This edible feast is predominantly about texture -- not that the artful arrangement isn't almost too perfect to disturb by consumption. This slow-cooked salmon recipe from stickygooeycreamychewy.com is salmon at its finest, attractively plated with lush, buttery layers melting, fragmenting, crumbling at the mere touch.
Tenderly cradled atop an aromatic layer of sliced oranges and onions, fennel and tarragon, the fish is baked at a low temperature for half an hour. Unlike the bland color and taste that can result from more traditional cooking methods, this unfussy recipe manages to preserve the vibrant tones of the salmon as well as its shape, while dishing up a luscious product. Plus, with the extra time slow cooking affords you, you can prepare your side or salad -- and even enjoy a glass of wine.
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The mercury's dropping which means it's time to break out that trusty crock pot for set-it-and-forget-it cold weather cooking.
Move over pot roast -- did you ever think of making cobbler in a slow cooker? The ice cream on top might be worth the extra wintry chill down your spine. Try replacing the blueberries in this recipe with frozen or canned peaches.
Chicken bog is a seasoned chicken, rice and sausage dish that's not half as soupy as its name suggests. What chicken bog isn't -- at least according to the organizers behind the 30th annual Loris Bog-Off being held this weekend in Horry County, S.C. -- is pilau.
Samantha Norris, executive assistant to the Chamber of Commerce's board of directors, maintains that bog is distinct from the beloved African-tinged casserole served one county over, also known as pilau, perloo, pilaf and perlau.
"Some people tell me bog is wetter, some people tell me there's more chicken in bog," Norris says.
Food historians don't necessarily agree: In her book "The Carolina Rice Kitchen: The African Connection," Karen Hess posits that bog is really just pilau made on a massive scale. "It is difficult to make very large amounts of a proper pilau, so it ends up being 'boggy,'" she writes.
If Texans weren't too tough to cry, the latest news out of the International Chili Society might set them to sobbing.
The cookoff-sanctioning organization has announced that the World's Championship Chili Cookoff will be held east of the Mississippi River for the first time in its 42-year history. The October event in Charleston, W. Va., represents the final slippage of the Southwest's grip on what was once a thoroughly regional foodstuff: A "bowl of red" has officially become an all-American dish.
"People have really latched on to it," ICS Executive Director Carol Hancock says of chili's pervasive popularity. "They just enjoy something they can do that's relatively inexpensive."
While there are nearly as many origin stories for chili as there are top-secret recipes for it, most agree it got its start in Texas (where, according to "The Food Lovers Companion," it is considered "a crime" to add beans to the meaty dish). The Lone Star State creation, whether pioneered by hungry vaqueros or indiscriminating jailhouse cooks, found its way to Southern California, where more than a dozen devotees gathered for a chili throwdown in 1967.
Southern stew maven Stan Woodward will be rooting for the kettles at Greenwood, S.C.'s annual hash cook-off this week.
Carolina hash, an iconic Southern one-pot meal typically comprising chopped meat, potatoes and seasonings, is meant to be made in a black iron pot. But Woodward says apprehensive legislators and frantic health inspectors have conspired to endanger the open kettle tradition.
"I think it's sliding out from under view quietly," says Woodward, whose documentaries include "Brunswick Stew," "Burgoo," "Joe Gunn's Sheep Stew" and "Carolina Hash." "There used to be hash houses all over South Carolina."
Hash is one of the few dishes that seems to rigidly obey state boundaries: It's rarely found on menus over the South Carolina line. In the Palmetto State, though, the plantation-era concoction is a cherished barbecue accompaniment.
Risotto, like polenta and grits, is one of those dishes to which the maxim "patience is a virtue" is frequently applied. And this photo, taken by Elise at Simply Recipes, beautifully illustrates why. A bowl of creamy, nutty grains of perfectly cooked rice, crowned with mushrooms that have been sautéed and cooked in cognac and cream, is glorious payoff for the constant care that risotto requires. While the idea adding cup after cup of stock to a pot of slowly cooking rice may not be everyone's idea of fun, results such as this one prove -- to borrow yet another maxim -- that good things do indeed come to those who wait.
As much as I adore my job, I tend to get the Sunday evening blues and have found as of late that labor-intensive cooking projects prove to be wonderfully soothing. It might be a bread knead, a painstakingly crimped lard crust pie, or, as it's manifested for the second week in a row, a unexpectedly soul-stirring risotto. Emphasis is on the "stirring" part, I assure you, as two times now, I've darned near sprained a forearm muscle with the non-stop drag of the wooden spoon through the ever-thickening starch. It's worth it, though -- the constant, meditative motion -- when it suddenly, palpably, audibly even, transforms the individual rice grains into a sumptuous, silken mass. It's the sort of culinary alchemy that transforms me from a solitary kitchen wretch into someone who suddenly wants to feed everyone she's ever met.
Last week's Acorn Squash Risotto from Mario Batali's Molto Italiano cookbook was a rousing success with my husband, as evidenced by this habitual leftover-snubber's willingness to dig back in on subsequent weeknights. This week's pulled pork variation, made on a whim, was a hearty treat tonight, and I've got a sneaking suspicion the flavors will meld well over the next few days.
Try for yourself. My Pulled Pork Risotto recipe is after the jump, and if you've got any soothing cooking rituals you'd like to share, I'd be more than grateful to hear about 'em.
At the first hint of a chill in the air this past October, I seized the opportunity to cook that month's Bon Appétit cover recipe: Texas Beef Brisket Chili, a beyond-hearty stew of melt-y beef, earthy dried chilies, and, surprisingly to me, butternut squash. The mild sweetness of the squash resonated beautifully with the spicy and fruity (due to the dried chilies) components of the dish and also gripped the gravy nicely. I'd found a new carnivorous delight.
More recently, though, I discovered that the carnivorous part was, if welcome to a meat-lover like me, incidental to the success of the chili. Planning for the arrival of houseguests, one of whom is a vegetarian, I wanted something that could simmer in the slow-cooker while I visited with my friends. I thought of this chili, tossing the bacon and brisket and subbing in a mix of red and black beans. I also threw in a couple of julienned red bell peppers, which I browned with the onion to give the dish a bit more depth.
Success! The squash got tender before the beans did, but the squash still held its shape just fine. I now believe that butternut squash could jazz up any favorite chili recipe. Try it with yours!
What could be more Southern than eating black-eyed peas on New Year's Day? How about sweet tea, deviled eggs, pimiento cheese, ambrosia, three-bean salad, shrimp boats, red beans and rice, corn pudding, fried okra, red eye gravy, cream doughnuts, cup custard, lemon icebox pie and divinity? If your mouth is watering from that recitation of down-home specialties, you'll like Screen Doors and Sweet Tea, a Southern cookbook which escalates the competition in a crowded field.
According to her bio, author Martha Hall Foose is a Mississippi Delta cook who studied in France, and the cuisine bears this out. True Southern fare -- heavy on the influences delta and soul -- is approached with reverence and then presented with signature spin: Foose is not the first cookbook author to prepare banana pudding (page 198) in individual servings, but she may be the first to suggest you do it in canning jars. As far as I know, she is definitely the first to make sweet tea pie (page 203) -- a recipe so crazy and that it would have made my grandmother applaud and so good that, according to the head note, it got Foose into the state fair pie baking contest. She didn't win, but then again, the winner probably didn't go on to write a cookbook as good as this.
It's funny how the push for new scientific foods is running alongside some truly old-school techniques. Now we just have to wait for the day that the delicate, intricate tiny food is teamed alongside a large and steamy serving of mac and cheese. Now that would be divine.
But I digress. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution has posted an article dipping into what they call this season's prized treasure -- time. Now it doesn't start off particularly strong premise (I could never say truffle oil has overstayed its welcome), but there are some interesting bits of information inside.
Basically, the piece isn't so much about slow-cookers, but dry or wet roasting in your own oven. 14-Hour Brisket, 7-Hour Leg of Lamb ... it all looks good!
There's an extra-stabby brand of self-recrimination that comes about when one comes home, mouth slavering for the vegetable stew, several-bean chili or pulled pork shoulder that's occupied one's thoughts all day, only to come home to an air redolent of exactly nothing. No warm waft, no indicator light all a-wink with the tease, nay, promise of a hearty, slow-cooked dinner because (shudder....sob...sigh...) one neglected to actually engage the Crock Pot's "ON" button.
Is there a term for this happenstance and/or the all-day nagging feeling that one's forgotten to flip it on, but is too far from home to remedy the situation? If not, howzabout we put it to a vote? Cast it below, or suggest a better one in the comments.
And lest anyone fret, Jeff later reported that he in fact came home to a lovely, fully-cooked chicken cacciatore.
UPDATE: Commenter Jenna has suggested "crock blocked," which I'm entirely jealous I failed to coin.
My personal favorite cold weather, no barrel smoker, slow-cooker pulled pork recipe is after the jump.
What is your day job, or rather, what do you do when you're not food blogging?
I'm a writer and a homekeeper.
How long have you been blogging with Slashfood and what is your favorite post?
I just started with Slashfood but I've written a couple of pieces for AOL Food. I still get email from a piece I wrote last autumn about cafeterias, that wound up also being about my grandmother. I guess that, to me, they're linked.
Do you have any non-food-related, non-blogging hobbies?
I love classic films, especially women's pictures from the golden era of Hollywood, 50's melodramas, 30's musicals, exploitation flicks and midnight movies, the French New Wave, and silents. I also love contemporary art and I follow that scene. And I love books, especially Beat literature and anything related to the Beat literary movement.
As I wrote several weeks ago, a pig pickin' is a North Carolina tradition involving a pig, a converted petroleum drum cooker, a bunch of charcoal and a whole lot of time. But a pig pickin' is not the only way to cook a whole hog - cultures across the world have been spit roasting, grilling and burying pigs in hot ash for thousands of years. In many places, pork is the cheapest meal available, making pig roasts an affordable way to have big festive meals for the whole community. Here are a few whole hog traditions from around the world:
Hawaii: Possibly the most famous whole pig preparation of them all, the kalua pig is a staple of the Hawaiian luau. The pig is "dressed" (gutted, the outer layer of skin and hair removed) and salted and placed in an imu - a banana leaf-lined pit filled with hot stones. The pig is covered in more dirt and left for hours until smoky and falling apart tender.
Cuba: Cubans love their lechón (suckling pig), a Christmas Eve tradition. Pigs are often cooked in backyard roasters made from bricks or cinder blocks. One popular version of the homemade roaster is called a "caja china" (a Chinese box), a rather coffin-like device in which the pig is placed on the metal-lined bottom and a tray of coals is placed on top, cooking the meat through indirect heat.
Italy: At the annual Sagra del Maiale festival of pork, Italians grill whole pigs over a food fire and lovingly dis-articulate them to feed the whole village. Skin becomes crispy and meat is buttery soft and succulent. And not a big of the porker is wasted - even the ears and trotters are fair game. Not headed to Italy any time soon? Some Italian restaurants in NYC and other cities have their own Sagra del Maiale.
The Philippines: The image of the golden-skinned pig spinning on a spit over a roaring fire is a reality here in the South Pacific, where Filipinos adore stuffing the pig's belly with herbs and spices, impaling it horizontally, and roasting it until the skin crackles and the meat is meltingly tender. The dish, known as lechon baboy, is a festival day favorite.
I am a big fan of cooking in a slow cooker. I mentioned in this post that I have four slow cookers in graduated sizes for when I want to cook a little bit or a lot. I love that I can pop something into the pot and set it to cook overnight while I sleep (I often do this with chicken stock or a turkey breast).
I love this little cookbook called Crockery Cookery (there's something very pleasant about saying that out loud), written by Mable Hoffman. It was first published in 1975, when the slow cooking trend first started to sweep the nation. It contains recipes, tips, tricks and a guide to all slow cookers that were available in 1975 (not particularly helpful these days, but an interesting blast from the past).
My copy has a receipt in it from a Salvation Army Thrift Shop from 1983, marking the recipe for Turkey Tetrazzini. It uses canned mushrooms, but other than that calls for fresh veggies and good ingredients, showing me that not all recipes from the seventies are a wasteland of processed ingredients and horrible chemicals.
I am a big fan of cooking in a slow cooker. 
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