Cooking Without a Net

There are two kinds of cooks: those who willingly flirt with disaster and those who don’t. I belong in the first category, as evidenced by the spectacular failures that have punctuated my long tenure in the kitchen. To wit:

The spinach frittata I made to impress a boyfriend, who spent our romantic dinner spitting out the sand I had neglected to wash from the spinach leaves; the pie that caught fire in the oven; the gnocchi that dissolved into mush; the honey-fried chicken that was a half-raw mess under its golden crust; the nouvelle cuisine Thanksgiving dinner that everyone hated--all these and more have been wrought by my capable hands.

They weren’t the proudest moments of my life, but I didn’t brood over them either. I’m no Julia Child, but I share her merry insouciance toward the mistakes that sometimes result from what she calls “fooling around.” Let’s face it--cooking is all too often a quotidian chore. To escape the realm of the ordinary, I like to try new recipes in front of expectant guests. It’s the culinary equivalent of working without a net, and it gives me a buzz. But there are bound to be a few slip-ups.

“I can’t believe you’re cooking things for a dinner party that you’ve never made before,” mused one of my friends as she watched me fumble with empanada dough and blobs of mashed root vegetables. “We always practice first.”

I don’t know about her family, but mine greets a plateful of sweet potato empanadas with less than unbridled enthusiasm. “Pearls before swine” is how another friend puts it. At least the guests at my dinner parties are obliged to express polite gratitude for my venturesome efforts. When the party’s over, I throw those recipes in a drawer and seldom use them again. Not because they don’t turn out well--most of them do--but because they’re no longer new and unpredictable. The thrill, you might say, is gone.

But there are times--now more than ever, I ruefully admit--when I don’t want thrills. I want to sit serenely on the couch and enjoy my guests instead of dashing around the kitchen, narrowly averting catastrophe of one sort or another. On these occasions, I need an entree that I can depend on, but one that’s also guaranteed to dazzle. I need something that can be prepared in advance, slipped in the oven when guests arrive and served when we get good and ready--without losing texture and flavor. In short, I need budin Azteca.

This magical casserole of chiles, tomatillos, tortillas, cheese and chicken comes from Diane Kennedy’s “The Cuisines of Mexico.” It’s one of the few dinner-party recipes I’ve made over and over again, for good reason. Though it takes several hours to assemble, all the hard work is done ahead of time. With simple side dishes of black beans and a fruit or green salad, it stretches to feed up to a dozen people. And it’s endlessly adaptable to whim: You can eliminate the chicken or use shredded pork instead; add some corn; substitute a rustic tomato sauce for the tomatillo sauce--or try both. If poblanos aren’t available, use Anaheims. It will be more or less picante depending on the heat of the peppers.

Budin Azteca (“budin” means pie in Spanish) turns out differently each time I make it, but it’s always delicious and virtually disaster-proof. Sometimes it’s best to go with the sure thing--and leave the risky business for another day.

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BUDIN AZTECA

Adapted from Diana Kennedy’s “The Cuisines of Mexico” (Harper & Row, 1972)

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Serves 8 to 10

About 20 tomatillos, husks removed and rinsed

1 large onion, cut in half

2 cloves garlic

1/4 teaspoon sugar

3/4 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons vegetable oil, plus extra to soften tortillas

8 poblano chile peppers

2 dozen small corn tortillas

2 cups poached chicken, lightly salted and shredded (I cook and debone a medium-sized fryer, about 3 1/2 pounds)

1 1/2 cups sour cream

1 3/4 cups grated Monterey Jack or queso asadero cheese

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Put tomatillos in saucepan, barely cover with water, bring to boil and simmer 10 minutes. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup cooking water. Chop 1/2 onion and garlic in food processor. Add tomatillos, reserved cooking water, sugar and 1/2 teaspoon salt and blend to make sauce. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in skillet and cook sauce over high heat 8 minutes until thickened.

Roast poblano chile peppers under broiler until slightly charred on all sides. Put in plastic bag to “sweat” 15 minutes. Remove skins and cut peppers into strips. Saute 1/2 onion in 2 tablespoons oil until soft. Add peppers and 1/4 teaspoon salt and cook a few minutes longer. Let cool.

Heat small amount of oil in small skillet and lightly cook tortillas one by one for a few seconds until warm. Drain on paper towels. (You can skip this step, but the tortillas hold up better in the casserole after being “fried.”) Spread 1/3 of tortillas in bottom of large casserole dish. Layer with half of chicken and peppers and 1/3 of sauce, sour cream and cheese. Repeat layers and finish with remaining sauce, sour cream and cheese. Bake at 350 degrees 30 minutes. Serve.

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Food stylist: Christine Anthony-Masterson