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Pardon the shameless shill for a moment, but we're both pretty excited about this. As most of you probably know, Blake and I have been writing the Dinner Tonight column over at Serious Eats for well over four years. That's a lot of weeknight dinners. But our history with the site actually goes back to the very beginning.  (Here is one very old article that we both wrote if you need some proof.) This is all just a way of saying that we're both excited to see that Serious Eats will release its first official book next week called, aptly enough, Serious Eats: A Comprehensive Guide to Making and Eating Delicious Food Wherever You Are.

It features a collection of recipes, food profiles, and restaurant recommendations from around the country. In fact, I was lucky enough to ride around with the crew while they were narrowing down the Chicago picks. (Here's some photographic proof of that one, too.)

It will undoubtedly be available at your local bookstore soon, but if you pre-order it on Amazon before October 31st, you can also get a free tote bag and an autographed bookplate. Click here for all the details. 

I, Nick Kindelsperger, wholeheartedly endorse the practice of freezing chicken stock in ice cube trays. Doing so allows one to crack them into zip-lock bags and stash them in the freezer for safe keeping. It is convenient, fairly easy to do, and downright practical (in a slightly embarrassing way). Of course, the problem with dishing out little kitchen tips and tricks like this one is that there are enough of them to make even the most organized person confused. I'm as guilty as anyone. So, I decided to wait on this one just to make sure that I actually followed through, used it all, and then did it again. It passed the test.

I've long been freezing stock. I learned early on that freezing the whole batch in one bag was the wrong way to go, because it is hard to dethaw a huge hunk of ice. So, I started freezing stock in four-cup batches, thinking that would be a normal amount to use for a recipe. That is almost never the case. Nine times out of ten, recipes call for ½ cup or less, meaning I had to partially dethaw the bags, pour off the amount I need, and then refreeze them. The process was annoying and, at least whenever I tried to do it, messy.

I’ve worked enough days in my life, from my desk at home to mind-numbing office temp gigs, to have developed some theories on lunch. To me, the working lunch is a series of balances: it should be fast, yet not fast-food; it should be a break from work, but not so indulgent you can’t get moving again; it should be fulfilling, but not a cause of sluggishness. Lunch should work for you, but so often it’s the other way around.

Here's the idea: Work ahead, do a little bit of planning, and go vegetarian. And above all keep in mind: Healthy doesn’t have to mean it tastes like cardboard.

We’re happy to announce a new collaboration between The Paupered Chef and some fellow friends and bloggers of ours in Chicago: The Midwestyle. It’s a great blog, and thorough. Ostensibly about dressing well on a budget, it’s really about caring: how you look, how you think, how you act like a young man in this here century of ours. We feel an affinity with their go-get-em energy, the same early-20s stuff that started this blog here that you’re reading. A recent post on how to compliment women is the kind of first-rate stuff that we’ve come to expect from these young pups.

Over a weekly beer at a local corner watering hole (the kind of bar that makes you fall in love with Chicago), we came up with the idea that another thing a man needs to know is how to cook a few dishes. See, The Midwestyle has taught us a few things about how to dress better. So it’s only fair to return the favor.

The saga began simply: about three weeks ago I needed andouille for a Dinner Tonight. All I could find at the grocery store was a product that claimed to be the right stuff, but it had all the character of cheap bologna and about as much spice as, well, cheap bologna. I was angry.

Most people return from the beach with tans; I returned with tomatoes. It was a half-bushel, to be exact, and they were stashed in the back of a car as it wound its way from North Carolina, through the Great Smoky Mountains, and, some 16 hours later, finally to Chicago. Why such extravagant measures for tomatoes?

I have a thing for hotel bars. I'm just not sure there is a better place to have a cocktail. Served cold and strong, cocktails comfort the weary traveler and immediately transport one to a different, happier place. My hunch is that best hotel bars seem to be the manifestation of that first sip. It helps if the hotel, like the Seelbach, has its own 100 year old cocktail.

Mexican food is made for parties. The construction of tortillas, fillings, salsas, and toppings; the spicy, rich flavors; and above all, the fact that it tastes so darn good. This was our guiding principle on a recent Saturday when, with the help of a handful of talented friends, we threw a Baja Fish Taco party under warm string lights in a Chicago backyard.

File this one under projects that seem a lot harder than they actually are. I made a batch of ginger beer recently which was fizzy, super ginger-y and dry, and fantastic over ice.  Ginger beer is essentially ginger ale but with a much sharper, more upfront ginger taste, and it's far less sweet.  It isn't alcoholic, but because of its more assertive flavor it holds up beautifully in cocktails.

Soft shell crab season is here, generally considered to begin at some point in May.  So we here at The Paupered Chef decided it was time to take advantage.  Generally, the soft shell crab  is dusted with flour and fried up in a skillet, and I'm not sure there is a better way to prepare this crustacean than this recipe by David Lentz from Food & Wine magazine: stuffed into a crusty baguette with a lightly dressed cole slaw, thick-cut bacon, and a drizzle of grainy mustard mixed with creme fraiche. Who cares if the weather sucks?  Summer is officially here.

One sip of real ramen is enough. That’s all I needed to permanently erase all those memories of those pathetic packaged noodles, which I greedily warmed up in the microwave during college. One sip. Done. It was also enough to make me question whether there was a better soup on the planet. Fragrant, rich, and soothing, it has no parallel in the Midwest cuisine I grew up on, and while other marvelous brothy soups my attract my attention from time to time (phở and pozole, mostly), ramen is the one I simply can’t live without.

Until recently, my first thought upon hearing the word "punch" was a frat party, something electric red, and indiscriminate drinking--a concoction spiked with a slew of spirits that might be laying around and then covered in Koolaid. That seems to be the reputation punch has gotten—but if cocktail writer Dave Wondrich has anything to say about it, we are all missing the point. Punch is not the currency of undistinguishing party animals or boozy housewives at weekday luncheons—it is a fine art woven into the fabric of American Drinking and integral to cocktail history.