initial browning—discarding it after it’s cooled, rather than pouring it down the drain,
which is a very bad idea on both practical and ecological levels. The best thing of course,
when one is strapped for cash, is to just pay for ¾ of a pound of the good stuff.
Once it starts to turn color, stir in the onion.
When the beef is browned and the onion translucent, add the salt and the chili
powder. Cook, stirring, for about 5 minutes, and then add the tomatoes—breaking
them up a little with your spoon if they’re coming from a can. However, they’ll break
down a lot more as they cook, and once again, you want to end up with a few
recognizable chunks.
Bring everything to the boiling point, then lower the heat to simmer for about ½
hour. This is the best time to mix together the bread dough; but if you have all afternoon
and would like to simmer the chili longer for maximum tastiness, just start the bread
about 2½ hours before you plan to eat.
Add the precooked beans with their liquid, and simmer for at least another
hour—being sure to stir it periodically; and if you’re using beans from a can, now’s the
time to toss them in.
Your bubbling brew will of course get thicker as it simmers, while thickness of chili
is a matter of personal taste. Some who think of chili as a relatively soupy dish throw in a
cup of water along with the tomatoes, and if you feel you’ve let it go too long, you can
always similarly water it down.
French Bread
Well I have at least a dozen recipes for French bread and no two are the same. One
says 2/3 cup milk, and another says never ever put milk in it or a large, unhappy man in a
French chef’s uniform will come knocking on your door bent on teaching you a lesson.
One says oil is unthinkable and another says use melted shortening, which may
actually send chills up the spine of the aforementioned man in uniform.

One says roll the dough into a rectangle first; another says shape it gently with your
hands. Some say bake over steam, some say glaze the loaf with egg white, and some say
bake on a cornmeal-sprinkled sheet.
What's the true recipe?
You tell me.
Well, I estimate that I have baked several thousand loaves in almost every
combination of these directions, and nine times out of ten, here's what I do.
Occasionally I’ll use the egg white wash to make some sort of seed stick to it.
Sometimes I’ll even throw some toasted sesame right into the bread; but I soon gave up
on trying to save fat and duplicate that bakery taste by using cornmeal, since it began to
feel like luxury not worth the time, mess, or expense.
*
1½ cups very warm water
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon = 1 package yeast
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons optional light oil or toasted wheat germ
5 to 6 cups bread flour
*
Officially, the water needs to be about 110 degrees, but for practical purposes: if you
wouldn’t want to swim in it, neither will the yeast.
As a rule I only put the oil in there if I need to keep it overnight, but if you so desire,
use olive, canola, or vegetable oil.
However, when I can afford luxury items I often add the wheat germ—a tasty
addition that replaces some of the fiber that’s lost when flour’s processed and also has a
bit of oil in it; while if you want to get rid of the refined sugar, you can substitute honey.
Bread flour’s the best of course due to its superlatively glutinous rising propensities,
but you can get swell results with unbleached white all-purpose if necessary, while up to

half of the flour can be whole-wheat, but only add it after you’ve started with white, and
don't use it for kneading.
Also, for some reason I now want to climb up on a soapbox and say that I don’t
know why anybody uses bleached flour anymore. Hopefully some equally incensed
crusader will soon explain it to me.
Put the sugar and the water into a large bowl and sprinkle your dry and
dormant yeast over the surface. In a few minutes it’ll have sunk to the bottom, eaten
the sugar, and come back to life—proving itself with an entertaining show in the form of
foamy blobs rising back up to the surface.
If it doesn’t proof, your yeast has gone beyond dormant and has instead expired.
Once your yeast has proved itself, add the salt, 2 cups of flour, and optional oil
or toasted wheat germ. Beat well until it’s very smooth and elastic with a wooden
spoon, fork, or the dough hook of a heavy-duty mixer.
Start adding more flour until the dough forms a cohesive, slightly-sticky ball. If
you're using whole-wheat flour, alternate it with the white—being sure to only use white
for the kneading and shaping soon to come.


Knead your dough on a well-floured surface for about 10 minutes—using as
little additional flour as possible, hoping to achieve the lightest of loaves, while for those
of you who may be new to this technique, I shall now attempt to describe it.
Kneading Bread
Now once any bread recipe has reached the point where your dough hook or wooden
spoon has met its match, you’ll have a blob of semi-sticky dough that’s ready to be
kneaded into something you can work with—much like it’s a ball of clay. In order to do
this you must now distribute a little more flour throughout the dough by pushing and
squeezing it for a while, as you also help the growing yeast begin to develop it into a
glutinous framework.
First, heavily flour your hands and whatever roomy flat surface you have—
carefully dumping the dough onto it. While you're kneading it will of course continue

to take on flour, and so you’ll probably need to add more to the board to keep the dough
from sticking. Also, keep a wide-bladed table knife or metal spatula handy to help you
scrape up anything that might nevertheless stick to the board—an implement you’ll later
use to divide your dough when shaping. I myself went over to the mall and bought a
French pastry scrapper about thirty years ago because Julia Child told me it was the easy
road to success, and I’m now telling you the same thing.
You’ll also need a light touch at first to keep it from sticking to your hands, as you
now plunge into the process. Please remember that mine’s a right-handed approach, and
then push into the center of the dough with the heel of your left hand.
Next—with your right hand—swiftly fold the upper right-hand corner of the
dough down and in toward the center, while turning it about a quarter-turn to the
left.
Do these two motions over and over—basically trying to push the outside to the
inside. Once you become practiced, it should take about 5 to 10 minutes for the dough to
come together.
Now, after acquiring some experience, you may even think of a better way to get
results than mine. For example, some people just keep picking the dough up and hurling
it back down on the board, although I’ve never been able to get results when performing
that particular experiment. Some people just squeeze and squeeze and squeeze; but the
main thing—whatever method you end up using—is to start thinking deep thoughts at
this point, as the repetitive and rhythmic movement that constitutes kneading starts to
take hold....
Eventually it’ll become a very cohesive, smooth ball, while still appearing
slightly wrinkled—a seeming contradiction in terms that experience will hopefully
clarify; and the most important aspect of this entire process is that of elasticity. The idea
is to stretch and develop the gluten fibers soon form a balloon-like framework which
traps the gas that’s being released by the multiplying yeast. Once the bread hits the hot
oven the yeast die, while the balloon dries and solidifies into a loaf of yummy
goodness....
You know it’ll be worth it!

It’s the staff of life!


However, at first you may wonder if you’ve made a major mistake here—thinking
you could actually learn to make bread—as this amorphous, growing blob that lies before
you just seems reluctant to turn into a ball....
But I’m telling you: if you just keep punching and folding, eventually you’ll get your
own method and rhythm going; and I promise that once you know how to do this, your
whole life will change. Your children and your children’s children will rise up and call
you blessed.
Birds will sing, and the scent of roses will be in the air....
Plus, when discussing bread I feel I should note here that many of my books give me
the impression that the only real difference between basic French bread and basic Italian
bread—which may seem a more appropriate choice for some of this book’s menus—is
the amount of flour you use.
Yes, it’s my understanding that during the kneading process, one takes French bread
just to the point where it no longer sticks to the board; while when thinking Italian bread,
one forces as much flour into it as it will take. It my case it all depends on the kneading
surface I have to work with, the kind of flour I’m using, what I intend to use the dough
for, and what sort of mood I’m in.
Do what thou wilt—within reason, of course.
Then, once your alien blob’s been tamed into a non-sticky, elastic ball it’s ready to
rise until doubled in size—which can be as much as two hours, depending upon
atmospheric conditions; and if your kitchen’s cold, for best results you should go to the
trouble to put it back in the bowl, cover it with a warm, damp towel and nestle it into a
cozy place in the time-honored fashion—and not a barely warm, turned-off oven either,
which might at first seem like a good idea.
No, if you have a roommate, they’ll turn the oven on when you’re not in the room; or
you’ll be delayed by something, while your dough rises over the top and creates one of
the biggest messes you’ve ever seen....

On the other hand, if it erupts onto a countertop, you really can just knead even the
most intimidating of amorphous blobs back into the neat little ball of dough you left
behind.
Rising time and the lightness of your loaves is also dependent up on the amount of
flour you end up using when you knead. If you have a great surface like my precious
marble slab and a practiced hand, you’ll use less.
The classic test for a proper rise is to gently push two fingers into it. If the
dough doesn’t spring back into shape, it's ready to rock and/or roll, which can take
anywhere from 30 minutes to 1½ hours, depending on atmospheric conditions. It’s
ready when it doesn’t spring back into shape when you poke a couple of fingers into
it.
Punch it down and knead as much air out of it as possible. Let it rest for 10
minutes to relax the gluten for easier shaping, while you improve your baking sheet
with the miracle of parchment paper if possible, or otherwise coat it lightly with
shortening; and if you really have a problem with shortening you can use butter, but oil
just won’t work—although you might try cornmeal.
Cut the dough into two or three pieces and knead them into smooth balls. Then
roll them carefully with your hands out into long, evenly shaped loaves. Try not to


tear the dough. Tragedy will not strike if you do, but the finished product won’t be as
nice; and if you mess up, you can always knead it back into a ball and start over.
For that matter, at this point you can take that ball of dough and turn it into any shape
you desire, starting with the simple round loaves you see below.
It’s your call, which is half the fun.
Lay those loaves on your baking sheet and let them rise again for about 30
minutes, until almost doubled. Some recipes also suggest that you make several
diagonal slashes in the top of the loaves with a sharp knife to help them rise nicely and
look especially spiffy.
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees, and then bake your bread for about 20 minutes

until it’s golden brown—deeply golden for larger loaves—and then cool it on a rack for
at least 10 minutes. You can then freeze this bread and later warm it back up in a 350
degree oven for about 20 minutes, although the odds on having any leftovers are pretty
slim.

Chapter Three
Crab-stuffed Mushrooms with Garlic Bread

Well those of you who love mushrooms already know why we find this humble
fungi enhancing almost every cuisine on Mother Earth, and may furthermore agree that
they may be at their very best when stuffed and baked in a wide and wonderful variety of
ways. Here we have them complimenting the sweet sophistication of crabmeat—one of
those semi-divine foods that tastes so good all by itself that true seafood lovers are often
demonically tempted to just stand there and eat it all, right out the can....
However, I can tell you with almost complete assurance that you’ll be glad you
didn’t after devouring the even-more-absolute divinity to be found through this recipe—
heavenly as well because it’s so easy that even the most hesitant of primates should feel
free to invite their mother-in-law/boss/God Almighty to dinner.


Ready in about an hour, they even make swell finger food on an appetizer tray if you
make them out of tiny mushrooms instead of the bigger ones, although I’m more likely to
put them on a plate next to something like a couple of the dinner rolls to be found in the
chicken parmesan chapter, or maybe some of the oven-fried potatoes I put on the meat
loaf menu, while this time I went for the garlic bread to be found below—making a
menu that served three generously.
Also, you can use any kind of crab—lump or claw, fresh or frozen—depending upon
your budget and/or taste; while for the true beginners among you, I now feel the need to
embark on a brief digression concerning the crumbling of bread.
Bread Crumbs

Now this recipe calls for fresh bread crumbs: an ambiguous term intended to indicate
not completely dry—or even toasted—which actually means that you should pulverize
some bread left over from yesterday, which further implies that you had some left over in
the first place. The best thing to do when short on crumbs is to buy some sort of high-end
bread that’s on sale because it’s about to expire, and then proceed to pulverize.
Now for most of the recipes in this book, those on a budget—or not wishing to invest
in a food processor—can probably get by with what’s known as coarse crumbs, which
have been achieved since the dawn of time by mangling and mangling this leftover bread
by hand. Those especially frustrated with the universe may actually find it therapeutic, if
time consuming, while you’ll also find this method enhanced and less inclined to make a
mess by leaving your bread inside its plastic storage bag while mangling.
However, for the kind of fine bread crumbs so often expected in gourmet recipes
you’ll have to rely on machinery. Otherwise, one must dry the bread slowly in a warm
oven, and then crush it with a rolling pin, which takes—believe me—longer than forever,
and can make a mess the size of Cleveland....
Also please bear in mind that the bread you choose to crumble is very important,
since it will lend it’s flavor to your meal. For instance, rye bread might be swell for a
poultry stuffing, but maybe not so great for what we’re about to make next.
Time for your inner chef to kick in, while something bland like plain French bread is
usually my choice. Whenever I buy bread for dinner due to time constraints or the urge to
expand my horizons, the leftovers always become bread crumbs stored in the freezer for
spontaneous, time-saving use.
Sequence of Events
Cut the butter for the garlic bread into little pieces so it can soften up while you
prepare the main dish.
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
Whip up the stuffed mushrooms and pop them into the oven.
Finish up the garlic bread and put it into the oven as well, after the mushrooms have
been in there about ten minutes.
Keep warm in a low oven, if necessary.

Plus, perfect party-planning is only enhanced by the fact that everything can be taken
to the point of baking and then refrigerated for some time; while quantities here are for
three to four.
Crab-stuffed Mushrooms
*
12 medium-to-large mushrooms
1 pound crabmeat
¼ cup minced celery
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
½ cup grated parmesan cheese
the juice of one lemon
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon dried basil
¼ cup mayonnaise
*
Wash and dry the mushrooms—removing the stems.
Prepare a nice roomy baking utensil that’s either truly non-stick, lined with foil,
or lightly brushed with the cooking oil of your choice—canola being the best in this
case because it lends no possibly conflicting flavor, while being high on the healthy list.
Put the crab into a large bowl and check it for pieces of shell; and although this is
a standard direction in all of my cookbooks, beginners should feel no cause for alarm,
since I have to say that these days I hardly ever find any. However, better safe than sorry.
Wash, dry, and mince the celery very fine. Add it to the bowl.
Mix in the bread crumbs and cheese.
Add the rest of the ingredients, mix very well, and equally distribute this
stuffing mixture atop your awaiting mushrooms.
Preheat your oven to 375 degrees and then bake those fantastic fungi for about

30 minutes, until they’re nice and brown....
Garlic Bread
*
10 cloves garlic, minced very fine
¼ cup softened butter
1 loaf bread of choice, split in two
*
Now of course—garlic cloves and people’s tastes being anything but uniform—one
should feel free to vary the amount. Ditto the butter, depending upon one’s propensities.
*
Mix the garlic into the butter, and then spread it all over the cut side of any
bread on the planet, although something like the French bread to be found just a few
pages back in the previous chapter is usually the first choice for most.
Put that garlic-buttered bread on a baking sheet and then into your preheated
375 degree oven for about 15 minutes—which of course, in the case of this menu,


would mean about ten minutes after the mushrooms go in. It’s done when a bit of sizzling
ensues and things have reached the point of crunchiness you prefer.
Enjoy!

Chapter Four
Sweet and Sour Pork with Rice

Now those reading this entire book may recall from the eggroll chapter that back
when I was a ravenous resident of your average college dormitory—where the selections
at the cafeteria often looked suspicious at best—those of us who might’ve found fish
bones in their lasagna like I did were often waiting up into the wee hours for the blessed
manifestation of the eggroll man, who’d bring whatever hadn’t sold at his restaurant that
night right into the lounge, where we’d then pounce upon with the last of our pocket

change....
Thus began my love affair with rice and all the tasty things that can sit beside it—
starting with your classic sweet and sour pork.
Ah, memories!
And so over the years I've collected recipes. One book I own claims that if you
haven't tasted this dish, you haven't lived; and while this is going a bit too far in my book,
you can see that it must be a potential crowd-pleaser well worth the effort. Also—being a
classic recipe—even those cautiously new to oriental food have probably already heard of
it, and so won’t suspect you of actually trying to poison them with tainted eel or
something....
Plus, this is a pretty silly attitude when you stop and think about it, because if you
really wanted to poison them, you’d serve them something they especially love!
Go figure.
Also, those new to this splendifabulous style of cuisine soon come to understand that
you can deep-fry almost anything, put it under a sweet-and-sour sauce next to some rice,


and make most people relatively happy; and so I wish to make it perfectly clear that
you can instead use chunks of something like chicken, shrimp, or fish to achieve
similarly spectacular results.
Of course, what you choose to fry will affect your timing a bit, while those quick
with a knife can probably put this together in about an hour; and in terms of party
planning, you can even do some of the preparation in advance if necessary. For instance,
the marinade, batter, and chopped veggies can wait in the refrigerator for some time.
However—like almost all oriental dishes—once the food hits the fire you must keep
going and serve immediately. After you start the rice and the oil you’ve got to stay with
this from stove to table to afterglow for maximum effect.
This recipe yields two servings, with fortune cookies highly recommended as an
encore.
Sequence of Events

Prepare the rice for cooking and let it soak.
Marinate the pork and refrigerate.
Mix up the batter and refrigerate.
Wash and cut up veggies for the sauce.
Start the rice, which will take about 20 minutes, while simultaneously heating the oil
for deep-frying.
Meanwhile, make the sweet-and-sour sauce.
Check on the rice, which should be done right around the same time that the oil is
hot enough to begin frying. Fluff it and leave it on hold over lowest heat.
Fry up the pork cubes, mix them with the sauce, and serve immediately.
*
By the way, you may not see why the meat and the batter need to be refrigerated
since they’ll shortly be exposed to searing, bacteria-exterminating heat, but in point of
fact one of the secrets to success here is to have the food very cold when it hits the hot
oil.
Also, it’s my understanding that small lumps in the batter are actually a good thing
for creating this particular coating texture too; and I should now probably go refresh my
memory as to exactly why the cold and lumpy thing works the way it does, so I could
then properly explain it to you, but—Lord help me—I’m afraid I just don’t feel like it....
Go figure.
However, because so many people imagine making simple rice as terribly tricky, I
feel the urge to reassure them with the perhaps excruciatingly detailed discussion of same
to be found by beginners at the end of this chapter.
Sweet-and-Sour Pork
Now this is one of those dishes that can be done a number of ways, and is the sort of
thing demented chefs probably fight over. Should you stir-fry your vegetables, steam, or
simply parboil them for that bright, just-fork-tender perfection?
To marinate the pork or not?
And then, does one dip it into batter, or roll it in cornstarch—or even flour—to
achieve the absolute maximum in crunchy, yet juicy, pleasure?

Well, trying not to be overwhelmed by controversy, I’ve done it all, and here's what I
now do most of the time—starting with the theoretically optional step of marinating the
pork, which became no longer optional to me once I tried it.
Marinate the Pork
*
1 pound boneless lean pork
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons sherry
*
Any kind of cooking-grade sherry will do, and mine is necessarily cheap from the
vinegar section of the groceteria. I don't imagine they use cider vinegar in the sweet-andsour sauce in China either, but I am one of humble circumstance..
*
Stir together the soy sauce and sherry in a medium bowl.
Cut the pork into 1/2 inch cubes and mix it with the soy-sherry.
Batter
*
1 egg
½ cup flour
¼ cup water
¼ teaspoon salt
*
Beat the egg lightly with a fork in a small bowl, add the other ingredients—
mixing well, until only slightly lumpy—and let the batter develop in the
refrigerator; and while both the marinade and this batter can wait in the refrigerator for
some time, I’d say more than two hours would be pushing the envelope.
Deep Frying the Pork
Well right here in the second chapter I’ve already decided to risk potential violation
of the premise of this book by including deep-frying—one of the most serious operations

in the kitchen, since what’s bubbling away in your pot is even more dangerous than
boiling water. For instance, when making pasta, you eventually have to carry a kettle full
of said water from the stove to the sink, but I would never under any circumstances
suggest that you even try to move a kettle full of boiling oil.
However, this otherwise truly simple recipe was just too tasty to leave out!
Very important safety tip: just don’t let the oil overheat and smoke, or everything
will be ruined. Don't even leave the room if you can help it, especially if you have
children around; and don’t try to funnel your oil back into the plastic bottle for disposal
while it’s still hot or you’ll have a major meltdown on your hands....
Which might make you ask yourself: why risk a meltdown at all? Why not skip this
whole scenario entirely?
However, I’m telling you: it’s not all that bad, and it’s so darn tasty....


Deep-frying is a technique that seals in the juices to produce one of the most
superlative of dinning experiences, which is why chefs all over the world employ it. Plus,
done properly, it can actually put less fat into your food than the pan-fried alternative.
Of course you can do it!
I do it in a wok, but you can get by with a large, deep, heavy kettle. Some fortunate
people own actual deep-fryers, but I’m not telling you to go buy one. Just use something
that sits very stable on your burner—preferably with two good handles that can be
securely grabbed with potholders in a hurry.
*
Fill your wok or heavy kettle with canola or vegetable oil to a center depth of
approximately 4 inches; and if this seems low, please remember that the food’s going to
make this level rise—a lot like dropping ice cubes into your drink—except that in this
case the overflow’s dangerously flammable and makes one of the biggest messes you’ve
ever seen; so if the oil appears to make your utensil more than half-full, you may be
flirting with disaster...
Place your fryer over medium-high heat for about 15 minutes, until it reaches

approximately 350 degrees; while if you don’t own a thermometer, you can place a
sample of whatever you’re cooking into the oil to test it—in this case, a drop of batter. If
vigorous bubbling ensues, it’s time to proceed.
Safety tip number two: stay on red-alert for splash-back when dropping things into
oil, while remembering that putting the food in a little at a time helps to keep the
temperature constant.
Mix the batter into the pork cubes. Don't drain off the marinade that’s left in the
bowl, while it’s alright if those cubes don’t seem to be completely coated after mixing
very well.
Carefully drop half the pork cubes, one at a time, from a fork into the hot oil.
Use another fork to push the cube off and into the oil—working close to the surface to
avoid splashing.
When they float and have turned a pale golden color, use tongs or a slotted
spoon to lift them carefully from the oil into a wire basket or colander to drain. I
myself usually use a wire sieve on the end of a wooden handle that came from the
oriental groceteria.
Fry the other half likewise.
Give the oil about 3 minutes to reheat, and then gently put all the pork cubes
back in together for about 2 minutes more.
Mix the pork quickly with the sauce and whisk everything to the table with
amazing dexterity in the heady exhilaration of accomplishment!
Sweet-and-Sour Sauce
*
1-2 cups vegetables, chopped or sliced into small-bite-sized pieces
1 tablespoon peanut, canola, or vegetable oil
1 clove minced garlic
¼ sugar
¼ cider vinegar
¼ cup water

1½ tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon cornstarch mixed with 1 tablespoon water
*
Now, what vegetables you use are really a matter of taste and availability, but half a
red or green sweet pepper, a small carrot, and a small onion or a couple of green onions is
pretty standard.
I usually throw in a couple of thinly sliced mushrooms—as well as a few bamboo
shoots, snow peas, water chestnuts, or perhaps pineapple chunks—should I find these
entertaining items on sale. However, you’ve only got two cups to work with here, so
there’s really no way you can use everything. Just ask yourself what you’re in the mood
for—or better yet: what looks truly fresh at the market; while those who might be worried
about the amount of fat already in this recipe could always steam their veggies instead
and add them after the sauce has thickened.
Also, those not reading straight through should be aware that they may have already
seen this recipe at the end of the shrimp eggrolls menu, lest they be experiencing some
sort of déjà vu....
*
Wash, dry, and chop your veggies into slightly less than bite-sized pieces.
Mix together the sugar, ¼ cup water, vinegar, and soy sauce.
Coat the bottom of a small saucepan with the oil.
Put it over medium heat for about 30 seconds, and then add the garlic.
When it begins to sizzle, add the rest of the vegetables and stir-fry for 3 to 4
minutes, until they're slightly softened and their color brightens.
Add the sugar-liquids mixture—stirring constantly until it reaches a boil.
Add the cornstarch-water paste and stir briskly as it thickens.
Remove from the heat—covered to keep it warm—contrary to when making this
sauce as a dip for something like eggrolls, where it’s better to let it cool all the way down.
Basic White Rice
*

1 cup uncooked white rice
up to 2 cups water
up to 1 teaspoon salt
*
The ambiguity here when it comes to the water has a little bit to do with the type of
rice you’re starting with, but more to do with the type of pot you use. A mechanized rice
cooker may only need 1 cup of water because it’s so tightly sealed, and so if you don’t
own one, then you search for the saucepan with the best-fitting lid. You also want it to be
as deep as possible, since the loss due to evaporation is proportionate to the amount of
surface area.
In general, you want the water to come about ½ inch above the level of the rice
after it’s been soaking for a while, when you turn on the heat. Eventually you’ll get to
know your pot, and how different kinds of rice cook up inside it, and live happily ever
after.
And because I’ve always feared becoming vaguely hypertensive, I’ve also always
left out the salt. Plus, I feel that once it’s on the plate the rice is about to blend with the


flavors of the main dish anyway, so to me it often seems somewhat redundant as well.
However, if you prefer yours in a bowl on the side, you may find it too bland if you leave
out the salt entirely.
Rinse your rice in a strainer under running water until the water runs fairly clear—
moving it around with your fingers to rub the grains together to get rid of excess starch,
among other things. This is an optional step often discouraged by those who know that in
the case of fortified rice from the USA this also washes away legally mandated nutrients,
but I do it anyway because I think it sticks less, and because I wash absolutely everything
I can—not being willing, I’m afraid, to trust the food industry on this point.
Stir the rice, water, and salt together briefly in a medium saucepan that must
have a tight-fitting lid—setting it aside to soak for at least 30 minutes before you
plan to cook it. It’s even better if it sits there for an hour, which is why it should usually

be the first thing you do whenever you’re making a meal that has rice in it. It’s important
for superior results, since the moisture slowly penetrates almost all the way to the center
of the rice kernel before the agitation provided by adding heat starts stripping away the
surface, which can turn the outside mushy before the inside’s tender.
Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stir, cover tightly, put the heat as low as
it will go, and leave it alone for 15 minutes. If it boils over, stir and cover it again, but it
probably means that your pot’s too small.
Stir your rice lightly but completely to fluff it up a bit and to keep it from
sticking to the bottom of the pot. Turn off the heat and cover it again for another 10
minutes. It’ll stay warm longer than that if you leave the lid alone.
Contrariwise, some people say that at the end of the 15 minute cooking time you
should just turn the heat off and not open the lid for 10 minutes—then fluff and keep it on
hold—but I usually want to just compulsively take a peek.
Once again, you’ll have to be the judge.
Decisions, decisions....

Chapter Five
Meatloaf with Twice-baked or Oven-fried Potatoes and Chili Sauce


Simple and satisfying in the meat-and-potatoes tradition, this is one of the first things
I learned to make by watching Mom; and it’s high on the list of primate capability,
because all you have to do for the main dish is mix it up and bake it.
Plus, if you really want your life to be easy, just leave the potatoes in the oven for the
whole time and be content with your basic baked spuds topped with sour cream—
skipping all the elaborate playfulness of higher cuisine.
Of course, this lazy and pedestrian approach will only invite amused scorn from
smug sophisticates like me, but what do you care?
Also enhancing this approach is the fact that you can mix up and refrigerate the
meatloaf well ahead of time, which means that all the complicated cooking you need to

do at the last minute is working with the potatoes—which will take about twenty minutes,
no matter which method you choose, and needs to be done about forty-five minutes
before dinnertime.
However, in my universe something green like the simply steamed broccoli to be
seen in the photo is often wanted on the plate as well, and when steaming a veggie—or
perhaps throwing together a salad—one has the option to do much of the slicing and/or
dicing earlier in the day, or at the last minute while the rest of the menu finishes roasting.
Plus, timing will vary considerably depending up which potato recipe you choose.
The twice baked potatoes we call fluffy-whips can take up to three hours—depending
upon the size of your vegetables—but if you do a lot of the initial preparation in advance,
there will be periods during the baking part where you can instead set the table or
commune with companions.
On the other hand, the oven-fried alternative conveniently cooks alongside the main
dish, and so the whole thing can be pulled off by the even those relatively inexperienced
two hours or less.
And then I feel most people tend to want something like ketchup or steak sauce on
top of their meatloaf, but if you can't imagine this menu without gravy, I refer you the
chicken with peaches and biscuits chapter for basic gravy-making technique—using
drippings from the pan, and canned beef broth or water for the liquid—while advising
you that using too lean a grade of ground meat might actually leave you with no
drippings at all.


However, whenever possible, I myself always go for the inherited chili sauce recipe
to be found at the end of this chapter, while all quantities in this family-style chapter are
for four.
And if there suddenly seems to be a crop circle manifesting out on the lawn, the only
thing that can’t wait on hold would be something like a steamed veggie—making this a
good thing to serve if you’re not sure when people are going to show up. Just leave your
loaf and taters in the oven—turned down to warm—and don’t start steaming until you’re

sure everybody’s available.
Plus, leftover meatloaf can make a nice sandwich the next day. Leftover baked
potatoes can be diced and fried in a little butter or even bacon drippings to go with the
eggs and toast at breakfast—another tradition that was apparently started back in the days
of horse-drawn sleighs, where the hostess would provide her departing guests with nice
hot baked potatoes, which would then be clutched within their mittens to keep their hands
warm during the frosty ride home.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way....
Sequence of Events
First, those making chili sauce should set it to simmering.
Then, if choosing the fluffy-whip scenario, bake the potatoes for 1½ hours while you
mix up the meatloaf and assemble everything you’ll need to finish the potatoes. Remove
those spuds from the oven and put the meatloaf in, and proceed with step two of the f-w
recipe.
Or, if choosing to oven-fry your potatoes, prepare them simultaneously with the
meatloaf, put both dishes into the oven together, and then the dinner bell will ring in
slightly less than an hour.
After everything’s baking away, proceed with whatever further side dish you might
crave.
Meatloaf
*
1 pound ground beef
1 egg
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
½ cup optional minced onion
*
If your accompanying topper has a lot of onion in it like the chili sauce—or if you’ve

given up on persuading someone you nevertheless love that onion will not kill them—
you may want to leave it out of the meatloaf; while those not familiar with the phrase
fresh bread crumbs may wish to read my brief lecture on the subject to be found back in
the crab-stuffed mushrooms chapter.
Also—although Mom never did this—I frequently view using half ground beef and
half ground pork as an improving variation. I tried it once with all-pork, but it failed to


satisfy. You may feel differently of course, while I’ve yet to make this with something
like ground turkey, which certainly seems like a healthy idea....
Mix all of the ingredients together in a large bowl, and then pat this mixture
into a roomy foil-lined baking pan—preferably a loaf pan, but it doesn’t have to be.
You don’t even have to line it with foil if money’s tight; but if you don’t, be sure to soak
your pan in soapy water as soon as you take your finished dish out of it, or you’ll end up
with a dried up test of your patience.
Also, many experienced cooks insist on mixing this with their hands in order to
achieve a truly complete merging of the ingredients, and I’m one of them, but am willing
to admit that it may be merely a symptom of creeping insanity. However, to be sure, you
should probably ask my familiars....
Then—if following the fluffy-whip scenario—put your meatloaf into the 350
degree oven when the potatoes come out for step two. Bake until well browned: 45
minutes, more or less, depending on the size and depth of your pan.
Or—if planning to oven-fry your taters—bake the meatloaf alongside them in a
preheated 375 degree oven for about 30 minutes.
When you remove it from the oven there may be a certain amount of fat accumulated
in the bottom, which you should pour off and discard unless you’ve decided to make
gravy.
Mini Fluffy-Whips
*
12 small new potatoes, or 4 medium bakers

½ cup milk
4 tablespoons butter
½ teaspoon salt
2 to 3 cups grated cheddar cheese
*
The type of cheddar depends upon your personal taste. You can, of course, use any
cheese you desire—Swiss for example—but I feel something with a fairly strong flavor
works best in this recipe, and I usually go for the traditional choice as a flavor preference,
while in my neighborhood it often also has the added advantage of being the most
economical.
Also, contrary to tradition, I often bake a bunch o’ tiny taters, treat them in similar
fashion, and call them mini fluffy-whips. As a matter of fact—especially when the
potatoes are nice and fresh—I’ve actually come to prefer them over the big guys; and
should you choose to do this, plan on using 12 new potatoes of uniform size—baking
them anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour, depending upon how large they are.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Wash the potatoes, cut out any questionable-looking spots, and pierce them a
few times with a sharp fork to allow steam to escape because—although I’ve never
actually witnessed this—they say that once in a while a baking potato with its skin
entirely intact will actually explode, and I’ve cleaned up enough kitchen disasters to be
more than willing to take their word for it.
Bake for up to 1½ hours, until fork-tender.


Remove them from the oven and let them cool down slightly while you assemble
everything else you need to proceed.
And you’ll probably need an electric mixer to achieve that fluffy-whip lightness
we’re after here. I of course realize that for the fairly athletic it’s possible to whip
potatoes with a whisk—and perhaps also simultaneously whip myself into shape in the
timeless tradition of the classic chef, but I’ve declined.

Go figure.
Slice your still-hot spuds in half length-wise, and scoop the insides out of their
skins with a well-rounded spoon into a large mixer bowl, taking care to leave the
skins intact.
Add the butter, milk, and salt.
Whip those taters on medium speed until all is very smooth and light.
Scoop this mixture back into the skins, place them in a baking dish, and
carefully top with the grated cheese.
Return them to the oven for another 20 to 30 minutes until the cheese is melted
and beginning to brown; while at this point, if you’re distracted by something like the
aforementioned crop circle manifestation, they can be held in a slow oven for quite some
time.
Enjoy!
Oven-fried Potatoes
*
12 small new potatoes, or 4 medium bakers
2 tablespoons olive, canola, or vegetable oil
*
And although the olive oil is usually my choice—since I perceive it to be the
healthiest—it also has a distinct flavor that may or may not blend or clash with whatever
you plan to put on top of your meatloaf. When in doubt, go for canola, which is
essentially tasteless, and therefore more versatile.
Wash the potatoes and cut them into bite-sized pieces, which is of course a matter
of opinion, and which will therefore affect your cooking time. If you like your taters
crunchy like I do, think small.
Let them soak briefly in cold water to remove some of the starch, and then
drain them into a colander; while those new to cooking should remember that the drier
you get them the better, since cooking with wet vegetables always yields marginal
results.
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Line a large baking utensil with foil—something like a 9 x 13-inch cake pan—or
a sheet with sides, such as those used for cake-rolls.
Pour the potatoes into the pan, drizzle them with the oil, and stir it all up with a
rubber spatula to coat them completely.
Bake for approximately 30 minutes, until they reach your desired crispness—
removing them briefly halfway through the process to toss and turn them to prevent
sticking and promote even browning.
Salt and pepper to taste, and a lot of people sprinkle on their choice of herbs and
spices at this point as well. I myself usually sprinkle on nothing at all, since I’ve been