Enterprise S03E12

About a year ago a bunch of my wonderful and generous posters got together and sent me the entire Season One Star Trek: Deep Space Nine DVDs and the Star Trek Cookbook. Until I decided to do this Extra, I had not yet made a single recipe from the cookbook. I figured that choosing three that matched a few of my TOS Extras would be in order, and then, to bring the Extra in line with my current gig, I also decided to try out a recipe of Scott Bakula's as published in Canadian TV Guide in May 2002. It was fitting that I played my DS9 DVDs in the kitchen as I cooked. Can I just warn y'all that if I ever recapped DS9 I would most certainly start with "Emissary" with all the "What is past?" "What is love?" "What is what?" and that bad actress playing Jennifer Sisko.

WARNING: I'm coming to you from a real test-kitchen chef's standpoint, so I'm going to scrutinize these recipes within an inch of their lives. You might think I'm a bit harsh at times, but seriously, what kind of TWoP Extra would this be if I didn't whisk in some snark?

"Dr. McCoy's Tennessee Smoked Baked Beans," from Star Trek V: The Final Frontier

Everyone remembers this, right? The dish of Explosive Combinations? Kirk and farts being forever associated in our minds? Okay, well, this is it. Reading through Neelix's chatty intro, I came across this:

"If you're serving this dish to your family, however, and are not out in one of the great national parks on Earth, you probably won't want to include the booze -- nor should you -- but you can add a down-home Smoky Mountain taste with a product called liquid smoke."

Just hold on one gol'durned minute, "nor should you"? Whyever the hell not? First of all, hello -- flavor! That's what any alcohol, be it wine, vermouth, brandy, or whisky, can bring to a dish. Secondly, these beans bake FOR EIGHT HOURS! The alcohol will long get cooked off. I take issue with Neelix's language here because I understand having an alcohol-free recipe -- even though, as I stated, any of the "deleterious effects" of alcohol are long gone after eight hours in the oven -- is desired by many, but still to say "nor should you" is just...odd. Why shouldn't I? Is it bad if I do? Do I really need a guilt trip if, as a chef, I like to add a little kick to my dishes? Am I going to hell? Why is Neelix acting like my conscience? I hate crickets! I STOMP ALL CRICKETS!

Since I was never a Voyager watcher, maybe it was common knowledge that Neelix was a confirmed teetotaler, because looking through other recipes in the book really shows him having an aversion to alcohol. I mean, he even makes "McCoy's Mint Julep" with Schweppes, Canada Dry, or Seagram's tonic instead of bourbon! Bones is spinning so fast in his grave, he could power Eli Whitney's cotton gin.

I read through the recipe and quickly decided that the chef in me would not let me do anything other than the "from-scratch" recipe (Neelix has several options for all cooking levels), so I began by soaking the dried kidney beans for two hours. I was surprised to see that after the beans had their bath, I was supposed to boil them in water for two hours. Now, most of you are science-y geniuses, so you know what happens when you boil beans uncovered for two hours, don't you? Riiight. The water eventually steams away from home. Can you guess what happens ? Exaaaactly. The beans -- in their newly parched state still dancing merrily over a burner set to bring liquid to the boil -- burn the bottom of the saucepan. Luckily, because of all my dealings with lentils simmering (covered!) for only one-quarter that amount of time, I knew how quickly the boiling liquid would dissipate. As a solution, I just kept adding water when the beans reached a critical state. BUT boiling for two hours wasn't even a WORRY, since the recipe says "boil the red, kidney, or pinto beans for about 2 hours, reducing heat to a low boil for the last 1/2 hour, until they are tender." Guess what? They were tender after boiling (uncovered!) for thirty-five minutes. Any longer and they would have been mush -- not exactly what you want, since the dish would be spending over eight hours in a low oven.

Fine, step: I fried up my thick-cut bacon. The recipe says to use 1/2 pound of "bacon, salt back, or Canadian bacon." I didn't want to use Canadian bacon because the all the fatty bits of bacon -- the white bits -- are so nice and crispy-juicy when fried up. I didn't want to use salt back, because as far as I know it doesn't exist except within the confines of Neelix's fevered brain.

You see, my dear Trekkies, there is "salt pork," which is a layer of fat with streaks of lean (the pink parts) taken from Porky's belly and sides. It is salted and usually blanched to take away excess saltiness before being used in a recipe. It's very much like bacon, except that it's not smoked. Then there is "fatback," which comes, strangely enough, from the layer of fat along Porky's back. It is unsmoked and unsalted and used to make lard. Some salt-cured fatback is available, and it lasts longer in your fridge because of the curing. So, if Neelix had actually meant either "salt pork" or "fatback" and not this mysterious "salt back," I still wouldn't have used it, because neither is smoked, and smokiness is very tasty. Just ask the dude who invented the Nicotini.

Bacon fried and beans tender, I added the chopped onion, molasses, honey, mustard seed, Tennessee bourbon (the recipe said to use either Tennessee or Kentucky, but I didn't want to deprive the Evil Dr. Mathra of his Wild Turkey stash; plus, Bones said Tennessee in the movie, and I'm all for authenticity), Worcestershire sauce, sea salt, and liquid smoke. I left out one ingredient there, because this is my issue with the way the recipe is written. The ingredient list says "2 cups beef bouillon stock or water from the boiled beans." It repulsively reminded me that I had a college roommate who used to drink the water left behind from boiling vegetables, so I went with the beef bouillon. Plus, it's more flavorful. That said, I have to admit that Spock, Kirk, and Bones may have had jet-packed ski boots just in case someone fell off a mountain, but I'm sure they didn't actually have any beef bouillon on them and probably used the water.

So, I'm using the beef bouillon instead of bean water, and I read the part of the recipe that says, "Drain the beans, but reserve the bean stock if you are not going to add beef stock." Well, I'm using beef stock, or bouillon as it says in the ingredients' list --which in itself is annoying. Seriously, keep your terms consistent if you don't want to confuse the reader/cook. God -- so I throw out the bean water. The recipe goes on to say to "add all the ingredients to the beans and pork, add back half the bean stock and stir thoroughly." Wait, I threw out the bean stock (which is actually called "bean water" elsewhere!) because the recipe said "beef bouillon stock or water from the boiled beans," so what's this now? I thought it was an option. I go along because I just interpret the recipe to mean that I should add half the beef bouillon, but I really think he should have said "add back half the bean water/beef bouillon and stir thoroughly."

, the veeeery long baking process happens, and I take a break with a really surprisingly lovely glass of ros from Portugal. No joke! We're not talking about some cloyingly sweet white zin or white merlot or offshoot of that horrible Alize stuff -- this is a kind of wine I learned about in school and wanted to try for the longest time. It's very much like a Ros d'Anjou -- slightly sweet on the tongue and then dryer on the swallow. But not painfully dry, mind you. Plus, it was bubbly! Not forcibly bubbly like champagne, more gentle than that -- teeny, tiny bubbles. AND it comes in this really cool salmon-colored stone bottle. Love. It.

Eight hours (and several versions of plomeek soup) go by, and it's three in the morning. The news is reporting that Saddam has been captured, and my beans are finally ready. As directed, I pull the beans in the last half hour in order to "add some of the beef bouillon or bean stock and increase heat to 275 degrees." "Some of the beef bouillon"? Not "the rest" or "the other half" or "the reserved"? I mean, if you're told to add half the liquid in the beginning of the recipe, and we're presuming that you are actually supposed to use the full amount detailed in the ingredient list, then I would think it might make more sense to say something along the lines I already mentioned.

You all might think I'm being overly picky, but it's confusing recipes like these that convince the culinarily timid that they can't cook when, for one reason or another, they can't get the recipe to work. People usually blame themselves for ruining the dish, and while it may be true sometimes, I know for a fact that way too many recipes in magazines or cookbooks are not adequately tested by editors. They simply take at face value that the author has perfected the recipe for all users. Not exactly a good idea, since they even don't take at face value that the author can spell. My dishes usually turn out no matter how poorly written the recipe is, because I can now catch potential issues early enough to fix them along the way. I wasn't always that lucky, and neither are other hardworking cooks out there.

The baked bean recipe includes additional notes on a vegetarian version, which again has the note about not needing the whisky -- a note from Keckler to Neelix: some vegetarians do drink -- as well as a "quick-cook" version, using canned beans; tips for people who have coal or wood-burning stoves; and an electric Crock-Pot dish. I don't have a Crock-Pot, and I doubt I'll ever own one, but they always remind me of Ramona Quimby. Do you remember that part in Ramona and Her Father when someone forgot to turn the Crock-Pot on and they had to have carrot salad and pancakes for dinner? There was that whole scandalous scene when Ramona's father "slashed" her mother's pancakes (which were raw in the middle, RAW!) and then her mother swatted her father on the butt with the spatula because Mr. Quimby kept quoting his blasted grandmother. I tell you, that was high drama.

Childhood flashbacks aside, I really like that he has all these notes even if none of them apply directly to me in this instance.

The Taste Test: We stayed up all night for this and oh. My. God. So DAMN GOOD! I never liked baked beans before because they were always soooo sweet (I mean, you'd think they were a Claude Upson daiquiri, Demian!) with all the brown sugar added in. However, these? Perfect. Smoky and just slightly sweet with a nice flavor depth. I can't wait to have Bakula's ribs with these on the side. Editorial quibbles aside, I would totally make this dish again and again and AGAIN!

"Cold Tranya" from "The Corbomite Maneuver"

Neelix intros this recipe in the following way: "Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, and the too-emotional Lieutenant Bailey first tried tranya onboard the tiny craft piloted by the strange creature named Balock, who was tricked out of his shoes by Captain Kirk's corbomite bluff." Yeah, his sparkly shoes!

My big gripe with this drink is -- surprise, surprise! -- the lack of alcohol. Seriously, after that episode, how could this not be a drink that got you mind-numbingly drunk? When Shack had it at Quark's in Vegas, it was pinkish -- exactly the shade I colored it my mind's eye, since EVERY-thing around Balock was pink! -- peachy-flavored, and definitely containing one or more mind-altering liquids.

Taste Test: Well, with eight oranges to half a cup of confectioners' (powdered) sugar and a half gallon of ice water, this drink could be nothing but extremely sweet and a bit watery. So there you go. time around I'm adding vodka, peach schnapps (or would that be "schnaaaaps," Alex?), rum, champagne, or Pimm's at the very least! Must. Erase. All. Shimmery. Baby. Clint. Howard. Thoughts. From. Mind.

"Captain Kirk's Plomeek Soup" from "Amok Time"

Now, this came in the TOS section of the cookbook, so I really thought it was the one to follow. First of all, "Kirk's Plomeek Soup"? And that could be since when? That man has to take credit for EVERYTHING, doesn't he? There is absolutely NO REASON IN HELL why this shouldn't be "Nurse Chapel's Plomeek Soup" -- the poor woman had it thrown at her, after all! Please tell me any other time that plomeek soup was made in TOS by Kirk. You can't, can you? Because it NEVER HAPPENED! They even have Nurse Chapel's picture to the recipe. I just don't get it. Either Neelix is an idiot or Kirk is a scene-stealing, recipe-grubbing jackass -- which reality do you want to live in? I'll give you some time with that and move on.

Neelix's notes say that "Captain Kirk's" version (can you hear the disdain in my voice?) differs from his in "some significant ways." Neelix claims that it's "creamier and spicier." Well, since there's half of a cup of heavy cream -- and noted that it's optional -- I understand half that statement. But as for spiciness? There isn't any. There's a measly teaspoon of ground pepper -- the recipe doesn't specify black, white, cayenne, or chili -- which wouldn't add much heat at all. Neelix aside, his editor really should have been checking for stuff like this. Vulcan is a hot planet, and I personally think this soup should reflect that.

That brings up an interesting thought. Supposedly so much of Earth food can upset a Vulcan GI tract, but I always supposed the reasoning behind that to be that Earth food has too much flavor. What if it's the opposite? What if the Vulcan system is so used to hot and spicy stuff that it's the blander stuff that has them running for the lemon-flavored chewable M'alox? Also, this recipe has a full cup of butter AND heavy cream -- how do the Vulcans keep their slim figures with that kind of stuff? I asked the Evil Dr. Mathra that, and he responded with, "Are Vulcans vegan?" Another interesting question. If they are opposed to eating animal flesh, are they likewise grossed out by animal byproducts? Personally, with all that butter, I think adding cream is a bit much.

After I got done dicing the celery, carrots, and onions, I melted the butter. Then I noted that the recipe called for the carrots to be added and "browned" a full thirty minutes before the celery. Uh, oops? I stupidly thought the carrots and celery would go in together, so I put them in the same bowl. In order to preserve the integrity of the recipe, I painstakingly separated the four cups of diced carrots from the five cups of diced celery and added the carrots. Alone. Thirty minutes went by, and the carrots didn't brown. The heat was on low, just as the recipe stipulated, but not a whole lot was going on. I raised the heat one notch for another ten minutes. Nothing. Then another notch, and another ten minutes later the carrots were still nice and orange, no sign of browning. This, again, is how recipes can lead you astray. Since the butter was now turning brown and would eventually burn, I went on with the recipe as though the carrots had browned.

Taste Test: An hour and ten minutes later, the soup was done. I tasted it and still didn't understand what Neelix meant by saying this version was "spicier." In fact, it was quite sweet, which is no surprise considering the amount of carrots. Don't think carrots are sweet? When they cook down they most certainly are.

I ladled the soup into a bowl and frowned. It just didn't fit with what I thought plomeek soup should look like. I didn't picture it chunky. The Evil Dr. Mathra's idea of plomeek soup was a clear, dark broth, but I had a more pured vision in mind. Although the Evil Dr. Mathra liked this version fine enough (remember, it's been well documented that he will consume anything. Even blue beer!), I decided to take the soup to the level and make my version of the Vulcan standby.

Most carrot-based soups are given a little oomph of heat to balance the sweetness. You often see "Carrot-Ginger," "Carrot-Chipotle," or even "Curried Carrot," and that's where I was going. I was also going to the blender. In careful stages, I pured the soup and rewarmed it. Then I added a healthy dose of cayenne pepper and tested. Now that was more like it. Two bowls later, the Evil Dr. Mathra was happily hiccupping -- his standard response to spicy foods -- and I felt that I'd turned the recipe into something more Vulcan than Kirk's version. Even Prop Master Alan Sims thinks that plomeek should have pured carrot for the orange color, and suggests adding squash "for texture."

I should note that because of the body you get from pured vegetable soups, adding cream is a pure indulgence and fairly unnecessary. I sampled a bowl with and without cream swirled in and concluded that the cream really didn't do much for the flavor. In fact, it sort of deadened it. Now, had the heavy cream been sour cream instead, I think we would have had a perfect combination.

I was really confused by Neelix's repeated references to his own version of the soups, but then I checked the index and all was made clear. In the Voyager section of the cookbook, under Tuvok's recipes, Neelix has "Plomeek Soup la Neelix." He even says that this is the recipe that was "spoon-fed to Mr. Spock himself by Nurse Chapel." I looked over the ingredients, which not only included more varieties of vegetables but also called for curry powder and nutmeg. Hmm -- that could warrant a try some other time. I just find it odd that the Nurse Chapel reference is made here instead of simply putting her name on the TOS recipe.

"Scott Bakula's Honey Garlic Ribs" from Canadian TV Guide, May 2002

The accompanying article doesn't make it entirely clear whether these are actually Bakula's recipes or just ones the editors made up to match the discussion in the interview. I'm going to assume they're Bakula's, because it makes the exercise more fun.

At the outset, I just want to note that the three pounds of pork ribs I bought were butchered in the "St. Louis style," which makes a nice little homage to Bakula's hometown in Missouri. By the way, those three pounds of pork? Now completely gone at the publication of this piece.

This was a pretty straightforward recipe -- much like its creator, you could say -- and I don't have too many comments on the process. When dealing with the garlic, I preferred to whack the whole garlic cloves with a pestle before mincing them with my knife. The whacking actually brings out more of the garlic essence than simple mincing. Also, when making the marinade it's a good idea to make sure the hoisin sauce is completely assimilated into the other ingredients; otherwise you'll get random pockets of hoisin all over the ribs. Whisking with a fork does the trick. Finally, the recipe says to put the ribs and the marinade in a roasting pan and then bake them for an hour at 350 degrees. I think that's fine, but now I have a pan that's going to be impossible to clean, as all the sugars present in the marinade turned to fossil fuel in the oven.

Taste Test: Yum -- these ribs turned out perfectly. I am so glad I took the time to marinate the ribs overnight, because it really made a huge difference. I'm actually pretty picky about my ribs, so it thrills me to report that these ribs were juicy, succulent, and delicious. For the last few minutes when the ribs were basted and shoved under the broiler, I actually changed pans so as to avoid a potential fire in my oven with that charcoaled marinade. Despite the rather monochromatic presentation on the plate, the ribs went quite happily with Bones's Beans. Together, they are a match made in heaven. Like me and Spock.

Scariest thing about this recipe? The ribs furrowed at me.

Lest my incredibly generous posters think all my critiques mean I am disappointed in the Star Trek Cookbook, I should say that these are only three recipes out of the entire book. I love the cookbook for what it is -- all the funny notes and comments and authentic recipes from the actors. I especially cracked up over Jeri Ryan's section: "Although a meal is no longer just six of one," "Anything from a 7-Eleven store," "Borg Tricorder Pie," and the comment Ryan makes that having her dishes taste terrific was her number-one priority even though the requirement that they be low in fat was her "costume's number-one priority," were all hysterical and just showed what a great sense of humor she has.

Additionally, there are many, many times when Neelix (or Ethan Phillips) lets his own humor shine through. For instance, in the notes for "Gala Apple Pie," Neelix says, "Let's talk about pastry crusts. Sure, you can make your own, whip up the ingredients in an automatic bread machine, and then roll it out on a sheet. Sure you can do that. You could also try to make your gums bleed with your tongue." I'm going to leave my strong opinions about store-bought pie crust aside and just give that a big "BWAH!" Quark's foreword "as told to Armin Shimerman" is also not to be missed.

I do think there are significant things left out of this book that should have been included. Just think of all those delectables they could add from that new series they're airing -- pee-can pah, pan-fried catfish, CARROTS, Phlox's phavorites, and many other things -- plus the things they forgot like Kirk's Ktarian eggs from Star Trek Generations, the beautiful Samarian Sunset cocktail, and food cubes!

I guess this just means I'll have to be called up as Chef Editor of Star Trek Cookbook II: The Wrath of Flan.