Why is it always the smallest dishes that require the most work? Take these two-bite-sized steamed buns: for all the time I spent making them, I probably could have barbecued a whole cow. Twice.

The work began two weeks ago when I started my kim chi, the Korean fermented cabbage pickle. Beyond ingredients I had from the farmers market — napa cabbage, scallions, carrots, garlic, ginger — this recipe called for a few specialty Korean ingredients that necessitated a trip to the always-interesting Shuang Hur Foods, an Asian grocery store on Nicollet in Minneapolis. Perusing the many jars and boxes labelled primarily in various Asian languages that I don’t read, I was a bit overwhelmed. It was easy enough to find Korean chili powder – red powder with Korean characters on it and a picture of a chili — but jarred shrimp was a challenge. I did eventually locate some jars with illustrations of happily frolicking shrimp, but with my ignorance of what was printed on the jars, I was at a loss for how to distinguish between them. What to do? I picked the one with the happiest looking shrimp and headed to the checkout.

Making kim chi is straightforward: salt the cabbage and let it ferment in the refrigerator overnight. The next day, mix with scallions, minced garlic, sliced ginger, shredded carrots, sugar, water and a whole lot of Korean chili powder and return to the refrigerator. My recipe, from David Chang and Peter Meehan’s Momofuku, recommended waiting one week before eating, with the kim chi in its prime in two. The waiting game.

After two weeks had just about passed, and I was getting excited about my kim chi, the time had come to make the buns. The recipe from Momofuku looked simple enough, but it made 50 buns. I had already waited two weeks for my kim chi, and now I was expected to have enough patience to carefully roll out 50 tiny buns? Unfortunately, the book warns against scaling the recipe down: any less dough and a stand mixer can’t be used to knead it.

Too little dough for a stand mixer, but what about for a food processor? I had recently been turned on to the idea of food processor dough kneading by a Food Lab article on New York Style Pizza at Home, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to try it. I dutifully assembled the ingredients — ½ Tbsp yeast, 6 oz water, 9 ½ oz white flour, 3 Tbsp sugar, 1 ½ Tbsp dry milk, ½ Tbsp salt, ¼ tsp baking soda and one-sixth of a cup of shortening — in the bowl of a food processor with the steel blade, locked the cover and hit the switch. I was amazed at how quickly the dough came together and and reached the perfect springy-smooth consistency — about two minutes. I suppose I should have known from the many pasta doughs I’ve pulled together in the processor that it was an ideal kneading machine, but I was surprised how well it worked with a traditional bread dough.

And it was a good thing I saved so much time kneading the dough with the food processor, since there was still lots of work to be done. The dough rose two hours then was punched down, divided into twenty-five rounds,  rested another hour, rolled out, folded, placed on 25 separate 3″ squares of parchment (what, you don’t have 3″ squares of parchment on hand? Better get the scissors), rested another 30 minutes, and finally steamed in four batches. Whew.

As much fun as these buns are to make, they’re not going to be much without something delicious — and preferably porcine — to fill them with. Chang and Meehan slow-roasted pork belly — which actually would have been pretty easy — but I was led down another path by unrelated reading in the Texas Barbecue Cookbook by Rob Walsh: I was going to smoke my pork. But since I live in a tiny apartment without a yard, it would have to be indoor smoking.

There are stovetop gadgets for smoking indoors, but I don’t have one. Instead, I planned to use a technique developed by Cook’s Illustrated that utilized Lapsang Souchong tea. I happened to have a healthy supply of this from the last time I tried the technique a few years ago — because really, who drinks this stuff?

I first salted and peppered thin cutlets of pork shoulder and placed them on a rack that would fit in a half sheet pan. Said half sheet pan was then filled with the ground powder of tea extracted from twenty Lapsang teabags. Placing the rack over the sheet pan, I covered the whole thing tightly in foil and placed this improvised smoker on the stone in my 500ºF oven. This is hot enough to get the tea smoking, and if the pork is frozen briefly before going in the oven it can sit in the smoke for a half hour without overcooking in the intense heat. After the half hour was up, I dropped the heat to 250ºF, poured some water over the tea, and let the chops cook two hours until very tender. By the way, if cutting open and emptying twenty teabags doesn’t strike you as tedious, I guarantee you that scrubbing caked-on tea dust out of every hole of a cooling rack will.

To finish the pork, I made a quick barbecue lacquer by whisking together ketchup, soy sauce, mirin, brown sugar and sriracha. I then painted the sauce on the smoked pork and broiled until the chops shone. I let the pieces cool slightly and chopped them into slivers for serving.

Having fermented my kim chi, steamed my buns, and smoked my pork, I wasn’t especially in the mood to devote many more hours to this meal. Luckily, the other elements — chopped scallions, cucumber pickles (from a long-in-the-fridge jar, thank God), sriracha, and mayo — only needed to be put on the table; diners could assemble the sandwiches themselves.

But while it’s true that small packages may require the most work to get together, the reward can also be very big: these buns were delicious — well worth the effort. While I found that sticking to Chang’s recommended toppings — mayo, sriracha, pickles, pork and scallions – was better than my version using kim chi in place of the pickles, both were very good. Maybe even good enough to make them again.

Some people have their broccoli-cheese casserole; I have this: penne with blue cheese and broccoli. It’s filled with the same comforting overload of starch and gooey cheese but has an added element of danger provided by tangy blue cheese and generously-applied red pepper flakes. I’ve been making this dish for years — I distinctly remember cooking it in high school — and if there is broccoli in the refrigerator and I’m feeling lazy or uncreative this pasta is inevitable. I don’t mind the repetition though; this is a dish that lingers on the table as forks seek out one last bite, and then another.

I think the original recipe was published in the New York Times but I can’t locate it online. In any case, I’ve cooked this without the recipe enough times that I’m willing to claim it for my own.

Penne with Blue Cheese and Broccoli

• 6 oz blue cheese, crumbled
• 4 Tbsp butter
• 1 clove of garlic, minced or pressed through a garlic press
• Black pepper
• Red pepper flakes
• Salt
• 2 medium heads of broccoli, florets separated, stems discarded or reserved for other use
• 1# penne

Bring plenty of salted water to a boil in a large stockpot. Place blue cheese, butter, garlic, and salt, pepper and red pepper to taste in a large mixing bowl. Place the bowl over the stockpot while it is heating to soften the cheese and butter. When water boils, add pasta. After about 4 minutes have passed, add the broccoli. When pasta is done to your liking, drain pasta and broccoli, reserving some of the water to adjust the consistency of the sauce. Toss pasta and broccoli with butter-bue cheese mixture. Adjust seasoning and serve.

I wish I could tell you that what follows is my grandmother’s world-famous recipe for beef tongue, a treasured family secret passed down through the generations. It is not. While I expect my grandma has a beef tongue recipe — she grew up on a farm, after all — that recipe would never have made it past my dad, who would often tell us horror stories of being forced to eat tongue when he was growing up. Needless to say, tongue did not make an appearance on my childhood table.

For whatever reason, though — the trendiness of tongue tacos, foodie cred, etc. — I recently felt a strong compulsion to cook a tongue. With no recipe from either of my real grandmothers, I turned to my surrogate grandmother: the Internet. A quick survey of the top four or five search results for “Tacos de Lengua” revealed consensus on the cooking method: place the tongue in a pot with aromatics and water to cover, bring to a boil and then simmer a few hours. When the tongue exhibits some signs of tenderness, allow it to cool in the braising liquid, then remove it from the pot, peel off the white skin with a sharp knife and slice. Fun and delicious!

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves: before doing any of that I needed a tongue. As of this spring there has been a new meat vendor at the Midtown Farmers Market — Hilltop Pastures Family Farm — who among many other delicious offerings listed tongue for sale. I was offered a large tongue or a small tongue and opted for small. A minute later on the counter before me was a 1.58# beef tongue, frozen and plastic-wrapped, for $1.54. That’s right — I paid 99¢ per pound. Damn those chi-chi farmers market prices! (Incidentally: this Saturday — October 30 — is the last Midtown Farmers Market of the year.) I’d advise you to get these great deals while you can before beef tongue is the new flank steak, selling for $12.99/lb.

Having been denied (or spared) tongue as a child, I didn’t know what to expect as I let the meat thaw in the refrigerator over the next few days. Well, what I should have expected was a giant cow tongue, because that’s what I got. This was not meat sliced up and plastic wrapped on a neat foam tray from the grocery store! My tongue came complete with the rough skin familiar from a cat’s tongue and a black spot at the base that was just enough to remind me of a cute little black and white spotted cow in the field. I could almost hear it mooing at me.

As perhaps you can tell, I was slightly grossed-out at this point. But hey, I eat animals, and animals have tongues, so I pressed on, placing the tongue in a pot with cilantro, half an onion, a few cloves of garlic, some peppercorns, dried oregano and a couple of dried chiles then filled it with water to cover. After bringing it to a boil I left the tongue to simmer for three hours, adding water as necessary to keep the tongue submerged.

The raw tongue put me a little ill-at-ease; that in no way prepared me for what the tongue would be like when it emerged from the pot. Cooking had contracted the muscle, so when it was removed the tongue was arched in perfect tongue-like position: it was not hard to imagine this thing sitting in the mouth of a happy heifer. As if this weren’t disturbing enough, I was now expected to peel the skin off with a sharp knife. But again, the cow had been killed, and what could be more respectful to the animal at this point than making best use of all of its parts? So I donned my best Hannibal Lecter face, selected a sharp paring knife, and began peeling off that rough skin in large pieces. Too bad fava beans are out of season.

Although I wouldn’t describe peeling skin off of a cooked tongue as one of the most pleasant experiences in my life, the reward when the job is done is that the tongue begins to look like any other piece of cooked beef. Slicing it makes the meat even less tongue-like. Since I was preparing the tongue the night before, I stored the slices in the refrigerator and cleaned up the rest of the evidence.

Before putting the container away for the night, I did sneak a taste of the tongue. Hopeful though I was that this 99¢/lb meat would be delicious enough to eat on a weekly basis, I didn’t love the flavor. Although there was some beefiness there was also a strong mineral taste — the kind you sometimes get from organ meats. I am willing to admit this is probably due to the way I cooked it — is anything at its best boiled for three hours? If I make tongue in the future, I will try braising it for longer in a more flavorful, thicker sauce.

To finish the tacos the next day, I cut the slices of tongue into a medium dice — a step Martha appreciated for its further obfuscation of the origins of the meat — and fried the dice in a little oil to produce some flavorful browning. Before serving the tacos, I mixed the meat in the pan with a little salsa verde (recipe follows), which I also served on the side. With sour cream, cilantro, fresh radish slices and warm corn tortillas, I think even my dad would try one.

Salsa Verde

• 1.5# tomatillos, husked
• 1 medium red onion, peeled and cut into quarters
• 1 poblano chile, halved and seeded
• Several bunches cilantro
• 3 cloves garlic, minced or pressed through a garlic press
• Salt
• Fresh citrus juice (lime is ideal but I used the juice of 1 lemon because I had it on hand)

Heat the broiler. Place tomatillos, onion and chile on a sheet pan and broil until brown spots start to appear, about 5 minutes in my broiler. Place onions, chiles, garlic and cilantro in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse to chop roughly. Add tomatillos and process until consistency is as desired. Transfer mixture to a bowl and adjust seasoning with citrus and salt.

One of the greatest pleasures the table offers is a leisurely couple of hours spent snacking over wine: embracing the Spanish concept picar — just a nibble here and there. For something so delicious and satisfying, a dinner of tapas is also easy to prepare: we already had a chorizo in the fridge from Olympic Provisions in Portland, OR and a quick trip to Surdyk’s yielded a wedge of Chabrin cheese (French, true, but near the border), some Basque-style olives and a bottle of fruity and spicy Spanish wine (2007 Peñascal Tempranillo-Shiraz).

I happened to have a loaf of bread baking in the oven, but it would have been just as well to buy bread. Cured meat, cheese, olives, bread and wine; something about these foods seems very elemental to civilization. It would have been enough to stop at the essentials, but since it was Saturday and Saturday compels me toward more ambitious cooking projects, I also made patatas bravas, my favorite Spanish bar food.

Two hours passed picando with one, two, three glasses of wine is a fine way to spend the evening.

Patatas Bravas

Take whatever quantity of potatoes suits you and cut them into irregular chunks. Peel the potatoes if desired. A recipe I read suggested starting them slow in oil and gradually increasing the heat until they are deeply golden. My own technique was to par-cook the potatoes in boiling water until a fork could just be inserted, then drain and dry them. I then fried them in 350°F oil until they were golden — unfortunately our stove’s rather pathetic BTU output meant this took too long and the potatoes got a bit tough. Probably the best technique is to follow french-fry procedure: blanch the potatoes in 325ºF oil until blond and then finish them at 375ºF. The goal is to have crispy potatoes with creamy interiors. Salt the potatoes after removing them from the oil.

Serve hot with salsa brava and alioli.

Salsa Brava

• 2 cloves of garlic
• 1 T olive oil
• 1 ½ cups tomato puree, fresh or canned
• 1 t paprika (pimentón dulce)
• ½ t cayenne
• 1 t salt

Heat the garlic and olive oil in a small skillet over medium heat until the garlic turns golden. Add the tomatoes and fry until the color darkens slightly. Stir in the paprika, cayenne and salt and simmer a few more minutes. Taste for seasoning: the sauce should be slightly spicy and taste clearly of paprika.

Alioli

• 1 clove garlic, minced or pressed through a garlic press
• ¼ t ground mustard
• 1 t salt
• ¼ t black pepper
• 2 t lemon juice
• 1 egg yolk
• ½–¾ c olive oil

Whisk together garlic, mustard, salt, pepper, lemon juice and egg yolk. Slowly drizzle in olive oil, whisking constantly, until desired thickness is reached. Adjust seasoning.

My family is not Greek, but one of my favorite dishes my mom made when I was  growing up was moussaka — I’m not sure where or why she got the recipe. The version she made was roughly the Greek one, layered and and served warm (but there are many different versions). I wasn’t striving for authenticity with my own version, just trying to satisfy a craving. It’s a great dish for a lazy day of cooking; roasting the vegetables separately might seem picky and is certainly not traditional, but it gives the dish deep flavor.

Zucchini and Eggplant

Part of the reason for my making this dish was to use up the zucchini and eggplant that were lingering from last week’s trip to the farmers market. I would have preferred to use more eggplant, but I just used what I had: about two pounds of zucchini and one pound of eggplant. I sliced the vegetables about a quarter inch thick on the mandoline, tossed them with about a teaspoon of salt each and set them in separate colanders to exude some moisture. After about an hour, I wrapped the veggies in a thin towel and squeezed even more moisture out. I then tossed the sliced vegetables with olive oil and pepper (already plenty of salt on them) arranged them in a single layer on sheet pans (keep the vegetables separate throughout this process) and roasted them for about 30 minutes at 400ºF, flipping them halfway through, until they were deep brown in spots, almost starting to burn. I spread the zucchini evenly across the bottom of an eight inch square baking dish and set the eggplant aside.

These will form layers one and three of the assembled dish.

Tomato-Lamb Sauce

While the vegetables were roasting I sauteed a diced medium onion in olive oil until it softened, then stirred in a pound of ground lamb, a teaspoon of salt, and a dash each of ground cinnamon, allspice and cumin. I let that cook until the lamb was no longer pink, stirring frequently to break up the chunks of lamb, then added about a fourteen ounce can’s worth of tomato sauce (I actually used tomatoes I canned last year mixed with tomato juice left over from a canning project this morning). I let this reduce until little loose liquid remained, then poured it on top of the zucchini in the baking dish.

This is layer two; arrange the roasted eggplant slices atop the tomato sauce for layer three.

Béchamel

The last layer is simply a béchamel sauce; I sauteed two minced shallots in four tablespoons of butter until the shallots were translucent, then stirred in four tablespoons of flour and cooked it long enough for the roux to acquire some color, stirring all the time. I then slowly whisked in two cups of skim milk and added a teaspoon of salt and a dash of nutmeg. I let it boil a few minutes to thicken, and then poured it over the top of the baking dish to form the fourth and final layer.

I baked at 400ºF for thirty minutes, until the béchamel starts to brown. Allow the pan to cool for 10-15 minutes before cutting it so it can set up. Cut into squares and serve warm.