Showing posts with label Asparagus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Asparagus. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Molded Asparagus Salad

Molded Asparagus Salad
Better Homes and Gardens Salad Book, pg. 62
After my last disastrous adventure with canned asparagus, I probably shouldn't have wasted my time with this, but...well, the whole point is to make Dr. Husband retch, is it not?  Plus, I've recently received a lovely gift from a former student of the Better Homes and Gardens Salad Book, c.1969, which will feature prominently in the next few installments.

You might find it surprising that, having been raised in a home where fresh asparagus would be on the table even if it cost ten dollars a pound, that I would fail to turn up my nose at the canned variety. But I don't and there it is. I really don't mind it at all. Sometimes I'll just eat it right out of the can - in fact, that's how I prefer it.  Dr. Husband, however, is driven into a Hulk-smash rage, even at the notion that a can of asparagus may have found its way into the house.

Dr. Bobb Science Fun Fact: Does your pee smell funny after eating asparagus? If so, you're in good company - French novelist Marcel Proust famously wrote in 1913 that asparagus "transforms my chamber-pot into a flask of perfume." And one British men's club is said to have put up a sign reading, "During the asparagus season, members are requested not to relieve themselves in the hat stand."

About 22% of the population report a funny urine smell after dining on asparagus, a result of the vegetable's sulfurous amino compounds breaking down.  But wait, there's more!  Turns out,  scientists believe that EVERYONE'S pee is affected - but only 22% of us have the gene that allows us to smell it!  

Now, on with the show. Here's the recipe as it appears in print:

1 envelope unflavored gelatin
1 10-1/2 ounce can condensed cream of asparagus soup
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 8-ounce carton cream-style cottage cheese
1/2 cup dairy sour cream
1 10-1/2 ounce can asparagus spears, drained and cut
1/2 cup chopped celery
2 tablespoons chopped pimiento

In saucepan, soften gelatin in 1/4 cup cold water.Stir over low heat til gelatin dissolves. Blend soup, lemon juice, and salt into gelatin; beat in cottage cheese and sour cream. Chill gelatin mixture until partially set, then fold in remaining ingredients. Pour into 4-1/2 cup mold. Chill til firm. Serves 5 or 6.

Some substitutions here: living as I do in the idyllic countryside, it was impossible to find cream of asparagus soup (if they even still make it anymore), so I used cream of celery.  Also, I couldn't find, and in fact have never seen "cream-style" cottage cheese, so I used small curd.  I'm also not a big fan of the "chill til firm and then add the rest of the ingredients" method.  I've tried it and don't notice much difference in the final product over the "mix everything all at once then go have yourself a cocktail" method, the key being to make sure your gelatin is dissolved correctly at the very beginning of the process.  I'm convinced the two-step process was invented by men to keep women from having time to think for themselves.

Anyway, the tasting went something like this:

Our Rating: Four Screaming Husbands!
(all dishes are rated from one to five Screaming Husbands. One Screaming Husband equals a happy home where all problems are solved during cocktail hour. Five Screaming Husbands signals the beginning of divorce proceedings.)

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Mock Guacamole

Mock Guacamole
submitted by Janet Seal, location unknown
compiled by Linda Taylor


How fondly I remember my childhood in the sun-dappled fields south of San Luis Obispo, when we children would pluck artichokes fresh from the stalk, and Maria (our kindly maid) would make us her homemade hollandaise to dip the fresh-steamed leaves in.  When mother and father returned from solving their most recent murder mystery...

...oh wait, that was my pretend tv family, not my actual family.

My actual family, in the suburbs west of Columbus, Ohio, DID have hollandaise, but mock hollandaise - mayonnaise, lemon juice and garlic powder, microwaved into a yellowish blob of goo with the viscosity of shaving cream.  Still, pretty close to the taste of actual hollandaise with less than half the effort of making it.

Which led me to believe, naturally, that any foodstuff with "mock" preceding it was supposed to approximate the taste of the food it was mocking. Spoiler alert in case you don't want to read to the end:  I was wrong.

A recent second-hand store find was the colorful binder pictured below, titled "Linda Taylor's Recipes" on the front, and full of hand-written and newspaper-clipped recipes lovingly pasted, scrapbook-style, onto pieces of notebook paper.
Mock Guacamole, found only six pages in, perhaps comes from the days before you could find six bushels of avocados languishing in your grocery's produce section, ready for purchase year-round.  It also seems to be a dietetic alternative to real avocados, before we knew that some sorts of fat were good for you (though, as it appears on the same page as bacon-wrapped scallops, I'm not sure that's what Linda Taylor had in mind).

At any rate, it's horrific.

Here's the recipe:

2 (10 1/2-ounce) cans cut asparagus, drained.
1 cup finely chopped tomato
1/4 cup finely chopped onion
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon reduced-calorie mayonnaise
1/2 teaspoon garlic salt
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/4 teaspoon hot sauce

Position knife blade in food processor bowl; add asparagus. Process until smooth; transfer to a mixing bowl. Stir in tomato and remaining ingredients. Place mixture in a paper towel-lined wire-mesh strainer or colander, and let drain 1 hour. Cover and chill at least 3 hours. Serve with baked tostito chips, instead of fried.

Don't get me wrong, I love asparagus. Fresh, preferably, but I'm not opposed to canned if it's all that's available.  But let me tell you something, there is NO WAY to process asparagus until "smooth". It's stringy and slimy and lumpy, and to make it smooth would defy the laws of physics.

Already suspicious by the texture of the pureed asparagus, and skeptical of the upcoming instruction to drain in a paper towel-lined colander, I threw caution to the wind and went ahead and used real full-fat mayonnaise. It didn't help.

What we thought: Husband wouldn't touch it, leaving me to taste-test it myself.

It's canned asparagus run through a food processor. That's exactly what it tastes like. Horrible. This is coming from someone who's eaten Banana Salmon Salad and Ring-Around-The-Tuna. Don't make this, even as a dare.
Our Rating: I don't know...what's the rating when Husband won't even try it?

(all dishes are rated from one to five Screaming Husbands. One Screaming Husband equals a happy home where all problems are solved during cocktail hour. Five Screaming Husbands signals the beginning of divorce proceedings.)