AJ's Words to Chew By

Guanciale Pasta alla Gricia

2008-07-19T08:03:00.000-07:00

This was the New York Times recipe for Pasta alla Gricia that accompanied the great article by Florence Fabricant for Bucatini all’Amatriciana (or more specifically, the article was about guanciale). Micheal Tucker also gave a demo on the Martha Stewart show for Bucatini all’Amatriciana. I was not impressed with the NY Times version of Bucatini all'Amatricana, but we both loved the Pasta alla Gricia. However, you'll notice that Tucker really upped the fat, cheese, and guanciale for Martha's show (and audience). It makes me wonder if New Yorkers are that willing to give up flavor for calories, or if the rest of America needs huge boosts of flavor for satisfaction.

Recipe: Pasta alla Gricia from the New York Times

Published: January 16, 2008
Adapted from Sandro Fioriti
Time: 20 minutes
Salt
1 pound bucatini or rigatoni
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 small onion, sliced thin
6 ounces guanciale, in 1-inch slivers 1/4-inch thick
Freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup grated aged pecorino cheese, more for serving.
1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and add bucatini or rigatoni.
2. Meanwhile, place a 12-inch skillet over medium heat, add olive oil, onion and guanciale. Cook until onion is translucent and barely starting to brown. Remove from heat.
3. When pasta is al dente, drain it, reserving 1 cup pasta water. Transfer pasta to skillet, place over medium-low heat and toss with guanciale and onion. Season with salt and generously with pepper; fold in about half the pasta water and the cheese. Toss, adding more pasta water as needed to help cheese coat pasta. Check seasoning and serve, with more cheese on the side.
Yield: 4 to 6 servings.

Recipe: Bucatini all’Amatriciana
Published: January 16, 2008
Adapted from Michael Tucker
Time: 45 minutes
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, sliced thin
3 cloves garlic, sliced
1/4 pound guanciale, in 1-inch slivers 1/4 -inch thick
3 cups canned San Marzano tomatoes (about a 28-ounce can)
1/2 teaspoon red chili flakes, or to taste
Salt
1/4 cup grated aged pecorino cheese, more for serving
1 pound bucatini.
1. Heat oil in a 12-inch skillet. Add onion and garlic, and sauté over medium heat until transparent. Add guanciale and sauté until barely beginning to brown.
2. Break up tomatoes and add. Cook about 15 minutes, crushing tomatoes with a spoon, until sauce has become somewhat concentrated and homogenized. Season with chili and salt and stir in 1 tablespoon cheese. Remove from heat.
3. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, add bucatini and cook until al dente, about 9 minutes. Drain and transfer to skillet. Gently reheat contents of skillet, folding pasta and tomato sauce together until they are heated through and pasta is well-coated, about 5 minutes. Fold in remaining cheese. Check seasoning and serve with more cheese on the side.
Yield: 4 to 6 servings.

From Michael Tucker and as adapted from the New York Times by the Martha Stewart show.
Serves 4 to 6
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoons butter
1/2 pound guanciale, cut into 1-by-1/4-inch pieces
1 yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 small clove garlic, sliced
3 cups (from about one 28-ounce can) canned whole plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
Coarse salt
1 pound bucatini pasta
1 1/2 cups freshly grated aged pecorino cheese, plus more for serving

1. Heat oil and butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add guanciale and cook, stirring, until barely beginning to brown. Add onion and garlic and cook, stirring, until translucent.

2. Crush tomatoes and add to skillet. Cook, crushing tomatoes with the back of a spoon, until sauce has thickened, about 15 minutes; season with red pepper flakes and salt.

3. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, add bucatini and cook until al dente, about 5 minutes. Drain and transfer to skillet. Return skillet to heat and fold pasta and sauce together until heated through, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat. Fold in 1 1/2 cups cheese; season with salt and serve immediately with more cheese, if desired.

Blueberry Scones

2008-07-19T08:01:00.000-07:00

Blueberry Scones From Cooks Illustrated
Published: July 1, 2007
Makes 8

It is important to work the dough as little as possible—work quickly and knead and fold the dough only the number of times called for. The butter should be frozen solid before grating. In hot or humid environments, chill the flour mixture and workbowls before use. While the recipe calls for 2 whole sticks of butter, only 10 tablespoons are actually used (see step 1). If fresh berries are unavailable, an equal amount of frozen berries (do not defrost) can be substituted. An equal amount of raspberries, blackberries, or strawberries can be used in place of the blueberries. Cut larger berries into 1/4- to 1/2-inch pieces before incorporating. Refrigerate or freeze leftover scones, wrapped in foil, in an airtight container. To serve, remove foil and place scones on a baking sheet in a 375-degree oven. Heat until warmed through and recrisped, 8 to 10 minutes if refrigerated, 16 to 20 minutes if frozen. See final step for information on making the scone dough in advance.
INGREDIENTS
16 tablespoons unsalted butter (2 sticks), frozen whole (see note above)
1 1/2 cups fresh blueberries (about 7 1/2 ounces), picked over (see note)
1/2 cup whole milk
1/2 cup sour cream
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (10 ounces), plus additional for work surface
1/2 cup sugar (3 1/2 ounces), plus 1 tablespoon for sprinkling
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon table salt
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 425 degrees. Score and remove half of wrapper from each stick of frozen butter. Following photo at left, grate unwrapped ends on large holes of box grater (you should grate total of 8 tablespoons). Place grated butter in freezer until needed. Melt 2 tablespoons of remaining ungrated butter and set aside. Save remaining 6 tablespoons butter for another use. Place blueberries in freezer until needed.
2. Whisk together milk and sour cream in medium bowl; refrigerate until needed. Whisk flour, 1/2 cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and lemon zest in medium bowl. Add frozen butter to flour mixture and toss with fingers until thoroughly coated.
3. Add milk mixture to flour mixture; fold with spatula until just combined. With rubber spatula, transfer dough to liberally floured work surface. Dust surface of dough with flour; with floured hands, knead dough 6 to 8 times, until it just holds together in ragged ball, adding flour as needed to prevent sticking.
4. Roll dough into approximate 12-inch square. Following illustrations, fold dough into thirds like a business letter, using bench scraper or metal spatula to release dough if it sticks to countertop. Lift short ends of dough and fold into thirds again to form approximate 4-inch square. Transfer dough to plate lightly dusted with flour and chill in freezer 5 minutes.
5. Transfer dough to floured work surface and roll into approximate 12-inch square again. Sprinkle blueberries evenly over surface of dough, then press down so they are slightly embedded in dough. Using bench scraper or thin metal spatula, loosen dough from work surface. Roll dough, pressing to form tight log. Lay seam-side down and press log into 12 by 4-inch rectangle. Using sharp, floured knife, cut rectangle crosswise into 4 equal rectangles. Cut each rectangle diagonally to form 2 triangles and transfer to parchment-lined baking sheet.
6. Brush tops with melted butter and sprinkle with remaining tablespoon sugar. Bake until tops and bottoms are golden brown, 18 to 25 minutes. Transfer to wire rack and let cool 10 minutes before serving.
To Make Ahead:After placing the scones on the baking sheet, either refrigerate them overnight or freeze. When ready to bake, for refrigerated scones, heat oven to 425 degrees and follow directions in step 6. For frozen scones, heat oven to 375 degrees, follow directions in step 6, and extend cooking time to 25 to 30 minutes.

End of Gypsy dinners in Seattle

2008-04-10T21:23:00.000-07:00

It was such a good time, it was bound to come to an end. Could anyone have predicted it would be an inside job, though? Today, Gypsy Dinners as we know them came to an end. Someone narked on the the associated cooking school, Culinary Communion, where most of the dinners took place, noting that it served wine to its students. This is a no-no in the Nanny state of Washington: as people paid for the class, so in effect they are paying for the wine, and the school did not have a liquor licence. So the school was fined, and threatened with random auditting. An email was sent out placing all wine and drink classes on hold until locations can be found.
To be on the safe side, Gypsy dinners were cancelled. Below is the emailed announcement:

April 10, 2008 (8 days shy of 4 years)
Camelot has ended. We wake up, we go
to work, we come home, we occasionally eat out. Most lives are fashioned after
this pattern. Most restaurant's lives are as well: make food, sell food, clean
up, go home. Sometimes, a very magical sometimes, restaurants are able to
trancend the merely ordinary and in doing so, transform to some small degree the
lives of its patrons. Gypsy has been this magical place for many many people.
New friends, new ideas, new love, a salon of creativity. But as with all things
destined to touch hearts, evil waits to take it away. We have been betrayed.
Gypsy as we know it was too scary a place to exist, so now it doesn't. We are
going much deeper underground. Those who really know how to get ahold of us,
please email (please don't call us), we will start a new list, a more protected
list. Dinners are cancelled for all intents and purposes. And to the traitor to
the clan we offer you this: May you never sleep well, may laughter sound bitter
in your ears, and may food always taste like ashes to you...this is our Gypsy
curse. You have destroyed a good thing.

Of course, they will be back, more cloak and dagger than before, and not so "wink, wink, nudge, nudge (secret dinner coming--be there)".

We got turned on to our first dinner a few years back and sat with a riot of a table. To tell you the truth, I wanted the office to supply me with a blackberry so I knew instantly when a dinner was announced--although I quickly learned that even if I could afford the dinner, I could not eat like that except once in a blue moon. One of my earlier blog entries, and certainly the most googled, regards the dinner prepared for Anthony Bourdain, where I got to eat at the rehearsal dinner. We made some great friends through the network that developed, so it is truly sad that it seems as though someone, for some disgruntled reason, told authorities all sorts of things just to ruin the party for the rest of the community.

Everyone will have to be more careful, more secretive, maybe even more selective. The inspiration and drive of Gypsy will bring it back stronger than before, but it will be different, less innocent.

Top Chef cookbook, or recipes to diminish your brand

2008-04-09T08:54:00.000-07:00

The first article I read this morning was Betty Hallock's review of Bravo's Top Chef Cookbook. I enjoy the show as much as anyone (but not enough to watch it live--thanks, Tivo!). And I have made quite a few recipes, enough that I could strongly say that the show was never going to be Top Cookbook. Recipes were full of errors, with steps omitted, incorrect quantities of ingredients listed, or just blatantly poor instructions given.

Hallock wastes no time in butchering this downed cow of a cookbook (Michael Ruhlman, if you are reading this, please consider "Downed Cow Cookbook" for Golden Clog awards worst cookbook). She laughs at (not with) the "Top Coifs" and trivia pages, and then asks "But can you actually cook from it? Would anyone want to?" She lists the trite diagrams, advice, lists of ingredients, and further trivia, before dismissing the idea that anyone would want to prepare losing dishes, and the more gimmicky challenges.

She tries a few recipes, notably Marcel Vigneron's curried lamb kabobs, which she says were good. But the intern's attempt at a Quickfire winner Sunflower Seeds & Carrot Loaf, with Cilantro, Sesame & Squirt is "wretched", despite guest judge Suzanne Goins (one of my favorite chefs!) declaring it the winner on the show. This looks like one of the overpriced treats we give our pet bunnies, so maybe we will prepare it for them, minus the Squirt.

We tried to have a dinner club based on the Top Chef recipes. But after so many miserable attempts by some talented home cooks, we gave up. And if the recipes are dubious, then the computer printing method is heinous. Clicking the Print it button puts a single-page recipe on two pages, with the right side cut off. It is basic software programming--like the recipes, does anyone at Bravo test these things before they make them public?

Below are a few examples of recipes I tried at home.

Once I made the hot diabetic (Sam) Spicy Shrimp Ceviche with Chili Pepper Popcorn. This called for 6 oz medium uncooked shrimp to be "cooked" in a mixture of sliced red onion, 1 cup red wine vinegar, and 1/4 cup of sugar. A 1/4 cup of the mixture is placed over a salsa verde made with the juice of one lemon. This was his entry for Anger as part of Seven Deadly Sins Challenge. Ummm, it was more like envy or Sour. This was so acidic and sour that I could have used it clean the kitchen floor. There were far too few shrimp for the number of servings listed (was the wrong shrimp size listed, or the wrong quantity?)

I put it in a martini glass here, but also tried it in little Japanese bowls, where it took on a more Asian look, with the greens mounded to one side, the popcorn to another, and the shrimp and onions nestled amongst them. Either way it was barely edible.

But I did end up with a bag of popcorn. I hated popcorn until this day. Microwaved popcorn tastes nothing like stove-popped, nor does anything from the cinema, no matter how fancy they claim it to be. Since that day, we have been popping popcorn in duck fat, confit fat, bacon fat, foie gras fat, EVO, and browned butter. Duck confit fat remains our favorite though the experiments continue.

Remember Howie at the barbecue challenge? When he and his previous rival seemed to find admiration for one another over each other's meat? (sorry for the innuendo) He made a Braised Pork Shoulder with Yuca Sour Orange Mojo, that although it didn't win, somehow seemed more appealing. Reading the actual recipe, though, was less appealing and created doubt from the get go. For 6-8 servings it called for 6# pork butt, 5# yuca, 1 1/2 gallons of chicken stock, and a gallon of orange juice. I made some adjustments along the way, and the dish was OK.

Bravo and Top chef producers--get on the ball! Monitor the comments made by your readers, consult with the chefs, hire staff away from Cooks Illustrated's test kitchen to properly test your recipes, and correct the website. The goal is to keep eyeballs, not repel them.

I had high hopes for Dale's Colorado Rack of Lamb (better known as lamb in duck fat). It is pretty ingenious, yet so obvious, that I am sure a lot of talented chefs are kicking themselves over not having thought of it first, or more likely, not getting into the public domain first. The recipe looks OK, but somehow it fell short. I might try it again, but I can tell you that it certainly deterred me from some of the more adventurous recipes like Marcel's Sea Urchin & Meyer Lemon Gelee.

For being so annoying and in your face himself, Marcel's Cucumber and Radish Salad with a Citrus Yuzu Vinaigrette was surprisingly subtle and delicious. A friend would call it "precious food" but in this case the careful arrangement and attention to knife skills increased the overall flavor and appreciation. I would have made more of these for a dinner party, but didn't want to invest in those metal rings. However, Martha Stewart on her show with Ripert, said just make them out of used plastic water bottles or plastic food containers. She is so crafty as Boloud pointed out twice. BTW watch out for salt in prepared yuzu juice. It is not always listed.

It is surprising that so many people involved (chefs, producers, sponsors, et al) are letting their hard work and talent go down the drain, or into the garbage. You work hard to establish a brand, so why let it go down the tube because of a complacent editors, producers, and pissy webmasters? Take your balls back guys, rework your recipes until they are perfect, and then release them. The magic of television only works on TV, not on the taste buds.

Locavore and the bigger picture

2008-04-08T09:15:00.000-07:00

National Retail Federation (the Voice of Retail Worldwide) in its trade magazine "Stores" has legitmized the "locavore" with the April cover story on the growing movement, calling it "a zeitgeist of 21st century retailing that describes the way an increasing number of people shop which, in turn, is impacting the way supermarkets stock their shelves."
This is the magazine that usually covers items like the effect of the current economy on affluent spending.

A more informed article, and adding several shades of gray to the matter appeared in the New Yorker by Michael Specter "Big Foot: In measuring carbon emissions, it’s easy to confuse morality and science". He turns common sense of buying local on its head when he interviews Adrian Williams, an agricultural researcher in the Natural Resources Department of Cranfield University, in England. "He has been commissioned by the British government to analyze the relative environmental impacts of a number of foods. 'The idea that a product travels a certain distance and is therefore worse than one you raised nearby—well, it’s just idiotic,' he said. 'It doesn’t take into consideration the land use, the type of transportation, the weather, or even the season. Potatoes you buy in winter, of course, have a far higher environmental ticket than if you were to buy them in August.' Williams pointed out that when people talk about global warming they usually speak only about carbon dioxide. Making milk or meat contributes less CO2 to the atmosphere than building a house or making a washing machine. But the animals produce methane and nitrous oxide, and those are greenhouse gases, too. 'This is not an equation like the number of calories or even the cost of a product,' he said. 'There is no one number that works.'
Three examples are cited:

New Zealand apples v. United States or Norther European apple
The environmental burden imposed by importing apples from New
Zealand to Northern Europe or New York can be lower than if the apples were
raised fifty miles away. “In New Zealand, they have more sunshine than in the
U.K., which helps productivity,” Williams explained. That means the yield of New
Zealand apples far exceeds the yield of those grown in northern climates, so the
energy required for farmers to grow the crop is correspondingly lower. It also
helps that the electricity in New Zealand is mostly generated by renewable
sources, none of which emit large amounts of CO2.
New Zealand Lamb v British lamb
Researchers at Lincoln University, in Christchurch,
found that lamb raised in New Zealand and shipped eleven thousand miles by boat
to England produced six hundred and eighty-eight kilograms of carbon-dioxide
emissions per ton, about a fourth the amount produced by British lamb. In part,
that is because pastures in New Zealand need far less fertilizer than most
grazing land in Britain (or in many parts of the United States).
Air-shipped Kenyan roses v Holland roses in England
Williams and his colleagues recently completed a study that examined the
environmental costs of buying roses shipped to England from Holland and of those
exported (and sent by air) from Kenya. In each case, the team made a complete
life-cycle analysis of twelve thousand rose stems for sale in February—in which
all the variables, from seeds to store, were taken into consideration. They even
multiplied the CO2 emissions for the air-freighted Kenyan roses by a factor of
nearly three, to account for the increased effect of burning fuel at a high
altitude. Nonetheless, the carbon footprint of the roses from Holland—which are
almost always grown in a heated greenhouse—was six times the footprint of those
shipped from Kenya. Even Williams was surprised by the magnitude of the
difference. “Everyone always wants to make ethical choices about the food they
eat and the things they buy,” he told me. “And they should. It’s just that what
seems obvious often is not. And we need to make sure people understand that
before they make decisions on how they ought to live.”

Of course, if we didn't insist on tasteless giant strawberries in the dead of winter or roses in February then all of this would be moot, now wouldn't it? Buy local, buy seasonal.

A Return to Blogging

2007-12-29T14:18:00.000-08:00

Hmmm, it has been awhile since I posted. I have been busy as hell, but also, since I don't have to fight Dale for the computer, it has sort of lost its impetus. And that time suck of a yard: last year we started on the roof terrace, making a temporary, non-structural arbor to provide shade from the elusive Seattle sun. Then this year, it was all about the dining terrace in the backyard. That was a time and money suck.

So to ease my way back in, I am going to make this an easy post.

We both love licorice (black, of course), and its family of flavors: fennel, anise, Pernod, Absinthe. So when it came to Christmas cookie baking, I decided to try something different than the usual chocolate, cinnamon, ginger, et al. I found two anise cookies. Anise Drops are by Martha Stewart, and were first featured in her Holiday Cookies; the other is an adaptation by Amanda Hesser of a Dorie Greenspan recipe. Martha's had a fantastic texture, and was pretty simple. Dorie's, however, had a better flavor, but was more complex to make, and it went hard in a few days. Dorie's texture at first was fluffy and chewy, with a slightly crunchy shell, almost like a meringue. Martha's recipe produced a similar texture, but was even more meringue like, with a harder shell, and still chewy inside. Admittedly I didn’t wait the 4-8 hours for Greenspan’s cookies. I am sure they would have been amazing, but who has that much counter real estate during the holidays?

I should also mention that Dale and a coworker made Martha’s recipe, and since we ate so many, we immediately threw together a second batch.

So below are both recipes, followed by a third that combines the best of both.

Anise Drops (Martha Stewart 2007)

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
3 large eggs
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 teaspoon anise extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt into a medium bowl; set aside.

Put eggs in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Mix on medium speed until eggs are fluffy, about 3 minutes. Gradually beat in the sugar until incorporated, about 3 minutes. Mix in anise extract. Reduce speed to low; mix in flour mixture. Transfer to a pastry bag fitted with a coupler or a 1/2-inch plain tip (such as an Ateco No. 806). Pipe 1 3/4-inch rounds onto baking sheets lined with parchment paper, spacing 1/2 inch apart.

Bake cookies, rotating sheets halfway through, until tops crack and cookies are very pale, 8 to 9 minutes. Transfer to wire racks using a spatula; let cool. Cookies can be stored in airtight containers at room temperature up to 3 days.

Anise Cookies "Paris Sweets," by Dorie Greenspans

Time: 1 hour, plus 4 to 8 hours' resting

2 cups sugar
3 tablespoons anise seeds
4 large eggs, at room temperature
2 cups all-purpose flour.

Line two baking sheets with Silpat mats. Fit a medium pastry bag with a 3/8-inch plain round tip (or use a small spoon).
Put sugar and anise seeds in bowl of a food processor, and process 1 minute to flavor sugar with anise. Pour sugar though a strainer into bowl of a mixer; discard anise seeds that remain in strainer. Crack eggs into bowl, and using whisk attachment, whip eggs and sugar at high speed until thick and pale, about 3 minutes. When you lift the whisk, the mixture should fall back on itself and form a slowly dissolving ribbon. Using a large rubber spatula, add flour through a strainer, folding it in gently in two additions.
Pipe or spoon rounds of the batter, each about 2 inches across, onto the Silpat mats, leaving about 1/2 inch between rounds. Let them rest, uncovered, at room temperature for 4 to 8 hours.
Position racks to divide oven into thirds, and preheat it to 350 degrees.
Bake cookies 12 to 15 minutes, rotating pans front to back and top to bottom midway, until they turn pale, almost white, and release easily from the Silpat mat. Transfer cookies to a rack, and cool to room temperature.
Yield: about 70 cookies.

AJ’s Anise Cookies

1 1/4 cups sugar
2 tablespoons anise seeds
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
3 large eggs

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Put sugar and anise seeds in bowl of a food processor, and process 1 minute to flavor sugar with anise. Pour sugar though a strainer into bowl of a mixer; save anise seeds that remain in strainer for another use. Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt into a medium bowl; set aside.

Put eggs in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Mix on medium speed until eggs are fluffy, about 3 minutes. Gradually beat in the sugar until incorporated, about 3 minutes. Reduce speed to low; mix in flour mixture. Transfer to a pastry bag fitted with a coupler or a 1/2-inch plain tip (such as an Ateco No. 806). Pipe or spoon 1 3/4-inch rounds onto baking sheets lined with parchment paper, spacing 1/2 inch apart.

Bake cookies, rotating sheets halfway through, until tops crack and cookies are very pale, 8 to 9 minutes. Transfer to wire racks using a spatula; let cool. Cookies can be stored in airtight containers at room temperature up to 3 days.

Yield: about 50 cookies.

Equipment
I used this amazing silicone-coated parchment paper from Finland. It wasn’t cheap but I chalked that up to being “green” and at Whole Foods. But it has lasted a looong time. Sheets can be simply wiped off, and reused. And reused. And reused. Unlike many parchment paper, this is not bleached, nor does it contain chrome, a heavy metal.

Cookie sheets: the highly rated and heavy Vollrath. They stay hot a long time, so be sure to have extras while the first batch cools. They make an excellent wedding gift. http://www.cooksillustrated.com/images/document/testing/MJ05_CookieSheets.pdf

Molten Baked Alaska

2006-09-12T22:59:00.000-07:00

WARNING: This is probably some of my worst writing ever. Its a cobbling of disparate recipes, over months, on 6 different computers.

Dale brought up a good point the other day as I proposed a cake for Tom's birthday. He said that everyone should know the favorite birthday cake of a significant other. (His tone of voice told me to take this seriously.) You can't just make something because you want to; it has to be the person's favorite. Since I haven't been asked what my favorite birthday cake is for years, I had to stop and consider this. True, Auntie H always made me a blueberry pie when I was a kid, but for adults?

So I gave Larry a call and had him determine what is Tom's favorite. It was chocolate, so for Tom's birthday, I decided on a variation of the ubiquitous molten chocolate cake, Baked Alaska, and Nutella.

(What I love about Baked Alaska as an architect is how the air bubble of the meringue act as an insulating layer against the heat of the over, keeping the ice cream from melting. Foam beer cup wraps at the foorball games do the same thing.)

Then I made a pact with Dale to clean the house of all my old copies of the New Yorker, Architectural Record, and the NY Times. This is setting a course for disaster. I mean come on: my ADD and addiction to magazines?!?!? Hours of distractions later, I came across this article from the NY Times for a layer cake with a heart of darkness, a heart of bittersweet chocolate darkness, an oozing fudgy center. Its like a layer cake elevated to nectar of the gods.

Following are the components for an amazing Baked Alaska.

Axo Chocolate Cake
Time: 40 minutes, plus 3 hours for cooling

8 ½ ounces (2 sticks plus 1 tablespoon) unsalted butter, more for greasing pan
7 ounces bittersweet chocolate (50 percent or higher cocoa), chopped
5 large eggs, separated
1 cup sugar
½ cup all-purpose flour
Pinch of salt

1. Place rack in top third of oven and heat to 400 degrees. (For best results, use a separate oven thermometer.) Butter a 9-inch springform pan and set aside. In a double boiler or microwave oven, melt together 8 ½ ounces butter and the chocolate. Stir to blend.
2. In a medium bowl, stir together egg yolks and sugar. Stir in flour. Add chocolate mixture and stir until smooth. Using an electric mixer, whisk egg whites and salt until stiff but not dry. Fold whites into chocolate mixture just until blended. Pour into cake pan.
3. Bake for 25 minutes. Remove cake from oven and allow to cool for 1 hour. Wrap with foil and refrigerate until cake is firm and cold, at least 2 hours. Two hours before serving, remove cake from refrigerator and bring to room temperature. Slice (center of cake will be fudgy) and serve, if desired, with whipped cream.

Ice Cream:
3 pints best-quality vanilla ice cream
1/4 cup nutella

Line 8" round cake pan with plastic wrap with enough to wrap over the top. Scoop ice cream into pan, smoothing into corners and flattening top. Pull the overhanging plastic over, and place in the freezer. Freeze overnight.

Meringue:
4 large egg whites, room temperature
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla

For Assembly/Meringue: Bring egg whites to room temperature in a medium, stainless or copper bowl. Stir together both sugars in a small bowl, pressing out as many lumps as possible. Cover and set aside.

Twenty to thirty minutes before serving, adjust oven rack to one-third up from bottom of oven, preheat the oven to 475 degrees F. About 10 minutes before you want to bake the dessert, remove the cake layer (NOT the ice cream layer) from the freezer. Remove the wrappings from the cake, and place the cold (but not frozen) cake layer right side up on the foil-lined baking sheet. Spread with a nice layer of nutella.

Sift the cream of tartar into the egg whites. Beat whites at low speed to incorporate cream of tartar, then increase speed to high and beat until very foamy and white. Begin adding combined sugars, about two tablespoons at a time, beating after each addition until incorporated. After last addition, beat until meringue stands in stiff peaks; this will be a thick meringue.

Remove top plastic from ice cream, and center over the cake. Remove the pan and plastic.
Like icing a cake, fold about half the meringue onto the ice cream. With a flat knife or offset spatula, work the meringue down the sides of the cake and ice cream, going right down to the foil on the baking sheet. Repeat with remaining meringue; the ice cream and cake should be entirely and thickly covered with the meringue. Immediately place the dessert in the hot oven for 3-5 minutes, or just until the meringue is lightly browned. Remove from oven. Serve immediately! Pass optional sauce for everyone to pour on if they wish.

If you are inclined to glitter the already gilded lily, try this chocolate sauce from Cooks Illustrated (Jan 2002).

Simple Chocolate Sauce.
3/4 cup heavy cream
3 tablespoons light corn syrup
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into three pieces
table salt
6 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped fine

Bring heavy cream, corn syrup, butter, and salt to boil in small nonreactive saucepan over medium-high heat. Off heat, add chocolate while gently swirling saucepan. Cover pan and let stand until chocolate is melted, about 5 minutes. Uncover and whisk gently until combined, avoiding airbubbles. (Can be cooled to room temperature, placed in airtight container, and refrigerated for up to 3 weeks. To reheat, transfer sauce to heatproof bowl set over saucepan of simmering water. Alternatively, microwave at 50 percent power, stirring once or twice, 1 to 3 minutes.)
Makes 1 1/2 cups

Riding the Gravy Train: Sausage Gravy and Biscuits

2006-09-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

Man, these Southerners are a lot of work. Just because they lost the war, they think they have the right to turn their noses up at all things and ways Northern: our iced tea, our hospitality, our peaches, our porches (OK, anyone who has moved here recently can give you examples of Seattle hospitality, aka the “Seattle Freeze”). Yet of particular issue is that of biscuits. We Yankees just can’t get the biscuits right, according to them. They are either too light and crumbly or too dense.

Well after making biscuits for Dale, I have figured out the problem: Southerners. You see, Southerners have two different kinds of biscuits in mind. The first is light and crumbly and is perfect with jam, honey or other preserves and lots of black coffee. The second is more firm, dense, and stands up to the onslaught of gravy with sausage bits. Prepared biscuit mixes don’t pass and most recipes don’t either. Biscuit mixture is more like a batter than a dough, so recipes that lacked enough liquid were pretty quickly passed over. Not surprisingly, the first recipe that passed Dale’s muster and received the highest accolade “These are just like my Mom’s!” came from Cooks: Mile High Biscuits. The interior was fluffy while the top was crisp; they rose high, but retained a tender crumb. My aunt’s freezer jam—which I hide from Dale—was delicious on them, and the entire batch was gone before the second pot of coffee brewed.

Interestingly enough, the original recipe adapted by the CI Bostonians was Floridian Shirley Corriher’s Touch-of-Grace Biscuits. After the triumph of her Lemon Meringue Pie, I couldn’t wait to try these. The recipe was extremely different from Cooks, but I nevertheless expected the same fluffy, tender biscuit. Wrong. In fact, they were so different I thought I might have done something wrong, until Dale explained that no, these were perfect gravy biscuits, and were just like his good grandmother’s. These were dense and not as flavorful as I used lard (even though it called for shortening, not butter. Even lovingly spread with butter and fresh strawberry jam we couldn’t finish them. (But the squirrel we tossed a chunk sure loved it as he devoured a chunk that proportionally for us would be size of a beach ball.)

The secret to both of these biscuits is a very wet dough, dropped into flour for ease of handling, then placed in a baking dish. The dollops of floured dough, as you gently pass from one hand to another feel like large powdered yolks, which threaten to spill into gooey globs at any second.

This Labor Day though, for all of his hard work on our cocktail party the day before, I made Dale Biscuits with Sausage Gravy. Of course, I used Corrihers Touch of Grace biscuits, but used butter instead (out of lard). They were out of this world. They were delicious as batter, with jam, with sausage gravy; they were tasty hot, cold, and even one day old. The crumb was firm, yet airy; the flavor was embracing, but let the preserves and the sausage shine. And the verdict from Dale? “These are better than my Mom’s and even she would agree.” For the hell of it, I included the Cook’s recipe but I say: One nation, one biscuit.

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Touch of Grace Biscuits Adapted from Shirley Corriher

2 cups self-rising, low-protein flour (aka Southern flour such as White Lily, Martha White or Red Band
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
Baking -------
4 tablespoons shortening or lard or butter
2/3 cup cream
1 cup buttermilk (approximate)
1 cup all-purpose all-purpose flour, for shaping
2 tablespoons butter, melted

Note: I used 1 ½ cups All-purpose flour with ½ cup cake flour and 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder with 1/8 tsp baking soda.

1. Heat oven to 425 F and arrange one shelf slightly below the center of the oven. Spray an 8- or 9-inch cake pan with nonstick cooking spray.

2. In a large mixing bowl, stir together the dry goods (minus the shaping flour). Work the shortening or lard in with your fingertips until there are no large lumps. Gently stir in the cream, then the buttermilk. (It may take less than 1 cup of buttermilk, or if you are using a higher protein flour, it may take more.) The dough should not be soupy, but should be wet and resemble cottage cheese.

3. Spread the all-purpose flour on a rimmed baking sheet. With an ice cream scoop or spoon, place 12 even mounds of dough in the flour. Sprinkle flour gently over each mound. Flour your hands, then gently pick up a mound, coat it with flour and gently shape into a round, shake off excess flour, and place it in the prepared cake pan, with 9 along the perimeter, and three in the center. Continue shaping biscuits the same way, placing each biscuit up tight against its neighbor in the pan, until the dough is used. Brush with melted butter.

4. Place pan in the oven and bake until lightly browned, about 20 to 30 minutes. Let biscuits rest two minutes. Invert into a towel or napkin-lined basket, turn right side up and break apart. Let rest a few more minutes to let the steam escape and serve.

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Seattle is famous for its seafood and coffee but it is also getting national raves for its charcuterie. Whether it’s a pound of kielbasa for the grill or a sausage sandwich from Uli’s Famous Sausages or a ¼ pound of lamb prosciutto from Salumi, these small producers of forcemeat are part of a small but growing national trend to embrace real meat cured or processed in time-honored, traditional ways.

Sausage Gravy Adapted from Uli’s Famous Sausages

1/2 pound of sausage, preferably spicier versions such as linguica, chorizo, or andouille
1/4 cup all purpose flour
2 cups of milk
1/2-teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

Remove casings and chop sausage. Cook sausage in medium saucepan over medium to high heat until browned, stirring to crumble. Drain off all fat except about 2 tablespoon. Stir in flour. Cook stirring constantly until thick and bubbly. If there is no or little fat, just keep stirring to cook the flour until thick. Gradually whisk in milk, salt and pepper. Cook stirring constantly until thickened and bubbly. About 5 minutes. Makes 4 servings.

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Mile High Biscuits Adapted from Cooks Illustrated

Dough
1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour (7 1/2 ounces)
1/2 cup whole wheat flour ( 2 1/2 ounces)
1 tablespoon double-acting baking powder
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon table salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
4 tablespoons unsalted butter (cold), cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1 ½ cups buttermilk cold, preferably low-fat

To Form and Finish Biscuits
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour (5 ounces), distributed in rimmed baking sheet
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 500 degrees. Spray 9-inch round cake pan with nonstick cooking spray; set aside. Generously spray inside and outside of 1/4 cup dry measure with nonstick cooking spray.
2. For the dough: In food processor, pulse flours, baking powder, sugar, salt, and baking soda to combine, about six 1-second pulses. Scatter butter cubes evenly over dry ingredients; pulse until mixture resembles pebbly, coarse cornmeal, eight to ten 1-second pulses. Transfer mixture to medium bowl. Add buttermilk to dry ingredients and stir with rubber spatula until just incorporated (dough will be very wet and slightly lumpy).
3. To form and bake biscuits: Using 1/4 cup dry measure and working quickly, scoop level amount of dough; drop dough from measuring cup into flour on baking sheet (if dough sticks to cup, use small spoon to pull it free). Repeat with remaining dough, forming 12 evenly sized mounds. Dust tops of each piece of dough with flour from baking sheet. With floured hands, gently pick up piece of dough and coat with flour; gently shape dough into rough ball, shake off excess flour, and place in prepared cake pan. Repeat with remaining dough, arranging 9 rounds around perimeter of cake pan and 3 in center. Brush rounds with hot melted butter, taking care not to flatten them. Bake 5 minutes, then reduce oven temperature to 450 degrees; continue to bake until biscuits are deep golden brown, about 15 minutes longer. Cool in pan 2 minutes, then invert biscuits from pan onto clean kitchen towel; turn biscuits right-side up and break apart. Cool 5 minutes longer and serve.

Keeping Cool, but Staying Sober

2006-07-24T21:49:00.000-07:00

Sorry, it sounds like I have joined a 12 step program. But I couldn't resist the alliteration and the reference to a previous post.

Seattle has been hot, hot, hot. Now I know the rest of the country has been hot, but you are dealing with a narcissistic Seattlite here. We don't have hot weather here, in fact, the great joy of Seattle is that there isn't any extreme weather here, except extremely beautiful and wonderful summers. Except this year.

Dale has been keeping me refreshed with his southern-style ice tea while I build the "cabana" on the roof terrace, and figure out how to install the drip irrigation system. Short of wearing my Camelback all day, I needed some other source of hydration than iced tea, so I have been supplying him with my own repertoire of iced drinks.

I love international travel, but Italy is my true love. The architecture, the food, the men, the language, the violent but art-filled culture, the clothes, the cars, the design, the history--it just goes on. France is wonderful, and the food at amny times beats Italy. Oddly, the only country that comes close is Japan, but more on that later. While I was working at Hadrian's Villa on an architectural dig, I was introduced to a most wonderful coffee beverage. No one can remember the name, but I thought it was a shakelatta. I probably am wrong. Anyway, it is best prepared by a younger and robust man, rather than the old men at the Italian coffee bars. The younger guys just put more energy into the preparation, and the result is so much better. An espresso shot is poured over ice into a martini shaker. A bit of sugar is added--your usual amount or to taste--and then the cap is secured. The barista then shakes the shaker vigorously for about 10 seconds, and this where the old guys peter out. They can't muster the energy to shake hard. When you pour the contents into a small glass, varying shades of brown foam layer over the icy luscious elixir. If it is only a so-so job of shaking, then the foam will be flat; but if the maker is a frustrated bartender working in a coffee shop, then he will shine, and the drink will amazing. Enjoy, and if you know the name, let me know.

When I went to Japan a few years ago, nothing had prepared me for the trip, albeit I had read Gateway to Japan, by Kinoshita/Palevsky, probably the best travel guidebook I have read in my adult life. The culture, religion, feudal wars, emphasis on food, national drink (tea), art, architecture and landscaping can only compare to Italy.

We went to the Ippodo Tea House, which has been in business since 1717. It deals only in the high quality teas of Uji. The building is an historic building, one of many original stores that have been preserved through the ages. While there we ordered many teas, but in that humidity, this frozen ice tea Ujishimizu made from wonderful matcha tea beat them all for pure refreshment.
You simply add water and ice or yogurt to a few teaspoons of the Ujishimizu and stir. It seems a little self-indulgent to order tea from Japan, but good quality tea is pretty expensive and the mark up is pretty high at these little boutique stores. Plus you never know what you are getting. The name and the package look/sound cool, but the product inside is gross.

But the quality of Ippodo is the highest (Mariage Frere has some of the worst green tea I have ever tasted), and the packaging is amazing. Order a little tin of matcha for a tea ceremony, and marvel at the wrapping as you unfold each layer of paper like so many petals. Matcha is not for everyone--planning a tea ceremony?--but with a little sugar as in Ujishimizu, you'll never look at ice tea again the same way.

Seattle NPR station KUOW did a special on iced tea and provided the following link to the guest speakers.

http://kuow.org/defaultProgram.asp?ID=11212
http://www.floatingleaves.com/Rob Bageant is the co-owner of Floating Leaves Tea; a Chinese tea house in Ballard.
http://seattleteacup.com/Merchant2/merchant.mvc?Screen=SFNT&Store_Code=T Elisabeth Knottingham is the owner of the Tea Cup on Queen Anne.

Tea houses http://www.nwsource.com/restaurants/guides/teahouses.html

Caramel French Toast

2006-07-18T11:50:00.000-07:00

This one is a hard one to photograph as the food is all gone before the camera is powered up! This will be perfect to serve to Tom and Larry as Larry embarks on the oh-so-tired Atkins diet.

When I make the Cooks Illustrated Breakfast Strata, there are no leftovers. It is one of the first dishes gone. Creamy, but with a slight bite, full of rich savory flavors, but not heavy, it perfectly fits the bill for brunch and soothes any possible hangovers from the night prior. It was guaranteed compliments and sighs of satisfaction--until it went up against Caramel French Toast, then King Sugar once again showed his reign over the American table.

We had rented the wonderfully refurbished beach house at Alki Beach for some friends’ going away party. It was a perfect June day by any standards, with the sunshine shimmering over the sea, children playing on the beach, and a parasailer soaring the sea breezes. Can you think of a better setting for a going away from Seattle party than where the settlers first landed? There was freshly made biscotti, pastries, fruit, Ezells’ fried chicken, my strata, and of course, Caramel French Toast.

My strata was in a 9x9 pan, and a few slices were gone by the time another guest unobtrusively placed a lasagna pan of bread gilded with brown sugar and butter. Within minutes, entire chunks were gone. As I watched its edges erode like a Florida seawall, and as I took my own second helping, I knew that I had a new favorite to serve at brunch.

Caramel French Toast

It’s a great dish to prepare to take to weekend house parties as no additional syrup or butter is needed, and you don’t need to worry about fickle ovens. And although over 500,000 entries came up when I googled the name, this recipe from that guest is one of the few that calls for an entire tablespoon of vanilla.

1 ½ cups firmly packed brown sugar
¾ cup butter
¼ cup + 2 tablespoons corn syrup
12 slices multi-grain or Orowheat Oatnut bread, cut into 4 pieces each
4 eggs, beaten
2 ½ cups milk
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons sugar
1 ½ tablespoons cinnamon
¼ cup butter, melted

1. Combine brown sugar, butter and corn syrup in a saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, for 5 minutes or until mixture is bubbly.

2. Pour syrup evenly into a greased 9 by 13 inch baking dish. Arrange half of the bread slices over syrup.

3. Combine eggs, milk, vanilla, salt, half of the sugar and half of the cinnamon; stir well. Slowly pour over bread slices. Add the remaing bread slices and pour the remaining egg mixture over them. Cover and chill for at least 8 hours or overnight.

4. When ready to bake, combine the remaining sugar and cinnamon, and sprinkle evenly over the soaked bread. Drizzle with the remaining butter.

5. Bake uncovered, at 350 for 45-50 minutes or until brown and bubbly.

BTW: Did French toast get renamed to Freedom Toast?

A Pasta for Favorite Company: Alain Ducasse’s Olive Mill Pasta

2006-07-07T15:37:00.000-07:00

A red, white and green pasta was called for in celebration of Italy’s victory. And so I turned to my favorite pasta dish, Alain Ducasse’s Olive Mill Pasta. Aside from the Parkhurst Pear recipe, this remains the all time most requested recipe of my modest repertoire.

As humble as the ingredients may be, it does not pay to cheat and use cheap pasta. “[U]se a high-quality hard-wheat pasta, a pasta made with old-fashioned bronze dies. It's usually labeled "artisanal." That kind of pasta has the best flavor and also a rougher texture, so it can grab the sauce.” Ditto using cheap stock or just plain water or worse, bullion cubes. See below for more information on artisinal pasta.

The technique is basically the same as risotto, but not as monotonous. Begin with a soffritto, add the potatoes, then pasta and stock and remaining ingredients. Its almost a cross between risotto and stew, and as satisfying as both.

Tasty, delicious, and simple in presentation as well as execution it lends itself to any informal gathering. And if you have everything prepped before guests arrive, then cooking for friends is every bit the pleasure it is supposed to be: “You're not just standing there waiting for a big pot of water to boil, and then waiting for the macaroni to cook, and then applying a sauce. You are participating every step of the way, stirring, seasoning, reducing the liquid, enjoying the warmth and aromas around you, trusting your palate and then sharing what you have prepared with others.”

This recipe originally appeared in the New York Times by Florence Fabricant and is now available in The Chefs of the Times.

Olive Mill Pasta Adapted from Alain Ducasse

Time: 45 minutes
Yield: 4 servings

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons butter
2 medium-small onions, minced
1/4 pound fingerling potatoes, peeled and sliced 1/4-inch thick (small red potatoes work well, too)
1 garlic clove, peeled and minced
5 1/2 cups, approximately, vegetable or light chicken stock
14 ounces artisanal strozzapreti pasta
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 medium-size ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded, juiced and diced, or 2/3 cup diced sun-dried tomatoes, not oil-cured, covered with boiling water and drained
1 garlic clove, peeled and crushed
8 branches fresh basil or arugula, leaves removed and slivered, stems lightly crushed
1 bunch scallions, trimmed, slant-cut in 1-inch pieces
3 ounces freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, about 1 cup.

1. Heat 1/4 cup oil in a 10-inch sauté pan. Add butter. When it melts, add onions and potatoes. Cook, stirring gently, over medium heat until they begin to turn golden. Add minced garlic, and cook one minute longer.
2. In a small saucepan, bring stock to a slow simmer.
3. Add pasta to sauté pan, and stir gently. Lightly season with salt and pepper, and add tomatoes, crushed garlic and herb stems. Add 1 1/2 cups stock. Cook, stirring gently, until nearly all stock has evaporated. Add scallions and another cup of stock, and cook, stirring, adding additional stock from time to time, so there is always some liquid in the pan, until pasta is al dente, about 18 minutes. Remove garlic and herb stems.
4. Fold in cheese and all but 1 tablespoon remaining oil. Add slivered herbs. Season with additional salt and pepper if needed. Transfer to warm soup plates, taking care that the ingredients are well distributed. Drizzle remaining oil over each and serve.

Yield: 4 servings.

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The Peduzzi brothers carry on the tradition of artisan pasta started by their grandfather in the 80 year old family-owned company, Rustichella d' Abruzzo, in Penne in the province of Pescara.
What makes Rustichella d' Abruzzo different from all other pastas and so worth the price? Two natural, ancient ingredients: stone-ground durum wheat flour from hard winter wheat and pure mountain water, and the use of bronze molds. (And the packaging!—when I purchase a bag of this, I wonder if this is how people feel when they walk out of Tiffany’s with little blue boxes.)

Rustichella d'Abruzzo uses a high gluten durum wheat semolina mixed with pure mountain water to give a unique flavor and toughness to the pasta. The hand-crafted pasta is extruded through highly prized bronze molds. These molds have enough texture that sauces will cling better to the extruded more roughly-textured pasta unlike most pasta which is shot through slick molds with modern speed and efficiency. The pasta is then dried slowly at low temperature for up to 50 hours at 35 degrees. (Typical industrial standard is 4-5 hours at 90 degrees.)

All of this care has been rewarded with an ISO 9002 certificate and a most delicious pasta.

Visit their website for more information and some unique recipes that highlight this artisinal pasta.

The best roast chicken--coming soon

2006-07-07T15:36:00.000-07:00

Did I win the highest accolade of all when Dale proclaimed that I had made the best roast chicken of his life? Coming soon, Russ Parson's dissection of a Zuni Cafe Roast Chicken.

No Reservations at a Seattle Gypsy Dinner

2006-07-04T14:44:00.000-07:00

I am one of those shark-like people that has to keep moving so he doesn’t die. This movement, of course, involves eating. I need constant nourishment, otherwise mood swings kick in and poor decisions. But yesterday, I had a meal that not only had me groaning as I lifted the last cinnamon-cream profiterole to my mouth, but has kept me from breakfast, lunch, and dinner today.

I had been invited to participate in a dress rehearsal dinner for Seattle’s premier if not only underground (ie, not legal) restaurant Gypsy (or click here). Gypsy is like a rave or a high school kegger—you have to know somebody to get in. It is like a dining club, similar to the Rainier Club or the Tower Club or the Ruins, but rather than being about society, a view, or faux exclusivity, it is about the food: sharing, tasting, enjoying, and discussing. Dinner may be in a private home at long communal tables or improvised two tops, or in larger rented spaces with professional kitchens.

As an architect, I know that the interior design has a great bearing on the atmosphere, but I also know that a lot of restaurant design sucks: too thematic, forced, or downright tacky. Yet, somehow in these makeshift restaurants, a multitude of sins is forgiven, including the no-credit cards policy.

I had heard about these sort of places before, most notably in the New York Times article Psst ... Alice Waters Sent Me which tracked several illegal restaurants of varying styles and price points. I initially had difficulty in finding out if Seattle had one, but once I found out the name, it was only a Google search away. And once I found the secret, it was as clear as the DaVinci Code, only better written.

I sent off an email for an application, and was a little dazed by the number of questions it asked. But then try shutting me up about food and myself. The reply "You sound cool! You're in!" had a tone that promised lots of fun, irreverent or otherwise. Later, emails would arrive out of the blue, with last minute openings or updated chef schedules. I admit getting a jump on the invites was the final, most compelling reason for getting the BlackBerry. Luckily for us, they are usually on Sunday, a school night, so we don't make it over there as often as we wish. But yesterday....

The rehearsal dinner was a trial run for Anthony Bourdain, author of Kitchen Confidential and the Nasty Bits: Collected Cuts, Useable Trim, Scraps and Bones, and we were being asked to give feed back on the food and wine pairings. Bourdain was in town filming footage here for his show No Reservations, and through a long string of communications, was on the trail of Gypsy. Gabriel Claycamp of Culinary Communion led the kitchen, and new Seattleite and Walla Wallian master sommelier Greg Harrington of Gramercy Wineries paired the food with some amazing wines. Desserts were by Dana Bickford of Earth and Ocean.

I immediatley was offered a glass of wine, but I passed since I predicted a rough work week ahead. But as we sat down to dinner and Champagne was poured for the amuse bouche, my defenses fell. I am not a big wine guy, and truth be told, while I like hearing professionals talk about it, non professionals annoy the bejeezes out me with their wine talk. This is all to lead up to the fact I took only a few notes on the wine (a Chateauneuf du Pape, a Chablis and about 25 others). But they were all good, although it was interesting how sometimes wine fell totally flat or trounced all the food. Greg Harrington was sampling away as well, and it was curious to watch him "work," as he filed away good and bad pairings and thought up alternatives for the latter.

What kinds of twists of fortune lead one to become a master sommelier? It can't just be excellent taste buds and the ability to articulate. Think of the poor guy stuck in Flint who has no idea that his party trick of being able to distinguish between a Bud 40 ouncer vs a bottle vs long neck vs a can vs a keg could be parlayed into the dream job of many deluded oenophiles.

Back to the dinner: The dinner was divided into two alternating menus, the Gold and the Silver (see below), so my first course was a cone filled with lamb tartar and a goat's milk foam. To my left and right were plates of foie gras brulee. The lamb had a distinctly middle eastern flavor, and the foam was, um, foam. (More on foams and Adria Ferran later, and I do mean more.) I didn't get a taste of the foie gras, but I resolved to be bolder in sampling other people’s plates.

The Watermelon Gazpacho was different, but tasty. The Geoduck fritter was probably the best I have ever had--must get that recipe. The bisque was a garnish for the fritter, not the planned other way around. The Copper River Salmon Carpaccio was a delight on the eye and the palate. (Hey it looks good even in my photo!) I think there were two kinds of salmon, probably King and Sockeye.

The highlight of the evening though came not in the form of foie gras, truffles, or some rich piece of meat. It was the marrow fritter and the "pho" with tendons. The marrow looked like a large Tater Tot, but one bite convinced me that this was destined to be eaten again and again. As for the tendons, well, I have avoided tendon pho on our weekly trips to the pho restaurant. But my God were they good in Chef Claycamp's preparation: tender, slightly gelatinous, they were slap in the face that I need to get over many more food phobias.

I have listed two other dinners that we attended. The second (actually our first Gypsy dinner) featured Italian chef Antonio Petruzzi. We were seated at a large communal table with 7 others. Communal tables still give me the hebegeebies—must be that high school thing. The others at the table were older couples, and they all seemed to know one another. But when two of the women began ogling Antonio, and one of the same, after her first bite of the Naked Ricotta Cheese and Spinach Quenelles in Pecorino Sauce with Sauteed Morels, exclaimed that her mouth was having an orgasm, we knew we were at the right table. We laughed and joked, and ate, and ate and laughed more. And it was at this dinner that Dale discovered that he loved authentic absinthe.

The New Years Eve dinner was a riot. An eastside commercial space had been transformed into a party tent-like space. Masks were set out for all the revelers. Three types of raw oysters were being served as were appetizers including a rabbit terrine, which Dale stopped halfway to his lips when he found out what it was. Dinner did not go according to schedule—shocker—but the food was delicious as usual. Three friends joined us, but there were three strangers at the table who interacted very little. (We realized then that your friends should fill the entire round table, or else you go alone and force yourself to interact with the strangers. Instead it was like being at a wedding reception with people you don’t know and will never see again—hmm, come to think of it, I rarely enjoy sitting at round tables. At least at rectangular tables, if you don’t like the person next to you, there is always across the table options.)

Bourdain Gypsy Dinner

Gold Menu

Amuse:Foie Gras Brulee with Pickled Cherries

Cream of Tomato Soup with Bacon Drizzle
2004 Poet's Leap Columbia Valley Riesling

Geoduck Sashimi on Oceanic Gelée

Mâche & Celery Salad with Lardo & Pancetta Dressing
2003 Villa Raiano Fiano di Avellino, Campagnia,
Italy

Copper River Carpaccio with Herb Salad
2005 Soter Yamhill-Carlton District Rosé

~Black Pepper, Tequila, and Strawberry "Otter Pop"~

Roasted Chicken Hearts, Duck Gizzard Confit, and Duck Prosciutto Purses
2001 Domaine du Pesquier Gigondas, Rhône, France

Truffled Braised Veal Cheeks with Morels, Braised Leeks, and Pomme Purée
2004 Waters Columbia Valley Syrah

Lamb Loin "Sous Vide," Brûléed Lamb Tongues, Artichoke Bottoms, Ratatouille, Lavender Demi 2003 Pepper Bridge Walla Walla Merlot

"Fig Newton" Toasted Fig Bread with Windsor Bleu and Roasted Grapes
2004 Mission Hill "Five Vineyards" Okanagan Valley Riesling Ice Wine

Bittersweet Chocolate Terrine with a "Cluttering" of Garnishes
2003 Mas Amiel Maury Vin Doux Natural, France

Butterscotch Pudding
1999 Rene Renou "Cuvée Zenith" Bonnezeaux, Loire, France

Mignardise

Silver Menu

Amuse: Cone of Lamb Tartar with Goat's Milk foam

Watermelon Gazpacho
2004 Feudi di San Gregorio Fiano Falanghina, Campagnia, Italy

Creamy Potato Bisque with Crisp Geoduck Fritters

Three Grasses: Raw Asparagus with Bulgarian Feta, Spargel with Vinaigrette, Wild with Olive Oil Sorbet & Grapefruit
2001 Mantlerhof Roter Veltliner "Selection" Kremstal, Austria

Halibut Ceviche "Picada"
2005 Soter Yamhill-Carlton District Rosé

~Douglas Fir, Cinnamon, and Vanilla "Otter Pop"~

Head Cheese, Fried Marrow Sticks, and Boudin Noir
2001 Sierra Cantabria "Cuvée Especial" Rioja, Spain

Pan-Seared Duck Breast with Foie Gras Ravioli, Strawberry Compote, Rhubarb Gastrique, and Toasted Pine Nuts
2004 Waters Columbia Valley Syrah

Grilled Hangar Steak in Mushroom Tea, Soft Tendon, Fava Beans, Fondant Potato
Pepper Bridge Walla Walla Cabernet Sauvignon

Cheese Whiz: Whipped Epoisse with Gaufrette Potatoes & Granny Smith Apples
2004 Mission Hill "Five Vineyards" Okanagan Valley Riesling Ice Wine and Boones' Farm

Strawberry Hill Lime Cheesecake on an Aural Crust with Strawberry Sorbet
2000 Muller Catoir Mussbacher Eselshaut Rieslander Auslese Pfalz, Germany

Lemon Sour Cream Pudding
1999 Rene Renou "Cuvée Zenith" Bonnezeaux, Loire,
France

Mignardise

Chef Antonio Petruzzi: Italy in Seattle June 12th, 2005

"Naked" Ricotta Cheese and Spinach Quenelles in Pecorino Sauce with Sauteed Morels
Castello Di Poppiano, 2003 Vernaccia
di San Gimignano

Carnaroli Risotto with Red Wine, Gorgonzola and Pears
Fattoria Ucceliera, 2002 Chianti

Home-Made Mozzarella Ravioli with Crispy Vegetables and Basil Filet of Sea Bass in Martini Sauce with Grilled Vegetables
Roggiano, 1999 Morellino Di Scansano
Riserva

Chocolate Pocket with Gianduia Soft Heart, Whipped Tiramisu, and Orange Sauce
Malaga Oro Viejo Trasanejo 5 Anos

A Gypsy New Year's Eve Celebration

Celery Root Cappuccino with White Truffle Foam
Jean-Baptiste Adam, Alsace, 2003 Tokay Pinot Gris

Poached Quail Egg on Toasted Brioche with Frisée and Caramelized Onions
Pan Seared Black Cod on a Salt Cod & Currant Stew
Domaine Lafond, Roc-Epine, Lirac 2004 Marsanne
Rousanne

Foie Gras, Unagi, and Scallop Sushi
Jacques Dépagneux, Brouilly, 2004 Beaujolais

Braised Kurobuto Pork Belly on Heirloom Borlotti Beans with Demi Vegetables & Foraged Mushrooms
Vieux Telegramme, Chateauneuf du Pape, 2002

Spice-Crusted Venison Medallions with Parsnips, Cranberry Cassis Compote, and a Game Jus
Maestro Sanguineti, Tuscany, Nessun Dorma 2003 Sangiovese/Merlot/Syrah

Microgreen Salad with Champagne Vinaigrette
Trilogy of Desserts: Gingerbread Tiramisu, Chocolate Ganache Cake, Eggnog Ice
Viejo, Malaga, 5-Year Moscatell
If you would like to attend a Gypsy dinner,
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That Headline Looks Awfully Familiar...

2006-07-03T22:17:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about the Wall Street Journal is how an obscure topic appears in its pages and within a four to six months it is the talk of the nation after the other papers, news stations, and then monthlies pick up on it.
The following article appeared in the WSJ last week as I prepared to take summer vacation. I emailed it to Gabriel Claycamp at Culinary Communion, and throughout the Garde Manger class on Saturday, he tongue-in-cheek credited each chef whose recipe had been adapted for the class. Can you imagine being a patent lawyer on this case and having to eat at Craft, WD-50, or even el Bulli in the name of research? And getting paid handsomely for it?

That Melon Tenderloin Looks Awfully Familiar...
Chefs say copycats are ripping them off -- so some are fighting back with secrecy, lawyers; a patent for the noodles
By KATY MCLAUGHLIN June 24, 2006;

At minibar in Washington, chef Jose Andrés is known for his avant-garde tapas menu, including foie-gras cotton candy, lobster served with a lobster broth injection and melon tenderloin. So when he came across an online review and blog about a former protege's new restaurant in Tokyo's Mandarin Oriental Hotel, he was more than a little interested to read that the menu included ... foie-gras cotton candy, lobster served with a lobster broth injection and melon tenderloin.
That's when Mr. Andrés got in touch with his lawyer. Claiming that these and other dishes being served at the hotel's Tapas Molecular Bar were his inventions, he wants the Mandarin Oriental to pay him a license fee -- or change its menu. The Mandarin Oriental's lawyers are attempting to resolve the issue "amicably" but believe "the case is groundless," says Jill Kluge, group director of communications. Tapas Molecular Bar chef Jeff Ramsey did not respond to requests for comment.
Chefs copying other chefs is as time-honored a culinary tradition as snooty sommeliers. But at a time when one hit restaurant can mean multiple locations, television appearances and a line of cookware, imitation is no longer being seen as flattery. Many chefs now view menus and restaurant concepts as their own intellectual property, requiring staff to sign nondisclosure agreements, threatening alleged copycats with lawsuits and seeking patents for individual dishes.
These moves reflect a big shift in high-end restaurant culture. When French cuisine and traditions ruled, chefs went through long apprenticeships during which they were encouraged to mimic their mentors' methods of making hollandaise sauce or beef daube. But the past decade has seen the focus shift to innovation -- from subtle changes like chef Tom Colicchio's entirely a la carte menu at New York's Craft that encourages diners to mix and match dishes to the radical molecular gastronomy of chefs like Mr. Andrés.
At the same time, the culinary world has become more globally interconnected, making it far easier for chefs to keep track of what others are doing. Restaurant reviews from all over the world are available on the Web, and devoted foodies who tote cameraphones to restaurants post images of new dishes on message boards and blogs. That means that new ideas are spreading faster -- and that it's easier for chefs to police suspected copycats.
That's what happened three months ago on the eGullet.com Web site. Sam Mason, a pastry chef at WD-50 in New York, set off an international dust-up when he posted a link to the Web site of Interlude, a restaurant in Melbourne, Australia, and asked: "Is it me or are some of these dishes strikingly similar to a few American restaurants?" Interlude's site showed photos of such unusual fare as noodles made of shrimp and a glass tube full of eucalyptus jelly and yogurt, dishes pioneered at WD-50 and Chicago's Alinea, respectively. Interlude's chef, Robin Wickens, had worked for a week at Alinea as a stagiere, or unpaid intern, and had dined at WD-50 while visiting the U.S. EGullet's administrators then juxtaposed Interlude's images to nearly identical ones from WD-50 and Alinea. Within a few days, restaurateurs and chefs from around the country and dozens of eGullet members added to the thread, many branding Mr. Wickens a
plagiarist.
Mortified, Mr. Wickens says he removed the dishes from his menu and his site, and sent letters to the chefs whose work he'd copied explaining that he only wanted to utilize what he'd learned on his travels. "I never tried to claim them as my own," says Mr. Wickens, who says he told many patrons that the dishes had originated at the American restaurants.
This kind of idea-lifting has led more chefs to attempt to protect their intellectual property, according to attorney Charles Valauskas of Baniak Pine & Gannon in Chicago. Mr. Valauskas says three or four years ago he had no chef clients; now they make up more than 10% of his practice. Some chefs are seeking patents for an original recipe or technological innovation -- which can be possible if the U.S. patent office deems the idea sufficiently novel. The downside, Mr. Valauskas says, is that getting a patent can cost $5,000 to $15,000 to file, mostly in attorney's fees, and take years. The upside is that patents can provide strong and enforceable intellectual-property
protection.
A copyright can be given to the introduction to a recipe (often called the headnote), but not to the recipe itself, says Mr. Valauskas. A trademark can protect a name or logo, and trade dress can defend a design or style. Whatever the form of legal protection, however, infringements often must be addressed in court, making the process too expensive and time-consuming for
many restaurateurs.
Homaro Cantu, chef and partner in Moto in Chicago, takes several steps to protect his ideas. First, he requires all employees to sign a four-page nondisclosure agreement, in which they vow not to reveal the restaurant's secrets. He doesn't allow stagieres in his kitchen. And he has filed for 12 patents for inventions. Among them: a "food replicator," a machine that spits out edible strips that are embossed with the image of a food, such as an apple, and contain some of its flavor and nutrition; the idea is being assessed by the NASA Institute for Advanced Concepts, which develops space technology.
Other chefs, like Mr. Andrés at Washington's minibar, are investing in test kitchens, which allow them to experiment without interrupting the flow of work in the restaurant kitchen and come up with new ideas away from prying eyes. Mr. Andrés says he spends $80,000 to $100,000 a year staffing and maintaining his test kitchen. Chef Norman Van Aken, who has leveraged what he
calls his "new world cuisine" into multiple restaurants, says when he hears of chefs using more than three of his recipes without crediting him, he calls to request changes. Once he told a restaurant they'd be hearing from his lawyer. "That did the trick," he says.
Imitation sometimes extends to names. Mr. Colicchio, who co-owns 10 restaurants in New York, Dallas and Las Vegas called Craft, Craftbar, Craftsteak and 'wichcraft, says he was disturbed to learn of a place in Hong Kong using the word Craft in its name just as he was in discussions to open his own Craft there (the deal didn't go through for other reasons, he says).
Dining Concepts, which owns Craft Steak in Hong Kong, also owns restaurants called Tru, Bizou, and Olive -- all names identical or nearly so to well-known U.S. places. "I didn't know there was a restaurant called Craftsteak in New York," says Sandeep Sekhri, managing director of Dining Concepts. He says he was also unaware of the other similar names and adds that he registers his restaurant names with the Hong Kong trademark office
For some chefs, these new realities in the restaurant world are bittersweet. "I'm torn, because I like to share ideas, but I'm being warned not to by patent attorneys and potential investors," says chef Wylie Dufresne of New York's WD-50. He says he feels badly that Interlude's Mr. Wickens got caught up in the fury over copying: "I think he made a youthful mistake." Still, Mr. Dufresne is talking to an attorney about patenting his recipe for turning shrimp into noodles, a dish the Australian chef copied.

Keeping Cool with Cocktails

2006-07-03T21:30:00.000-07:00

Sorry--the camera broke, so no pix for awhile.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph--Seattle has had record heat this summer, and this in a city that doesn't truly get summer until July 15. And Seattle residents rarely have air conditioning, so just like when we get a few inches of snow, it seems like the whole city comes to a halt. Even the Pike Place Market looked deserted (from the the AC'd vantage point of my 35th floor office). In what seems like decades ago--because it was, unfortunately--such weather would have my fake-ID equipped friends and I down at hipster drinking joints, enjoying G&T's, over-the-top frozen cocktails and appetizers (Note: embezzling friends make the best drinking partners).

Drinks have come along way since then. And every six moths there is a slew of new articles on seasonal drinks. The LA Times Herbal cocktails, anyone? seemed promising but its Cool Cucumber Martini with cucumber and chervil was dismal at best. So I was pretty disappointed that last week the entire food section of the New York Times was devoted to drinks. But in what seemed to be just another ho-hum article on cocktails Frost on the Sun: Summertime Cocktails Pete Wells made three interesting points on that most important ingredient of cocktails: ice.

As ice melts, it does two things to a cocktail. It chills
the ingredients, of course, but it also adds a new one. Melted
ice — you probably know it as water — lowers the concentration of alcohol,
making it easier to distinguish the taste of whatever spirit you're using.
Water also brings together [blends] flavors that don't
readily mingle. (Without ice to settle them down, the gin, vermouth and Campari
in a Negroni seem perpetually on the verge of a barroom brawl.

I know, it seems obvious, but think about it: how many cocktails have you had that are so boozy that you can’t enjoy them? Or what about those plastic ice cubes promising not to dilute drink you see for sale? Thus, it was interesting that in an accompanying article, A Contest Where Victory Goes to the Coolest, ice played such a minor in the Times’ winner in cocktail contest. The winning drink is called the Cuke, and is pretty similar to other cucumber-based cocktails I have had over the past several years, most recently at 22 Doors.

Dale loves cucumbers, and snacks on them like potato chips (which being one of my major weaknesses, I don't allow in the house) so I knew he would love this one. He did, but for the first time he suggested a way to improve it. He wanted the rim salted like a margarita. I thought this was a little too much, so we began adding kosher salt to taste, and bingo, we were fighting over the last ounces. The salt added that extra punch to the flavoring, making both sweetness and tartness stand out proudly and together and taming the mint and lime. It may have even made us thirstier for those last drops.

The recipe that follows the Cuke was published years ago in the New York Times in Grown-Ups Don't Nog Eggs and has become my house drink in the colder months and my most requested recipe. But hold back a bit on the syrup and add a bit more lemon juice, and you have a killer summer drink, too. Don’t let the price of the pear brandy or eau de vie scare you off—-a little goes a long way, and is the key ingredient in a Simple Pear Tart. Play around with different dried fruits and eau de vies or brandies to come up with your own drinks and tarts such as dried cherries with kirsh or dried apples with Calvados or Armagnac with prunes.

The Cuke Adapted from Adam Frank

1 lime, rinsed
1/3 cup packed mint leaves, no stems, plus 2 sprigs for garnish
1/2 unwaxed cucumber
½ cup table sugar
2/3 cup Hendrick's gin
salt
Sparkling water.

1. Roll the lime against a counter with your palm 8 times. Thinly slice 1/2 of the lime and place in a pitcher. Add mint leaves. Slice cucumber crosswise very thinly and add to pitcher, reserving 6 slices, then add sugar. Muddle ingredients, using the sugar granules to grind the ingredients before the sugar dissolves. Juice the remaining lime half and add juice to pitcher. Add gin. Add salt to taste. Place in refrigerator to steep 30 minutes or longer.
2. Fill 2 highball or other large glasses with ice. Strain mixture from pitcher into each. Top with a splash of sparkling water, garnish each glass with a sprig of mint and reserved cucumber slices, and serve.
Yield: 2 servings.

Parkhurst's Pear Adapted from Eleven Madison Park

For the base (5 drinks):
1/2 liter Stolichnaya vodka
1 1/2 dried pears, sliced (the smaller the pieces, the greater the overall surface area)
1/2 vanilla bean, split in half lengthwise
10 peppercorns, lightly crushed
For each drink:
1 teaspoon simple syrup, or less to taste (see note)
1 teaspoon lemon juice, or more to taste
3/8 ounce pear brandy such as Clear Creek or Poire William.
Twist of lemon rind

1. In a jar, combine vodka, pears, vanilla and peppercorns. Stir together. Seal tightly and let sit for two days, giving jar a shake a few times each day. After two days, strain through a colander into a clean jar. Chill. (The original recipe calls for it to be strained through cheesecloth but I like the vanilla seeds and bits of peppercorn floating amongst the ice chips and murky fluid.)
2. To make the drink, fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Add 3 ounces of vodka mixture, simple syrup, lemon juice and pear brandy. Shake 5 or 6 times vigorously. Strain a little into a chilled martini glass. Taste, adding more lemon juice if needed. Garnish with a twist. Serve.
Yield: 1 drink.

Note: For simple syrup, gradually stir one pound of granulated sugar into 13 ounces of boiling water in a sauce pan until it is dissolved.

Simple Pear Tart Adapted from Martha Stewart
2 oz cream cheese
4 tbsp unsalted butter, room temperature
½ cup flour, plus extra for hands
½ cup sugar + 1 ½ tbsp
1/8 tsp salt
2 tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 tbsp pear brandy
1 Bartlett pear
1/8 tsp ground cinnamon

1. Heat oven to 400 degrees with rack in center. Line a baking sheet with parchment.
Combine cheese and butter in food processor. Add flour, ¼ cup sugar, salt, and process until combined. Dough will be sticky.
2. Turn dough out onto prepared baking sheet. With lightly floured fingers, pat dough out into a rough 8” circle. In medium bowl combine ¼ cup sugar with lemon juice and brandy.
3. Halve unpeeled pears lengthwise and core. Cut lengthwise into ¼” slices; transfer to lemon juice mixture; coat well. Places slices in strainer to drain liquid (strained and remaining liquid can be frozen for future tarts). Arrange length wise around border of dough, overlapping slightly. Arrange remaining slices in center. Sprinkle tart with remaining 1 ½ tbsp sugar. Dust pears with cinnamon.
4. Bake until golden, 25-30 minutes.
Serve warm or at room temperature with a dollop of whipped cream with pear brandy or vanilla ice cream.

coming soon: lemon meringue pie

2006-06-19T22:18:00.000-07:00

No matter how good your screen is now, nothing comes close to showing how amazing this pie looks in real life. Nothing can describe how torturous it was to drive across the lake holding the still-warm pie in my lap like a delicious lap dog made of lemon and sugar. But soon I will try....

When your Supper Sings for You: Singing Scallops

2006-06-19T21:58:00.000-07:00

Back in my frat boy days, I worked at a great Seattle restaurant by the name of the Adriatica. It was an awesome concept as it allowed the chef to prepare any food from the Adriatic sea and the Mediteranean. Along with my copy of the Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook, the food prepared by chef Nacy Flume and former owner John Sarich (now at Chateau St. Michelle) formed my culinary guidelines, if you will, for years to come. It was here that I learned to like vegetables, renounced my low sodium diet, and while a practicing vegetarian, tore into a loin of lamb shish kebab that had not been touched by someone's anorexic mistress.

I will never forget seeing and tasting singing scallops, or scallops prepared in their shells, which for some reason seems to be a uniquely Seattle dish. It is no more complicated than steamed clams or mussels, but the effect of the beautiful shells instead of clams or mussel shells is not to be underestimated.

Singing Scallops Marinere au Frat
Olive oil
2 pounds singing scallops
1 leek, thinly sliced crosswise
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1 onion chopped
2 medium carrots, sliced
4 sprigs of tarragon
2 cups dry white wine
3 tablespoons butter
1 shot of Pernod
Salt and pepper to taste

Heat a dutch oven or large stock pot over medium heat. Add oil. Then add leeks, shallots, and onion. Sauté until translucent, about 10 minutes. Then add garlic, and cook for 1 minute. Add white wine, Pernod, tarragon, butter, bay leaf, and salt and pepper. Simmer one minute and add scallops; cover; cook until shells open, about 3-7 minutes--do not let boil or you will end up with unattractive scum all over your shells (See picture). Discard unopened shells, and serve with quality crusty bread and lemon wedges.

Avocado and salmon domes

2006-05-29T18:16:00.000-07:00

Hmmm, it is well past Mother's day, the VISA bill came (Mother's Day + Whole Foods = Ouch) and I still haven't posted my coulibiac that I made for dinner. And it’s a damn shame because I know how everyone is always looking for another coulibiac recipe.

Speaking of too much of something, celebrity chefs get pretty tiring: Emerilware, Alton Brown's knives, Rachel Ray's plates, or what-have-you--it all gets pretty tiring. But the New York Times column "The Chef" has had many illuminating insights into how diverse chefs' minds work. Sometimes the emphasis is on creativity, others on technique, personal history, or unique ingredients.

Several years ago, Jack Bishop wrote this one with Wylie Dufresne, the chef of 71 Clinton Fresh Food in Manhattan.

This dish is somewhat mysterious when it comes to the table. A small dome of avocado scored with fine ridges, it looks almost like a small green sea creature or the model for a Frank Gehry building. There's no hint of what's contained within: a mound of bright pink fish cut into tiny cubes. But the dish has more than just a visual surprise and preppy colors going for it. The flavors are thoroughly unconventional, yet in perfect harmony.

And when the Copper River Salmon season opened, I thought this dish would be a great way to showcase the wonderful flavors of this fish (and the small portions would still be affordable).

It is a play on the ubiquitous tuna tartare and sushi. But it goes beyond the subtle textures and taste of sushi. The unctuous richness of the salmon and avocado is balanced by tart citrus, heat, and an unexpected crunch from diced pickles and sea salt.

Chives add that flavor that so uniquely pleases me with Japanese food, and always gives me pause as to why I don’t use them more often. Dufresne makes his own pickles, and suggests the pickled daikon radishes sold in Asian markets, but we went with the cornichons in the fridge, since I have never been able to stand the small of pickled daikon. I picked up kilos of fleur de sel in Paris a few years back as gifts for a friend who left me stranded at the airport (I kept the salt and ditched the friend.), so I prefer that and liberally sprinkle it around the mounds right before serving. Although he says any course salt will do, I would only stick with the airiest possible.

Because of his allergies Dale wasn’t too keen on the idea of horseradish, but he loved the fresh horseradish sauce so much that it has popped up at dinner at least once a week. (His brined pork chops with horseradish oil was very weeknight satisfying.)
As Dufresne says ‘The floral, spicy flavor of fresh horseradish brings all the elements on the plate together. It's worth spending five extra minutes to make the sauce.”

Marinated Salmon with Avocado (Adapted from Wylie Dufresne)
Time: 45 minutes
12 ounces salmon fillet with skin, pin bones and gray area removed (about 8 ounces when trimmed)
4 teaspoons minced fresh chives
4 teaspoons minced pickled radish or cornichons
2 teaspoons lime juice
2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
Table salt to taste
1/4 teaspoon Tabasco sauce, or to taste (I don’t care for Tabasco and prefer cayenne pepper)
2 medium ripe Haas avocados
Cracked black pepper to taste
Flaked or coarse sea salt for garnish
6 tablespoons creamy horseradish oil (see recipe below).

1. With a very sharp knife, cut salmon into thin slices, then chop it to the texture of coarsely ground meat. Place in bowl. Stir in chives, radish, lime juice, olive oil, table salt and Tabasco. Taste, and adjust seasonings.
2. Working with one avocado at a time, cut in half lengthwise. Twist to separate into 2 halves. Remove and discard pit. Cut off and discard 1/2 inch from top of each half. Carefully peel away and discard skin, trying not to gouge flesh with fingertips. Place halves pit side down. With tip of sharp knife, slice each half lengthwise as thin as possible, holding sides of avocado as you work so it keeps its shape. You should be able to cut each half into at least 12 slices.
3. Lay 18-by-12-inch sheet of plastic wrap flat on work surface. Slide side of knife under sliced avocado half. Transfer sliced avocado to plastic, turning pit side up. Press lightly with open hand to fan slices slightly. Season with table salt and pepper.
4. Spoon a quarter of the salmon mixture over center of avocado half. Lift opposite corners of wrap over fish, and repeat with 2 remaining corners. Grasp all 4 corners of wrap in one hand; with other, grasp avocado, and flip, twisting and pulling on corners of wrap to tighten it around underside of avocado. Twist avocado several times, pinching plastic tight under avocado and pushing avocado slices into original shape. Repeat with remaining avocado halves and salmon, forming each in its own piece of plastic. (Can be refrigerated 1 hour.)
5. Lay wrapped avocado on side, and slice off twisted portion of wrap just below avocado. Turn avocado with salmon filling facing up. Gently peel back wrap. Place small plate over avocado, and flip avocado onto plate so green side faces up. Repeat with other avocado halves. Sprinkle lightly with coarse salt. Drizzle horseradish oil around edges of plates, and serve immediately.
Yield: 4 first-course servings.

Creamy Horseradish Oil Adapted from Wylie Dufresne
Time: 5 minutes
3 ounces fresh horseradish, peeled and cut into chunks
1/2 teaspoon rice vinegar
Pinch salt
1/2 cup grape seed oil or other neutral oil.
1. Place horseradish, vinegar and salt in food processor, and grind, stopping to scrape down sides of bowl several times, until horseradish is quite fine, 1 to 2 minutes.
2. With processor motor running, add oil through feed tube in steady stream, and process just until mixture forms a creamy emulsion, about 1 minute. (Once mixture has sauce consistency, stop adding oil.) Adjust seasonings. Horseradish oil can be refrigerated in an airtight container for several days. Shake or whisk before using.
Yield: about 3/4 cup.
Note: You will need only about half this sauce for the marinated salmon wrapped in avocado. The rest can be served with grilled fish, steak or cold asparagus, or used on roast beef or lamb sandwiches.

The article continues with suggestions for variations:

-- Avocado and seafood have a natural affinity, and you can use this presentation technique with any number of fillings. The method remains the same: Prepare the seafood filling, slice the avocado, and stuff and shape individual portions. Here are a few suggestions:
Tuna tartare: To preserve the bright red color of fresh tuna, eliminate the lime juice, which would turn the fish white. Tuna is not as fatty as salmon, so the pickled radish will supply enough bite.
-- Scallop ceviche: Chop top-quality sea scallops a bit more coarsely than the salmon to give them a rougher texture. Marinate the chopped scallops in a little lemon juice, olive oil, minced red onion or shallot, salt and fresh herbs for about an hour. The slight firming caused by the acid makes the scallops a toothsome contrast to the creamy avocado. For an Asian flavor, cut down on the salt and add a splash of soy sauce.
-- Poached shrimp: Chop and lightly dress the shrimp. (I like the fruity flavor of an orange vinaigrette.) Add scallions and herbs to round out the filling.
-- Crab: Make a light salad of peekytoe or Jonah crabmeat. But don't use mayonnaise -- it will be too rich with the avocado. Instead, toss the crabmeat with a mustard vinaigrette, diced seeded tomatoes, shallots and fresh herbs.

Putting the MEAL back into Oatmeal

2006-05-28T20:14:00.000-07:00

When I see some coworkers preparing their breakfast in the office by adding hot (tepid) water to a package of instant oats, my heart grows heavy. Sure, I smell the oatmeal with its dehydrated apples and stale cinnamon that Mom served us kids, and it brings back fond memories of easier mornings and good times.

But remember how much sugar and butter you had to put on to keep the oatmeal from being just a tasteless bowl of pasty matter? Or how the paste would gellify into a glob that would fall out of your bowl intact?

Well, I was turned on to steel cut oats (aka pinhead oats, Irish oats, Scotch oats) in '92. The directions on the over-priced can were involved, but the cereal was better in taste and texture. Still it wasn't enough to justify the labor. Then I stumbled upon toasting the grains first, and my oatmeal world was never the same.

Toasting, as you would imagine, makes everything taste better. With freshly-toasted oatmeal, flavors of nuts, butterscotch, and, well, the world's best toast all come to the forefront. Toasting also results in the Maillard Reaction, which by bringing out the sweetness of the grain, you don't need to add as much sugar at serving.

According to Cooks Illustrated, the "Scottish dunk each spoonful into a separate bowl of milk or cream." By accident I poured too much milk into my bowl, and I ended up with a milky oatmeal soup, and this, along with a pour of maple syrup or a bit of dark brown sugar and a dash or vanilla, has become my favorite breakfast meal. Clumps of hot nutty oatmeal in a cold milky soup has become a favorite midnight snack, too. In fact, it is so good that on my business trips, I prepare plastic tubs to take along to eat for breakfast. Once you have had these oats, it is impossible to eat the travesty served in most hotels.

Steel-cut oats come in a nifty-looking tin from Ireland, but save your money and head to the bulk section of your grocery or natural food store. In Seattle, which is overpriced for food, they typically run $.55/# and $.99/# (organic). Traditionally a wooden dowel is used to stir the oatmeal. This keeps it from getting too mushy. The back of a spoon works well, if you don't feel like another trip to Home Depot.

Adding the salt in the last ten minutes will make the cereal creamy. Adding it any sooner will make it unpleasantly crunchy (the same is true with rice, which oat groats resemble). Alton Brown cleverly depicted this with Barbie dolls. I'll use celebrities: gums within oatmeal called pentosans (Jennifer Aniston), want to bond with the water (Brad Pitt). But when salt (Angelina Jolie) comes along, the water bonds with the more appealing salt, leaving behind the pentosans in the grain (Hollywood Hills mansion) thus keeping the grain hard and the cereal not as creamy. Molecular gastronomy can be so fun when its brought to the level of People Magazine.

Steel Cut Oatmeal
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup steel cut oats
4 cups water
1/4 teaspoon salt

In a large stainless skillet over medium heat, melt the butter, and just as it foams, add the oats. Stir for 2 minutes to toast. They should be golden and fragrant, filling your kitchen with a wonderful rich scents--you won't get this from a package. Add 3 cups of water and reduce heat to a simmer. Keep at a low simmer for 2o minutes, without stirring. Add salt and stir with a wood dowel or the top of a wooden spoon (I confess, I use a wooden spatula). Add the remaining water and cook for an additional 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. The cereal should be somewhat runny when removed from the heat. Let the cooked oatmeal rest a few minutes for the grains to pull together, then serve with your favorite topping.

Easy Dinner Party Dessert: Ice Cream with Whiskey and Coffee Grounds

2006-05-28T19:37:00.000-07:00

Nearly a mind-boggling twenty years ago, my parents came to visit me in Australia, during what I like to refer to as my expatriate period, but what others might refer to as unfocused college years. We went to dinner with my friends to one of Sydney's top-ranked restaurants, Taylors. Decades later, we don’t remember too much from the dinner at Taylors, but my mom will never forget how we deliberated over the extensive and so-tempting desert menu, until my friend Paul--a true gourmand and one of my culinary godparents--told the waiter to just bring all of the desserts. One struck me for its simplicity and perfection. I have made it ever since, especially when time is short, but a dessert is needed to bring the evening to a close. Something sweet to cut the grease as my mom likes to quote my grandpa.

Technically it is a variation of the Italian dessert affogato (“drowned”), but with whiskey instead of espresso; the espresso, in fact, is sprinkled on top as fresh grounds. (At Reed College, we had coffee ground milkshakes, so in a way, it’s a variation of that as well.) It’s as simple as can be but the ingredients have to be the best. Everyone loves it but men in particular appreciate it. I use Makers Mark bourbon, as its sweetness and smokiness compliment the ice cream, but almost any good whiskey could be used.

A French-press grind add a nice crunch as the grounds freeze but you may prefer a cone-filter grind, or even an espresso grind as somepeople find the anything larger than a cone filter grind to be too gritty, almost chewy. The larger grinds also tend to irritate your gums and stick unattractively between the teeth. Do not feel the need to dump on the hooch. A single tablespoon is all that is needed--anymore, and it will be unpleasantly boozey.

Ice Cream with Whiskey and Coffee Grounds
For each serving:
Place two scoops of the very best vanilla ice cream
Drizzle with a tablespoon of Makers Mark Bourbon (1/2 pony shot)
Sprinkle with a teaspoon freshly-ground coffee
Serve.

This also makes a wicked milkshake when you throw it into the blender.

(Note that is based on a whirling blade grinder, which produces an uneven grind, with grains of varying sizes, which is perfect for this dessert.)

Salad Lyonnaise

2006-05-26T21:29:00.000-07:00

Poor Dale. Because he is so allergic to mustard and to egg yolk, I have to wait until he isn't around for dinner to enjoy this Salad Lyonnaise, and sometimes I look too forward to having it, i.e., sending out the wrong signals.

This was one of the many wonderful dishes prepared in a Culinary Communion class on poaching. But more on that later.

Salad Lyonnaise would be a great salad to make ahead for a dinner party. All of the ingredients are prepared ahead of time and the only cooking you need to do is to simmer the eggs a minute--poaching is the quietest cooking (See below for details.) Leftover dressing can be placed in a sealed container and will last a week in the fridge.

Salad Lyonnaise Adapted from Culinary Communion
Serves 8

3 large heads frisee, trimmed
1 Tbsp dijon mustard
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup olive oil
Kosher salt and pepper
1/4# bacon, cut into lardoons

8 eggs
2 quarts water
2 Tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 Tablespoon kosher salt

8 slices of baguette, cut on the diagonal
8 slices gruyere cheese, 1/8 thick
1 clove garlic

Preheat the broiler
Render the bacon by heating a large saute pan over medium heat. Saute the bacon until it browns and releases all of its fat. Remove the bacon with tongs or a slotted spoon to a paper-towel lined plate, reserving the fat in the pan.

In a small bowl, place the red wine vinegar and mustard. While whisking constantly, drizzle in the olive oil drop by drop to form an emulsion. When all of the olive oil is in, drizzle in the bacon fat. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.

Peel and cut the garlic clove in half. Rub each side of bread with it. Lay the bread on a baking sheet and top each piece with a slice of gruyere. Place the pan on the middle shelf, and broil until crisp and golden. (As you can see from my picture, I once again burnt the toast.) Remove and set aside.

Heat the water in a saute pan along with the vinegar and salt. Do NOT use a cast iron pan. See the weird reddish-brown goopy stuff on my egg white? That is due to discoloring from the iron and vinegar reacting. Break the eggs into individual ramekins, teacups or small bowls. When the water is very hot, with tiny bubbles forming on the sides of the pan, slide the eggs carefully, one at a time into the water. Do not let the water boil. Poach 2 minutes for a soft yolk and 4 minutes for a firm yolk (unless you are preparing them ahead of time, in which case, cook them for one minute less). Remove with a slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels. At this point you can refrigerate all of the above prepared items. But before assembling, gently warm the eggs in simmering water for a minute.)

Assemble the salad by tossing the greens with the dressing and bacon lardoons. Make a small mound on each of 8 plates. Place an egg in the middle of each mound of greens and top with a toast, placed just to the right of the yolk. Serve immediately.

Special Occasion Lasagna Everyday

2006-05-23T10:23:00.000-07:00

There are some recipes that are hard to improve or adapt. (This lasagna is the only dish I have known Dale to eat three nights in a row. In fact, I had to freeze the remainder so we—read me--would have a stash of quality frozen dinners.) The economy of time on this lasagna recipe from Cooks Illustrated can’t be beat, and it alone is worth the price of a subscription. Because I save so much time, I splurge on ingredients: real Parmesan, good ricotta and mozzarella, fresh basil, and organic Glen Muir canned tomatoes. If I run out of basil, I’ll round off the balance with tarragon, chervil, marjoram or oregano. I did find that using lamb in place of veal creates a richer, meatier flavor and is easier to find at the local ghetto Safeway. (Get extra and make meatloaf later in the week.) Two lasagnas take only a little more time to make than a single lasagna. The assembled, unbaked lasagna, if wrapped tightly in plastic wrap and then in foil, will keep in the freezer for up to 2 months. To bake, defrost it in the refrigerator for a day or two and bake as directed, extending the baking time by about 5 minutes.

Special Occasion Lasagna Everyday (Adapted from Cooks Illustrated)
Serves 6 to 8

Tomato-Meat Sauce
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped fine (about 1 cup)
6 medium cloves garlic, green germs removed and pressed through garlic press or minced (about 2 tablespoons)
1/3 pound each ground beef chuck, ground lamb, and ground pork
½ teaspoon table salt
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
¼ cup heavy cream

1 can (28 ounces) tomato puree

1 (28-ounce) can diced tomatoes (original recipe calls for draining, but I don’t bother)

Ricotta, Mozzarella, and Pasta Layers
15 ounces ricotta cheese (whole milk or part skim), 1 3/4 cups)
2 ½ ounces grated Parmesan cheese (1 1/4 cups)
½ cup chopped fresh basil
1 large egg, lightly beaten
½ teaspoon table salt
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
12 no-boil lasagna noodles from one 8- or 9-ounce package
16 ounces whole milk mozzarella, shredded (4 cups)

No-boil noodles and a quick meat sauce that cooks in just 15 minutes are the secrets of our streamlined lasagna recipe.

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 375 degrees.
2. Heat oil in large, heavy-bottomed Dutch oven over medium heat until shimmering but not smoking, about 2 minutes; add onion and garlic, and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened but not browned, about 2 minutes. Add garlic and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Increase heat to medium-high and add ground meats, salt, and pepper; cook, breaking meat into small pieces with wooden spoon, until meat loses its raw color but has not browned, about 4 minutes. Add cream and simmer, stirring occasionally, until liquid evaporates and only fat remains, about 4 minutes. Add tomatoes and bring to simmer; reduce heat to low and simmer slowly until flavors are blended, about 3 minutes; set sauce aside. (Sauce can be cooled, covered, and refrigerated for up to 2 days; reheat before assembling lasagna.)
3. Mix ricotta, 1 cup Parmesan, basil, egg, salt, and pepper in medium bowl with fork until well-combined and creamy; set aside.
4. Assemble first lasagna layer:
a) Smear entire bottom of 9- by 13-inch baking dish with 1/4 cup meat sauce. Place 3 noodles on top of sauce.
b) Drop 3 tablespoons ricotta mixture down center of each noodle. Level by pressing flat with back of measuring spoon.
c) Sprinkle evenly with 1 cup shredded mozzarella.
d) Spoon 1 1/2 cups meat sauce evenly over cheese.
Repeat layering of noodles, ricotta, mozzarella, and sauce two more times. Place 3 remaining noodles on top of sauce, spread remaining sauce over noodles, sprinkle with remaining cup mozzarella, then with remaining 1/4 cup Parmesan. Lightly spray a large sheet of foil with nonstick cooking spray and cover lasagna. Bake 15 minutes, then remove foil. Return lasagna to oven and continue to bake until cheese is spotty brown and sauce is bubbling, about 25 minutes longer. Cool lasagna about 10 minutes; cut into pieces and serve.

Chicken Livers with a Velvet Touch

2006-05-21T14:46:00.000-07:00

Julia Child wrote that the memory of a good French pate can haunt you for years. I don't know how universal this statement remains, but I do remember my first: It was on Waikiki in '77. (I also had my first twice-baked potato here and saw Bocuse's Truffle Soup.) I had no idea what it was, except it was called foie gras and served in a little brown pottery dish unlike the rest of the china. It was a while before I figured out exactly what that was, and how exactly this differed from Spam and an Underwood canned spread. The animal lover in me felt sorry for the ducks and geese, but at those prices, I realized that it was not a moral dilemma I would often face.

Over the years, I resisted the mousses and pates made from chicken livers. And you know what? I admit that it was part snobbery. Chicken livers just seemed so, so..."ghetto" or white trash or hicksville. But lately, I have been enjoying liver in general more often, and a few weeks ago I took the plunge at Seattle's current food rave Cremant, where I ordered the Gateaux de Foies de Volaille (Chicken Liver Mousse). Like the rillettes at Le Pichet and the cured meats at Salumi, the mousse transported me across the Arctic Circle to Europe (from Seattle, BA doesn't fly over the Atlantic), and I realized that a little bit of Paris was to be found a few blocks away.

When the New York Times published its article on Salumi's culatello, and the resulting press wiped out the supply until August, I had to find a new appetizer for my pre-opera dinner party. There was no doubt in mind what it would be, so I reached for my Balthazar Cookbook, which I have come to love for its recipe brevity, economy of procedure, photographs, and downright tasty food. Also pulled from the shelf were Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume One, Silver Palette, Ruhlman's Charcuterie, and La Bonne Cuisine de Madame E.Saint-Ange, the last being the most amazing cookbook I have read all year, and oddly enough, the polar opposite of the Balthazar Cookbook.

This was an incredibly easy and inexpensive (really cheap!) dish. the texture is as smooth as velvet, and as light as air. There is the earthy taste of liver, the warmth of spices, the richness of butter, and a green freshness from the thyme. It makes a great appetizer to serve during cocktails, or before dinner with Champagne or wine. Try different brandys such as Calvados (apple), Armagnac (prunes) as well as eau de vies (e.g., Poire William) for variations. Serve with either a baguette sliced and toasted (preferred), freshly sliced, or crackers. Cremant serves its Gateaux de Foies de Volaille in a lidded crock with a wire fastener. For an all too brief moment, you imagine that the proprietor himself has smuggled it from his grandmother's Perigold farm for your dining pleasure.

Before I filled the ramekins, I showed Dale the rich frothy brown mixture and remarked how an evil mother might fool her children into thinking she was allowing them to lick the bowl after making chocolate pudding.

Chicken Liver Mousse Mousse de Foies de Volaille or Gateaux de Foies de Volaille
Adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking and the Balthazar Cookbook
Serves 8 as a shared hors' doeuvre

1/4 pound melted, unsalted butter + 2 tablespoons softened unsalted butter
1 shallot
1/2 pound chicken livers, greenish or black spots removed
1 egg
1 tsp salt
Pinch of fresh thyme, freshly ground
1/4 tsp quatre epices (equal amounts of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and allspice ground in mortar and pestle)
1/8 tsp ground white pepper
1 tablespoon of Calvados (Cognac, Armagnac, or brandy are fine)

Preheat the oven to 300 F.

Rub 2 tablespoons of softened butter in three 4 ounce ramekins.

In a medium sized sauce pan over low heat, melt 4 tablespoons butter. Add shallots, and let simmer until soft, but not browned. Remove from heat and place in a medium non-reactive bowl. Add the chicken livers, egg, salt, thyme, and brandy. Process with an immersion blender, until smooth. Add the remaining melted butter, and continue blending until combined. (This can also be done in a blender.) Strain the mixture through a fine-meshed sieve, using the back of a spoon to push the mixture through. Discard the tablespoon or two of roughage remaining in the sieve. To the strained mixture, add the quatre epices powder and pepper, and blend until combined and evenly distributed. Take a tablespoon or two and drop it into an extra ramekin, and microwave it a minute as a taste test. Adjust seasonings as needed.

Divide the mixture between the three ramekins, and place these into a 9" square baking dish. Carefully fill the baking dish to half the height of the ramekins with warm water, and place into the preheated oven. Bake these for 30 minutes: the mousse should be firm to the touch, and an instant thermometer should read 165F. Let the ramekins cool before refrigerating in a sealed container.

To serve: Dip a knife in hot water, dry it, and run it along the inside edge of each ramekin. Cover with a plate, invert, and shake. It should pop free onto the plate. (If not, shake harder, or carefully place in hot water a moment to warm the ramekin bottom.) Gently cup the mousse in your hand, invert, and transfer to a plate with a leaf of romaine or frisee. Add the remaining mousses or serve them on separate plates. Serve chilled with cornichons, French mustard, and toast or bread.

A salad to satisfy

2006-05-17T19:44:00.000-07:00

I have not found a salad--composed entirely of vegetables, that is--as satisfying as a meal as this one from Balthazar's in New York City. (It is the one salad I can serve to Dale as dinner without having him demand a slab of meat as the main course.) A friend had mentioned it once or twice on trips to the Big Apple, but I never tried it myself until I somehow came across it on the Orangette blog. Created as the house salad out of ingredients spelling the restaurant's name, it has a wonderful collection of tastes and textures, all held together by the amazing Lemon-Truffle Vinaigrette. The smell of truffles is intoxicating, and if the unwashed dishes sit in your dishwasher all night, then you will be greeted in the morning by a rush of truffle air courtesy of Whirlpool. Perhaps it is not as marketable as truffle oil, truffle butter, or truffle rice, but then again there wasn't a market for balsamic vinegar 30 years ago, either.

I knew that this had to be the salad for Mother's Day, when the entire family would be here. I ignored the fact that beets are the one vegetable that my own mom dislikes, knowing that even she would be won over by this salad, and she was--at least in that way that moms like anything you do. Maybe next year I'll try beets and veal sweetbreads...

On vegetables: This is a great opportunity to use your mandoline as the fennel and radishes should be as thin as possible. The original recipe calls for the asparagus to be boiled for 8 minutes, but green vegetables should never be boiled this long as they will lose both color and nutrients. The maximum time is 7 minutes, according to Shirley Corriher's Cookwise. You also never want the water to stop boiling as the vegetables get damaged in the heat, but don't cook properly. The larger quantity of water keeps the heat, but it also allows the acids in the vegetables to become diluted and to escape in the steam; these acids are what cause the vegetables to lose their brilliant green color, which is why the pot should not be covered. So in the adaption below, they are peeled and cut into into three inch pieces. For recipes like this, I prefer the thicker asparagus as it is easier to peel, and is no less tender--just be sure the tips are closed or tight. The cookbook calls for a roasted beet, but a raw beet can be used without too much loss. (To roast: rub olive oil on the beet, place a sprig of thyme next to it, wrap in foil, and bake in a 350 degree oven for one hour. Remove the skin, and cut accordingly.)

Balthazar Salad Adapted from The Balthazar Cookbook
Serves 6

1/2 lb asparagus spears, peeled and trimmed and cut into 3-inch pieces on the bias (diagonally)
1/4 lb haricots verts or green beans, trimmed
1 lemon (juice and peel are needed)

1 fennel bulb, very thinly sliced--think translucent
1/4 lb red radishes, very thinly sliced

1 head of Romaine lettuce, washed and torn
1 head of Frisée, washed and torn
1/2 head of Radicchio, washed and torn
1/4 lb of Mache, washed and torn

1/4 cup Lemon-Truffle Vinaigrette
1/4 lb ricotta salata,
1 beet
1 avocado, Hass preferred
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
3 slices of brioche, toasted and ground into crumbs

Fill a stockpot with water and add salt. The water should should taste like the sea. Bring it toa boil over high heat. Prepare an ice bath by filling a medium bowl with ice cubes and covering with cold water. Add the asparagus to the boiling water and cook until crisp-tender or al dente, roughly 3-4 minutes. Remove the spears with a spider or skimmer or slotted spoon to the ice water. Remove as soon as the asparagus is cold. It should not stay in the water any longer than it has taken to cool in order to prevent nutrient loss. Meanwhile, add the beans to the boiling water and cook until crisp-tender or al dente, roughly 3-4 minutes. Remove the beans to the ice water, removing as soon as the asparagus is cold. If you are blanching the lemon peel, blanch it in the boiling water by letting it boil one minute and then removing the zest to the ice bath. Mince the zest when cool.

Slice the ricotta salata into six slices or julienne (1/8"x1/8"x/2" aka “matchsticks”). Julienne the beet as well. Halve and peel the avocado, and slice thinly. Sprinkle with lemon juice to prevent browning.

You can either assemble the salad individually as I did, layering the vegetables in a handsome composition and then drizzling with vinaigrette. Or add the asparagus and beans, mix, and add the lettuces, salt and pepper and vinaigrette. Divide equally on 6 plates, and add a slice of ricotta or ricotta matchsticks. Place beet sticks and 2 slices of avocado on each plate, and sprinkle with bread crumbs (which I always forget, if I even bought the brioche).

Lemon-Truffle Vinaigrette Adapted from The Balthazar Cookbook
Servings: Makes 1 cup

2 lemons, juiced (1/4 cup, see below)
1/2 tsp salt, or to taste
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup white truffle oil

Pop the lemon into the microwave for 10 seconds, and roll the lemon hard against a countertop with your plam. Cut the lemon in half and juice both sides into a small stainless steel or glass bowl, straining the seeds. Add salt and pepper. Emulisify the dressing by slowly adding the oils in a steady stream, whisking constantly and vigorously. Store remaining dressing in a tightly sealed glass jar in the refrigerator, where it will last a week.

Chocolate, Caramel and Candied Oranges

2006-04-24T22:54:00.000-07:00

Easter is often seen as a time of rebirth, with archtypical symbols of birth, rebirth, rejuvenation. Trees gently unfold their new foliage, flowers push their way through the detritus of the colder seasons and dot the landscape. The food tends to get lighter, too. Cassoulet is removed from menus, replaced by asparagus flans, ramps, and morels. Fondue pots are placed on the back shelf as the julep glasses and garden gloves are retrieved. Spring lamb is served by Jews, Muslims, and Christians alike. It all makes so much sense, except the Easter candy: rocky road eggs, solid-chocolate bunnies, foil-wrapped eggs of chocolate mixtures. Why do we do this to ourselves? Swimsuit season is right around the corner people!

Yet when I was requested to make dessert for Easter dinner, this dish immediately came to mind. Although extremely rich, it is not heavy. It is cool, neither hot from the oven nor frozen. the brightness of the oranges is a nice counterpoint to the darkrichness of the mousse. And there are lots of leftovers, which makes up for the fact that no one gave you an Easter basket of Neuhaus chocolates this year.

This is another Mark Bittner recipe that ranks as one of the best. Not surprisingly it is not of his own invention, but oddly enough, it is another Seattle restaurant, and the main ingredient is caramel. Bittner covered the Seattle chef Scott Carsberg and his restaruant Lampreia. The article is a great tribute to a great chef and restaurant. Yes, it is expensive, and the servings are beautiful and small, what one friend calls "precious food." But maybe we have settled for too long on fast food, huge portions, and lackluster presentation. After all if our body is a temple, shouldn't what we eat be treated as an offering?

Chocolate Caramel Mousse (Adapted from Scott Carsberg of Lampreia)
Time: 45 minutes, plus 4 hours' chilling
Yield: 16 servings

1 cup sugar
5 tablespoons butter, cut into bits
3 cups heavy cream
8 ounces high quality unsweetened or bittersweet chocolate chips or chunks, about 1 1/2 cups.

1. Put sugar in a heavy stainless steel pan, and turn heat to medium. When sugar warms and begins to liquefy, add 1/2 cup water. Cook, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon, until mixture bubbles, then becomes foamy, then dry again. Keep cooking until it liquefies again, stirring often and breaking up any chunks that form. When it is all dissolved and brown, remove from heat, and stir in butter a bit at a time. Standing back to avoid spattering, add 1 cup cream, then stir until blended. Let sit until cool enough to touch.
2. Meanwhile beat remaining cream until it holds soft peaks; refrigerate. Melt chocolate over very low heat or in a double boiler or microwave.
3. Mix melted chocolate into caramel. Add 1/3 of the whipped cream to caramel, and stir to combine. Add remaining whipped cream and gently fold, just until combined. Pour into a bowl and refrigerate until set, about 4 hours.
4. Scoop mousse with a spoon dipped in a hot water. Serve alongside a piece of orange confit.

Orange Confit (Adapted from Scott Carsberg)
Time: 9 to 16 hours plus overnight resting
Yield: 16 servings.

4 big navel oranges
2 1/2 pounds sugar

1. Fill a saucepan large enough to hold oranges with water; bring to a boil. Blanch oranges for 30 seconds, then remove, change water and repeat. (This blanching will get rid of the bitterness found in the white pith. Some chefs will do this as many as 5 times.) Carefully quarter oranges through their poles. Return them to saucepan with half the sugar and water to cover. Bring to a boil, then cook over lowest possible heat, adding water as necessary to keep them covered. Cook for 8 hours, then remove from heat and let sit overnight.
2. Drain oranges and repeat process with remaining sugar and water to cover. Oranges are done when very tender but not falling apart, from 1 to 8 hours. Remove pot from heat and let cool, then refrigerate oranges with their syrup. Oranges will keep, refrigerated, for several weeks.
3. Serve an orange segment with a scoop of chocolate caramel mousse, or by itself.

Pearl Coffee (Bubble Tea for Adults)

2006-04-24T22:17:00.000-07:00

Maybe it was the frogs croaking in the farm’s reclaimed wetlands outside the dining room window, and the tapioca’s resemblance to frog eggs and caviar, but Tom didn’t lick his bowl. You see, Tom defies Larry's look of judgement to lick his plate when the food is really good, and that has become my touchstone for when a dish is totally awesome. But this time, he didn't even finish his bowl becuse it urns out he doesn't care for tapioca's texture.

Dale and I had formed a "dinner club" with Larry and Tom and my old friends Joe and Tony. I have known Joe since I graduated from high school, and as a favor to my parents he landed me a job at the stock brokerage at which he worked. Back then he didn’t touch coffee or alcohol, which in my younger eyes made him sort of sad. But he’s come a long way since then--sometimes insufferably so--and I can usually depend on him to comment one way or another on food stuff, politics, or the economy.

This week we were out on the Joe and Tony's farm. The theme was "vegetarian" but I took the easy way and settled on a soup and dessert. I knew the soup had to be Daniel Boulud's Spring Pea Soup, but I wasn’t sure what to make for dessert. Earlier in the week, though, at Buddha Ruksa, which must be metropolitan Seattle’s best Thai food, we had a warm coconut milk dessert with cold small pearl tapioca and cold melon balls. Actually we didn’t order it; Kevin, our houseguest, did, but once we had a taste, we went in for the kill. The contrast of textures (oozy, gooey, and tender) and the warm vs cold was amazing—the contrast in textures and temperature actually made the parts much bigger than the sum of the whole. I remembered reading something similar to this, and went on a search through my "clippings".
I eventually found this article in the New York Times Guest Chef column from several years ago. Pichet Ong of Spice Market developed the recipe when he combined Vietnamese coffee with the Italian dessert affogato and the tapioca of “bubble” tea he told Melissa Clark in the article. It is this amazing hybrid of three cultures: Vietnamese, Italian and children. For the past few years Asian children have been crazy for a very sweet concoction of iced tea and large tapioca, um, blobs. The mixture is known as "bubble tea" and can be either addictive or cloying.
The ice cream is a simple custard but the sweetened condensed milk takes it a step out of the usual ice cream ingredients, adding a milkier flavor and what Clark calls a “candied marshmallowlike undertone”. It really was good, if I dare say so myself. I can only imagine how rich of a yellow color I would have achieved if I had used the organic eggs from the farm.
I would recommend making espresso if you have a machine or using a Vietnamese coffee maker or the Italian stovetop coffee maker, the Moka. Super strong coffee is essential, so if all you have is regular coffee pot, make it triple strength.

Vietnamese Coffee Tapioca Affogato With Condensed Milk Ice Cream (Adapted fromPichet Ong of Spice Market)
Time: 1 hour, plus 4 hours chilling and freezing
8 servings

For the ice cream:
2 cups whole milk
1 can (14 ounces) sweetened condensed milk
2 tablespoons heavy cream (or milk)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
5 large egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon salt

For the tapioca:
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup small tapioca pearls (available at most large grocery stores but are three times that price of Asian grocery stores)

For serving: 2 cups coffee (espresso, Vietnamese or Italian Moka coffee or triple-strength coffee)

1. For the ice cream, set a mesh strainer over a bowl. In a pot over medium heat, combine milk, condensed milk and cream. Bring to a simmer. In a bowl, whisk egg yolks, then drizzle a little hot milk mixture into yolks, whisking constantly. Reduce heat to low and pour yolk mixture back into pot. Cook, stirring constantly, until thickened, about 2 minutes. Strain custard into bowl and stir in salt and vanilla extract. Let cool, then refrigerate at least 3 hours. Churn in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions, then transfer to freezer.

2. For the tapioca, combine 6 cups water, the sugar and salt in a pot and bring to a boil. Add tapioca and simmer, stirring, until pearls are tender yet not mushy, about 20 to 25 minutes. Cool tapioca in liquid for at least 30 minutes, and use immediately or store in refrigerator for up to one day.

3. To serve, strain tapioca pearls, discarding liquid. Divide tapioca among 8 red wine glasses. Put 2 scoops of condensed milk ice cream in each glass. Pour about 1/4 cup hot or warm coffee or espresso into each glass. Serve.

When Soup is On for One

2006-04-04T17:02:00.000-07:00

Last night I had my last meal as a single guy. (Marriage has never been one of my priorities, but I like to keep my options open—what bachelor, straight or gay, doesn’t?) Saturday night we attended a Masquerade Ball for the Seattle Opera, which is not nearly as high brow as it sounds, and had lots of fun, and I have no idea when we got home. Sunday morning, I barely had time to skim the NY Times before Dale and I started laying and rearranging all the carpet samples that I had scrounged up from the office in what has gone from my “office/guestroom/storage room/intimations of my father’s housekeeping” to the “rabbits’ room”.

I got so caught up in cleaning, or what I truly believe passes as cleaning, that I forgot to prepare dinner for myself while Dale was off getting the rabbits and packing up their gear. After eating the gift bag of Dilettante chocolates (Dilettante take note: Czar Nicholas has been dead nearly 100 years and was a lousy ruler—get over using “By appointment to Czar Nicholas II” already) suddenly I remembered one of the few things I actually read that morning: Julie Powell’s article in the NY Times Magazine about cooking her first meal as a single woman again.

It was a nice article, albeit not as crazed and fresh as her Julie/Julia blog. She and her husband had separated, and were now living apart. You can sense the sadness, the longing, but also the determination to not wallow in pathetic misery. I mean this is the woman who embarked on cooking the entire Mastering the Art of French Cooking in 365 days as a way of working her way through the tedium of a miserable job.

Although she ordered takeout the first night, she knew she couldn’t order take out on her second night lest it become the start of a downward spiral. Instead she turned to this soup as part of her first meal on her own. I turned to it as the last meal on my own.

Powell’s recipe is a simplified version of MAFC’s, which involves emulsifying the olive oil and eggs in with the garlic broth like in a mayonnaise. It is so altered from the original recipe that I made few changed, except to reduce the salt, and use fresh herbs. (I used one of my last heads of hard-neck Korean garlic. It is getting a little soft, and the green germ within each clove is getting bigger every week, but it has lasted months longer than I thought it would. Expect more garlic recipes as I use them up.) Korean garlic tends to be hotter, and even the Parmesan did little to temper its heat. Still, her take is more rustic, and the breaking of the yolk and mixing it within your bowl certainly makes for a certain meditative means to slow down at the table, and enjoy the comforts of soup at any time of change.

Garlic Soup With Poached Eggs (Adapted from Julie Powell)
1 head garlic, separated into cloves and peeled
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
3/4 teaspoon fresh sage
3/4 teaspoon fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
4 parsley sprigs
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
6 eggs, as needed
Chopped parsley, for garnish
Freshly grated Parmesan cheeseCrusty bread, optional.
1. In a large saucepan, combine the garlic, salt, pepper, sage, thyme, bay leaf, parsley sprigs and olive oil. Add 2 quarts of water. Place over high heat and bring to a boil; then reduce heat to low and simmer for 30 minutes.
2. Pour through a fine-meshed strainer into a heatproof bowl, pressing on the garlic to squeeze out as much flavor into the broth as possible. Let cool and then transfer to a covered container and refrigerate until needed.
3. To prepare a serving for one, ladle about 1 1/3 cups of broth into a small saucepan. Place over medium-low heat and bring to a simmer. Carefully break an egg into the broth (do not break the yolk) and poach until the white is just set, about 1 ½ minutes—do not overpoach. (It will continue to cook off the heat.) Transfer the egg to a soup bowl and pour the broth gently over it. Garnish with parsley and cheese. If desired, serve with crusty bread. Makes 6 servings for one. Adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I get it--Delicious!

2006-03-30T16:27:00.000-08:00

Having spent fours in LA as a grad student, I became aware of all that the city had to offer the culinary world. With visitors and residents from almost every world port, it is no wonder that the cuisine is forward looking and at the same time redolent of all sorts of cultures and traditions. Jeffrey Steingarten in his It Must Have Been Something I Ate wrote that the Los Angeles Times has the best food section in the country--pretty strong words coming from a New Yorker. I am sure if I had been reading that section, and free to dine out more and sample the wonderful food of the city, I would have dropped out of SCI-Arc and applied to the CIA.
There are lots of reasons to love the LAT food section—the beautiful photos, the crisp and lively writing, the great recipes. But here are a few other reasons that I am beginning to prize it over the NY Times:
1. recipes stay online for months, free of charge, even years, under the Print Edition;
2. the entire article is on a single "page" along with the recipes, unlike the NYT, which puts them on separate links;
3. the best recipes of the past year are listed in a “Best of” at years end;
4. the recipe always concludes with the listing of the nutritional value with a breakdown of calories; protein; carbohydrates; fiber; fat; saturated fat; cholesterol; and sodium.

Yet, for such an image conscious city, the graphics of the online food section are TERRIBLE. Honestly, I have seen websites established by families that look better. In no particular order, here are ways that the layout can be improved.

1. Bold the recipe title. Let it be one of the first things that catches your eye, either scrolling ore reviewing printed matter.
2. Reduce the line spacing: too much line spacing needlessly spreads out the recipes, wastes paper, and lets pages get out of order.
3. Be consistent with vertical spacing
4. Move the photos to the left. Certain IE windows may be sized that these bits of eye candy aren’t seen. A photographer went to a lot of work to create that image—don’t waste it.
5. Include links to other related articles or make sure that the other articles are at least recorded (guilty article). A side note: Russ Parsons emailed me the main article after I contacted him. The book is now on my Amazon wish list.
6. Offset or box-in tips rather than having “(INFO BOX BELOW)”
7. Include it as a section available for wireless-web enabled devices. My firm is paying good money for me to read the LA Times food section on my BlackBerry while I wait in line at REI.
8. In the Print View, let the photographs be included.

OK, now onto some food:
Amy Scattergood in her Ridiculously simple and crazy good article compares certain dishes to one-liner jokes, quotations, . She imagines “simple sentences that could transmit everything you need to know to make a perfect dish”. For the Halibut Provencal, she writes: “Film a frying pan with olive oil, sear halibut fillets on one side, then flip and add a can of diced tomatoes, minced garlic and shallots, capers, olives and a dash of balsamic vinegar.” The ease of the recipe is summed up quickly and concisely without need for Wickipedia, fancy equipment, or exotic ingredients.

I made the halibut, and it was pretty simple. I did use an enameled cast-iron pan, though, but otherwise followed it to the T. I thought it quite delicious but Dale was making funny faces and looking to the side as if there was someone else there that he hoped would spit it out first. I mentioned that I thought the capers were a bit overwhelming, and even the taste of halibut (at $12.99/#) was overwhelmed. He admitted he found it too briny, and acidic, and the olives weren't as tasty as the nicoise or the oil-cured olives. We figured that the pre-pitted olives sucked up too much brine to be with the capers. Not wanting to add pitting time, we tried it again with oil-cured olives and reducing the capers by half with far better results. I also cooked the shallots a little longer to develop their flavor before adding the garlic; of course, I kept all the heat and basil.

Quick halibut Provençal (Adapted from Amy Scattergood)

Total time: About 15 minutes
Servings: 2
2 tablespoons olive oil
3/4 pound halibut fillets or cheeks rinsed and patted dry
Salt
1 clove garlic, minced
1 shallots, minced
1 cup canned diced tomatoes, drained
1/2 cup pitted oil-cured olives
2 tablespoon capers
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
Freshly ground black pepper6 to 8 basil leaves, torn

1. Heat the oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Lightly season the fish with salt. Add the fillets to the pan and sear until they have good color, about 4 minutes.
2. Turn over the fillets, reduce the heat to low and cook 1 minute. Remove the fish to a plate and keep warm.
3. Add shallots to the pan and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for an additional minute. Add the tomatoes, olives, capers, pepper flakes, vinegar and one-half teaspoon salt. Sauté 1 minute. Increase the heat to medium and simmer for about 2 to 3 minutes, until the vegetables are cooked through and the sauce is bubbly. Add the fish back into the sauce during the final minute of cooking.
4. Transfer the fillets to a platter, spoon the sauce over and sprinkle with freshly ground pepper and the torn basil. Serve immediately.

Scent of White Chocolate

2006-03-21T19:20:00.000-08:00

For the past week, I have been picking up the mail and smelling white chocoloate. Now whether you are such a culinary snob that you disdain white chocolate or just an Atkins maniac, you can't help but be enveloped and captivated by the rich scent of the tiny, undistinguished yellow flowers of Azara microphylla. It blooms in late winter here in the great Pacific Northwest, right after the honeysuckle, about the same time as the crocus, and before the hydrangea leaves form. Its beautiful, evergreen foliage is composed of tiny lacy green leaves that almost glisten in the winter sun. No wonder that I felt inspired to try Shirley Corriher’s Chocolate Soufflé with White Chocolate from her amazing Cookwise.

Despite the subtitle No More Failed Recipes, the first time I tried this recipe, it failed. She hadn’t specified the size of ramekin, and I assumed that mine were a standard size, since I see them all the time at stores, thrifts and restaurants. The first sign that something was going awry was the fourteen ramekins of soufflé on my countertop instead of 8. The second sign, of course, was sticking my spoon into the soufflé, and encountering resistance instead of parting, billowy clouds of hot moist soufflé with dollops of white chocolate at the bottom. They were weird cupcakes, but Dale and I ate about a half dozen, and I took the rest to the office (where they were snatched up by the time I got back from the plot machine).

So I emailed Ms Corriher, asking what gives. I had continuous problems with another recipe of hers, the Tunnel of Fudge Cake, and wanted to get to the bottom of why I only have problems with her recipes. Was the oven temperature off? Were the ramekins too small as I thought? Did I use the wrong ingredients? Well, what do you know, but she called me the next day at work. I felt like some housewife on Martha when Martha calls, or worse, that closeted queen she dug up around Halloween—OK, not that bad. She suggested a remote digital thermometer to track my oven temperature, and using a pizza stone to maintain an even temperature. Luckily I have both, but used neither: I forgot I had lent out the stone, and my two thermometers had different temperatures, which will require buying a third to figure out which is correct.

This second batch came out fine, mainly because I left them in for a lot shorter of time. I scooped up spoon after spoon of warm billowy clouds of moist chocolate soufflé and chunks of molten white chocolate as I looked out onto my front yard, and wondered what other flavors could be coaxed to grow in my garden.

BlackBerry Thumb and Hairy Palms

2006-03-20T12:39:00.000-08:00

Several months ago, I had to stand on a crowded bus. I found myself standing behind a seated man huddled in the corner, playing with his BlackBerry. With its colorful, large screen and bright backlighting, I couldn’t help but notice the images. He was surfing porn. On his BlackBerry. On the bus. A crowded bus. One thumb was obviously on the device itself, but I glanced to see where the other hand was (it was clutching his briefcase). Oblivious to my amusement (and others’), he continued to view hardcore material and stories before I exited at my stop.

I somehow doubt that food was on his mind when he stepped into his home that evening. And although my BlackBerry comes in handy for travel (“I am on a crowded plane—can you hear me now? NOW CAN YOU HEAR ME?”) and for reserving a spot at a Gypsy dinner, I felt like it should be more rewarding for me since, after all, the office wants me to be accessible 24/7. This is when I realized the potential of placing all my recipes online so I could look up ingredients from the grocery, check a recipe that I am trying to do from memory, run a pantry check, but most of all, not have to use the archaic search engine of the New York Times. (A big Special Ed cheer on that!) But then again, if you have ever had your DSL go down, or tried to retrieve a recipe from Cooks when its service is offline, you’ll know that a recipe in hand is worth 15,000 links online.

Salmon with Pinot Noir

2006-03-19T21:32:00.000-08:00

Few meaty items are so naturally good as fresh wild salmon. It doesn't need aging, brining, curing, or drying. After a quick turn on the grill, maybe a squirt of lemon juice, a pat of butter, and a dash of salt and a grind of pepper, and you are set. I take salmon adulteration very seriously, but count the Mark Bittner’s salmon with pinot noir as one of the best preparations. His NYT column, The Minimalist, has inspired culinary gems like this one, to certain travesties--usually Asian dishes of lethal salinity-- that I have expunged from my memory. Of course, how could he possibly go wrong with fresh salmon and a sauce based on caramelized sugar and pinot noir, especially when he is pulling the base recipe from Seattle's Brasa.

Unlike many sauces and stocks, which require hours of roasting bones, chopping vegetables and meats, and more hours of simmering, this sauce is made in minutes due the miracle of caramelization. Bittner's recipe calls for the dry method of making caramel, which can be a bit trickier and less forgiving than the wet method I described in an earlier blog, the Marriage of Heat and Sugar. But it only calls for a 1/2 cup of sugar, so give it a whirl. Wine is added to the darkened liquified sugar, which will solidify from the cool wine, before dissolving. To this is added some rosemary, a complex vinegar such as balsamic, and a pat of butter. The acid and the fat in the butter should also help the sauce from forming crystals. The resulting rich thick, red-black sauce verges on opaque. He preferred the pinot noir, which is fruitier and more complex than most red wines, and suggests Joseph Drouhin's La Foret. But I have tried it with some cabernet with sirloin cuts and had wonderful results. Both sauces are great to keep on hand for a simple, after-work dinner that will rival most restaurants.

The pan-roasted salmon steaks also is a nice change of pace from firing up the Weber. But Bittman calls for non-stick pans both for the sauce and the salmon. This is laziness at its silliest. First, you can't gauge the color transformation during the caramelization process with the dark finish of non-stick coatings, and second, caramel, being only sugar, is one of the easiest items to clean. Third, in my experience, you will trash a non-stick pan by putting it in the oven like this, and fourth, there are cheaper and safer alternatives for pan roasting, like a good old fashioned cast iron skillet.

ROAST SALMON STEAKS WITH PINOT NOIR Adapted from Mark Bittner
Total time: 30 minutes
1/2 cup sugar 2 cups pinot noir
1 3" sprig rosemary, plus 1 teaspoon chopped rosemary
4 wild salmon steaks, each about 1/2 pound
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon butter.

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Place sugar in heavy-bottomed saucepan, preferably stainless steel and with rounded sides, and turn heat to medium. Cook without stirring (just shake the pan occasionally to redistribute sugar) until sugar liquefies and begins to turn brown, about 10 minutes. Turn off heat and carefully add wine. Turn heat to high and cook, stirring, until caramel dissolves again. Add rosemary sprig and cook over high heat, stirring occasionally, until mixture is syrupy and reduced to just over 1/2 cup, 10 to 15 minutes.

2. As liquid reduces, heat a cast-iron skillet over high heat until it begins to smoke. Season salmon on both sides with salt and pepper, then place in pan and immediately transfer to oven. Cook 3 minutes, then turn salmon and cook another 3 minutes. Remove salmon when medium-rare or thereabouts (or cook another minute or two if you like it more done) and keep warm.

3. When sauce is reduced, stir in balsamic vinegar and butter and turn heat to medium-low. Cook until butter melts. Season with salt and pepper and remove rosemary sprig. Taste and adjust seasoning, then serve over salmon, garnished with chopped rosemary.
Yield: 4 servings.

*Even back in the mid-nineties, I had stopped using non-stick pans for anything but scrambled eggs after I had heard about pet birds developing respiratory problems (Actually, they'll develop respiratory problems from sauteed butter, but that weakens my point). Even the non-stick industry warns about heating a pan over 500, and independent tests show that most pans heated above this in everyday cooking, albeit momentarily. But listen: if a person heats an empty non-stick skillet till it begins to smoke, what do you think is smoking? It’s the Teflon, now in aerosol form! And maybe its growing up with Watergate, exploding Pintos, and Silkwood, but do you really think that industrialists would tell us the truth or release all of their test results?! The tobacco industry still tries to deny the risks of smoking. Anyway, try a good cast iron pan, seasoned well. Look for used American-made pans at Goodwill or other thrifts, like the Salvation Army. Not only will you save your lungs, and have a pan in which you can use as many sharp metal objects as you desire, but you'll be creating an heirloom-quality item.

Playing chicken

2006-03-05T09:50:00.000-08:00

On my first date with Dale, it seemed we moved in completely different circles. But we realized oddly enough that the two guys who reached out to him when he first moved here, were none other than my closest friends Larry and Tom. The apartment-share that he had lined up just wasn't working out, and after they heard his story of the couch of terror, they promptly offered him their spare room until he landed a place of his own.

So for this reason, and so many others--Larry and I run on similar culinary tracks and Tom's display of appreciation by licking the plate of an especially good dish-- I tend to push my cooking when they are coming to dinner. They are great comapny with lots of laughter shared, from Tom's channeling of Golum's scream"It burns!" when Larry makes him put on a sweater to Larry's ancedotes about eating bacon in front of his Jewish parents.

Pork is now out of the question, though as is my suggestion of sacridelicious trafe appetizers for his Passover dinner (where did I read that word!?!?) I turned instead to Cooks and made the Chicken Kiev, which was the secondary main course. It had several good ideas, like slicing the breast thickness in half. The butter mixture was taken up a notch, too, from the usual butter/chives mixture. Then it used toasted bread crumbs and oven roasting instead of frying--what, no potato chips? It is much easier to prepare for a dinner party than deep frying while guests are milling about. And although Larry, who chose the largest breast*, had piece that lost most of its molten butter, the other three were delicious.

I varied the recipe a bit, using lemon zest when the juice kept leaching out, and sauteeing the shallots to bring out a bit of sweetness. I also used my patented method of pounding the breasts in cereal bags that I saved. Most plastic will disintegrate when pounded, but not the world's most indestructible material, the plastic cereal bag.

While I love Chicken Kiev, which I first made in high school from Mom's Betty Crocker cookbook, but sadly before I understood the concept that oil got cooler the more items that you added to it, and the buttery crumbs in the pan were delicious in themselves, I'll probably pass next time in favor of Cooks Ultimate Stuffed Chicken Breasts.

*When will I learn to simply buy two uniform chickens and bone them myself--the four breasts in the package, although they each looked the same size, varied considerably when removed.

Cooking for the earth

2006-03-04T10:25:00.000-08:00

How is that for a title that smacks of grandiosity and touchy-feely seventies back-to-earth movements?
Perhaps its having been raised in Seattle, and surrounded by so much majestic and sublime scenery that I take a few extra steps in not just protecting our environment but nurturing it. Or perhaps its because I seek out penance for the millions of square feet of good earth that I have helped develop and pave into more retail space and parking lots. Or perhaps its because I enjoy the substantial savings on my garbage and water/sewer bill when I recycle and compost.

Either way, my old housemate, Joe, got the household into some heavy composting. But when I moved into my own house, composting wasn't happening fast enough--probably because it wasn't the proper mixture of green (grass clippings, kitchen produce scraps) and brown (raked leaves). As my neighbors will testily attest I neither mow my grass nor rake my leaves.

Anyway, I solved the matter by making a worm bin. These little guys chew through everything, fast. In just a few months they'll turn the veggie scraps, burnt croutons, espresso pods, forgotten and now sprouting potatoes, etc into the rich, dark organic compost matter known as humus, soil's "life force". (Do not put meat or pet/human secretions into your bin--it will attract vermin, smell, and it is just gross. Chicken and rabbit coop clean up seems to be ok.) When Dale and his rabbits move in, we'll dump their hutch droppings in as well. I have even begun to throw my cardboard Ben and Jerry's lids into the mix, reserving the container itself for grease. In fact, Seattle's sanitation department now picks up food and yard waster separately, and you can throw food-stained cardboard containers into the bins.

Composting itself is very simple. I have even seen it done well in apartment units with a porch or fire escape and condominiums. A worm bin is much simpler and smaller than a compost bin. Get a plastic garbage can, drill air and drainage holes, throw in your kitchen produce waste, a bag of earthworms, some liquid, and replace the top. Make sure that it stays moist, but not sopping. I keep a slop bucket (top left) by my porch into which I'll occasionally pour pasta water, coffee-pot clean up, and salad-cleaning water. this will get dumped into the bin along with the vegetable matter that has accumulated over the week. During the rainy season--oh, wait this is Seattle--I'll leave the lid partially off. But the bigger bin (top right) just looks too nasty to leave the lid off, and it leaves a lot to be desired as a landscaping feature.

I'd say the life of a worm in an compost bin safe from predators, all the food you could want, and of course, lots of asexual reproduction--must be pretty sweet.

Climbing a kumquat tree

2006-03-03T17:49:00.000-08:00

A detergent commercial from the early 80's featured two women lamenting the dirt covering their offspring's clothing after they had climbed a kumquat tree. We had no idea what this strange sounding tree was, and the description of a sour orange did not sound appealing. Still, when the opportunity to taste one finally presented itself when I lived in Australia, I gave them a try. I have been hooked ever since.

The Pike Place Market is my favorite place to buy them on my lunch hour, and a small bag will give me a few days of a nutritious and refreshing snack. The tart pulp and the sweet skin, which is all zest and no pith, tease and cleanse the palate in a way that apples and bananas just can't come near. And they aren't near the mess of other citrus fruit; even the plump, sweet clementines that showed up this winter need to be peeled. One week they were so sweet, so delicious that I ate over a pound in one sitting at my desk. Well, whatever else I ate at lunch caused me to have gas in the elevator. And wouldn't you know it, the next person who walked in remarked about fresh oranges.

If overcooked brussel sprouts are "little balls of hell", as one roomate called them, then kumquats are little balls of sunshine. Still most people are reluctant to try them, and usually won't try a second one. So I read Ms Hesser's Sunday article on kumquats with glee on an otherwise glum morning. (The stacks of dishes and wine glasses from last night's fondue party of 12 people put a big damper on the AM.) Her recipes called for duck(!), dates (!), arugala(!), sugar(!), Parmesean (!) and of course, kumquats (!!!).

Tom and Larry came over for dinner, and I prepared the following to go with the Chicken Kiev featured in Cooks. Its so much fun cooking for or with them. Once, when I made the Pan-Roasted Chicken, Tom risked Larry's Look of Judgement to lick his plate, which I always do when I am alone. But we all made pigs of ourselves when I served a whole molten chocolate cake, and the three of us ate it all in one sitting. No wonder none of my pants fit.)

Salad of Kumquats, Dates and Shaved Parmesan (adapted from Amanda Hesser)
5 kumquats
4 handfuls baby arugula
½ cup parsley leaves
2 Medjool dates, pitted and diced
¼ cup Parmesan shavings (made with a vegetable peeler or truffle slicer)
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste.
Slice the kumquats into thin rounds, discarding the seeds. Combine the arugula, parsley, dates, kumquats and Parmesan in a large bowl. Whisk together the lemon juice and olive oil; season with salt and pepper. Pour over the salad and toss. Serves 4.

And if that is not sweet enough for you, check out this recipe which she adapted.

Candied Kumkuats (adapted from Dinners at Lucques," by Suzanne Goin)
1 cup sugar
2 cups water
1/2 pound kumquats
1. In a medium saucepan, bring the sugar and water to a boil, stirring until dissolved.
2. Add the kumquats, cover the fruit with a piece of parchment paper and a small plate or lid to keep them submerged. 3. Simmer over low heat until the kumquats are translucent, about 25 minutes.
4. Drain the fruit and reserve the syrup. Serve with cheese or ice cream. The syrup may also be reduced and drizzled on toast spread with butter. Makes 1/2 pound.

The Bell Tolls for Thee at Lunch Hour

2006-03-02T16:30:00.000-08:00

Cooks Illustrated sent out an email promoting Parents Against Junk Food (its effort to improve school lunches around the country), which is being launched April 1. The site will offer a variety of ways for you to get involved (including contacting your representatives in Congress). But the very next paragraph promotes its sister publication, Cook's Country--which verges on just this side of white trash, albeit tasty--and its recipe for onion rings using ground potato chips. Apparently junk food is OK for dinner, just not school lunches.
Alice Waters, proprietor of Chez Panisse, the restaurant often credited with bringing the emphasis on fresh, local ingredients to the US, last week proposed in the New York Times to improve not just the 1 hour of a school lunch but “engaging them [children] in interactive education that brings them into a new relationship with food.” She writes: “Not only are our children eating this unhealthy food, they're digesting the values that go with it: the idea that food has to be fast, cheap and easy; that abundance is permanent and effortless; that it doesn't matter where food actually comes from. These values are changing us. As a nation, we need to take back responsibility for the health of not just our children, but also our culture.”
She proposes a core curriculum for all students from kindergarten through high school on the study and understanding of food; only through growing, production, and eating will children begin to think critically about what they eat, and begin to shape long-term behavior. Based on her experience with the Edible Schoolyard program, she says “When children grow and prepare good, healthy food themselves, they want to eat it, and, what's more, they like this way of learning.” And anyone who has watched children germinate corn kernels on the window sill, plant the sprouts in spring, and anticipate the corn, knows she is onto something.
We know this will not be cheap, but with the costs of treating obesity and the catastrophically rising rate of Type 2 Diabetes and their side effects (blindness, amputation, critical and emergency care), she correctly points out that escalating national healthcare costs will far exceed the cost of raising well-fed, healthy children.

OK, no more words. Tomorrow, we’ll get back to eating, period. Some buddies are coming over for dinner, and I am planning on some food from Ms. Hesser and Cooks Illustrated.

Peeling appeal

2006-03-01T10:46:00.000-08:00

Although we have finally realized that yes, you can be too rich or too thin, most people feel they can never have too many kitchen gadgets. I am not one of those people: with remorse I have watched my cupboards and drawers slowly fill with thermometers, whisks, timers, 6 wine openers, crushers, peelers, choppers, and measuring utinsels. So it is with skepticism that I purchased—get this—a German asparagus peeler. (I am still trying to burn through the masses of Williams Sonoma gift cards I have received over the years, through either gifts or returns of useless gadgets or silly bottles of laundry spray, which you can easily and more economically make yourself.) Cooks Illustrated wrote that there was no reason for such a gadget, since you just buy thinner spears, or break off the woody ends of thicker spears. But breaking off the woody can be pretty wasteful in some cases, and let’s face it, thin spears of asparagus not only are not always in the store, and thin is not always the best. In fact, the thicker spears have more tender volume in proportion to the skin. Julia Child swore by peeled asparagus, and I have increasingly entrusted myself to her wisdom. And when I have prepared her dishes, or the Balthazar salad, the peeled asparagus not only looks beautiful but is perfectly edible all the way to the so-called woody end.
But last night was my own empirical test. I went to three stores to look for thick spears. I peeled half and left the other intact including the woody ends, but cutting off the slightly-concave end. I steamed them over hot water (include the peels in the cooking water to prevent flavor loss), and plated them with nothing but sea salt and pepper. They never made it the table. I sampled both, but devoured the peeled asparagus—so tender, so bright green. Even the woody end was edible. The unpeeled were another story. Tough and stringy, I cooked them a little bit longer with a few of the peeled as a control. But after a few minutes, the overcooked peeled asparagus was still edible (albeit as a puree); the unpeeled were paste in a still resilient fibrous shell.

So it looks like the peeler will stay, and whenever I want to take the easy way out, I look at my reflection in the window and my WWJD necklace, and the light above (dimmed MR-16s, actually) tells me that no, Julia would peel.

Culinary Conference in Seattle

2006-02-21T18:07:00.000-08:00

Thanks to a tip from Shirley Corriher, who called to tell me where my soufflés may have gone wrong, I heard that the International Association of Culinary Professionals holds its conference here in Seattle on March 29. Along with the 25 for $25 happening the month of March, this will be one hard week to get a reservation in town at the better eateries as these people will not be content with the monstrous servings of Cheesecake Factory glop ordered from a menu of ads. Here is a link to the IACP recommended places to eat, alist worth printing and keeping in your car if not in your Blackberry.
The conference itself looks like lots of fun, a hell of a lot more fun than the American Institute of Architects conference, which should be brought up on charges of extortion. Aside from the usual demos and conference, there is a food photography contest, chocolate tours, and cookbook boot camp. This seems like an excellent way to take a few vacation days.

Brokeback Mountain grocery list

2006-02-17T18:01:00.000-08:00

Can any blog not mention the movie of the year, Brokeback Mountain?

So here we go into some sterotyping, but you have to wonder why this stereotype exists. Most people think of gays as being urban hipsters, but most gay families actually tend to live out in the Midwest and the South, according to the Urban Land Institue. And of the top ten states, cities and towns for proportional same-sex couples, the # 10 on the lists are Arizona, Austin, and North Druid Hills, GA. So much for hip...

Anyway, regardless of the ULI, gay men are supposed to have good taste buds that go along with their great taste in clothes and apartments, which if you have ever known gay men you know nothing could be further from the truth (no matter how much they tell you how to furnish or dress). You take all the guys who are so uptight about their physiques and weight gain, and you have the largest consumer of canned tuna (in water!)and poached chicken breasts. No, taste is not in the gay DNA. But onto some humor:

Ennis' and Jack's weekly grocery lists. The original emailed list has been revised.
Brokeback Mountain Weekly Grocery Lists

WEEK ONE
Beans
Bacon
Coffee
Whiskey

WEEK TWO
Beans
Ham
Coffee
Bourbon

WEEK THREE
Beans al fresca
Thin-sliced Bacon
PC Hazelnut Coffee
Skyy vodka & Tanqueray gin

WEEK FOUR
Beans en salade
Pancetta
Coffee (espresso grind)
5-6 bottles best Chardonnay

WEEK FIVE
Fresh Fava beans
Jasmine rice
Prosciutto, approx. 8 ounces, thinly sliced
Medallions of veal
Quebec Grade A Maple Syrup
Porcini mushrooms
1/2 pint heavy whipping cream
5-6 bottles Okanagan Ice Wine (Estate
Reserve)

WEEK SIX
Yukon Gold potatoes
Heavy whipping cream
Asparagus (very thin)
Organic Eggs
Spanish Lemons Oka cheese (well aged)
Dry-aged sirloin
Crushed Walnuts
Arugula
Clarified Butter
Extra Virgin Olive oil
Pure Balsamic vinegar 3 Cases of Vintage Dom Perignon

Born-again cooks

2006-02-17T17:49:00.000-08:00

I wish I could remember where I first read about “born-again cooks” needing constant validation. You know the type: You have to rave about everything, can’t suggest anything, and God forbid that your noticing something comes under the category of criticism. They are out to convert you, no matter your own beliefs, just like a born-again vegetarian, born-again Christian, and my favorite, the born-again virgin. They go into fits when you ask for ketchup for the roast potatoes, and make snide comments about your knives, pans, and other kitchen equipment. Food snobs have nothing against these people as they don't have the fervor--the passion—that a simple snob lacks.

Villa Adriana

2006-02-17T12:10:00.001-08:00

Back in grad school I had the unique opportunity to work on an architectural dig at Hadrian’s Villa (Villa Adriana) outside of Tivoli in Italy. With all the digging, walking, measuring, and hauling rock, I not only kept off the pasta-gelato pounds, but I not only shed the ten pounds gained my first year as a graduate, but actually reduced my weight to my high school days. And when I returned to the US, sporting a haircut from Rome, a bronze Mediterranean tan, Italian threads, and a new sleek self, I felt like that fat chick from the Judith Krantz novel, Scruples. Life is so easy in the superficial city of Los Angeles.
Anyway, we had two wonderful women who prepared our meals for us. One item that we never got tired of was this amazingly simple salad that the high-priced restaurant on the lake used to serve of melon with arugula.

Melone con rucula
Extra virgin olive oil
Chopped arugala, a good handful
Cantaloupe, skin removed and sliced
Place cantaloupe slices on a platter. Drizzle generously with olive oil. Sprinkle with the chopped arugala. Season with fleur de sel and freshly-ground black pepper. Serve immediately or the salt will begin to draw out the water.
Alternatively the melon can be chopped into bite-size pieces.

Maple-ize: Word of the Day

2006-02-17T11:07:00.000-08:00

Maple-ize should be a verb more often used in food preparation. Well, it should be a verb, period. And here is a delicious example of why.

Maple-ized Carrots (adapted from Cook's Illustrated)
1 pound carrots, peeled and cut into 2" strips
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 teaspoon Grade B maple syrup
1. Heat a heavy cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Add oil and butter, and then add carrots to the melted butter in a single layer. Cover and roast, stirring occasionally as the carrots roast to a nice deep brown, about 10-15 minutes.
2. Stir in maple syrup, coating carrots, and continue roasting about 3 minutes longer, stirring to make sure the syrup does not burn.
The syrup will thicken to an almost candy-like coating (as if carrots aren't sweet enough).
Serves 4

Maple-ize--spread the word.

Best Cheese Fondue

2006-02-15T15:19:00.000-08:00

Fondues were extremely hip in the 50's and 60's, and seemed to have been a featured item at the dinner parties of socialites, suburban housewives, and hippy communes. You can find new fondue sets at all sorts of kitchen, life-style, and department stores in a variety of styles and within any price range. Thrift shops and antique galleries that carry mid century furnishings, though, will yield the best buys in terms of quality, price, and memories. It is pretty likely that you will come across a pot that will look like something your parents had or would have had. If you do not have a fondue pot, be sure to use a large, wide-mouthed heat-proof ceramic, porcelain, or enameled cast-iron pot.

Most basic fondue recipes call for Swiss cheese, but there are so many wonderful types of Swiss cheese, it would be a shame to use just one. This recipe combines the wonderful melting qualities and tastes of three aged cheeses: Raclette, Gruyere, and Appenzeller.

Raclette is a whole cow's milk Swiss cheese not only in name and flavor but in origin as well. It resembles the better known, and more fully flavored, Gruyere with its slightly rough, light-brown rind . The interior also is firm, pale-ivory-yellow to light-brown but has more holes. Its nutty flavor tends to be milder than gruyere. It melts wonderfully, and is best known in making raclette, where the warmed cheese releases further flavors and aromas. Years ago a friend smuggled a wheel back from his native Switzerland in his ski boot bag. Nowadays, of course, you can find it any good cheese store or on the Web. It is also called Belsano, Belalp, Bagnes, Gomser, and Valais Raclette.

Perhaps the best known of the real Swiss cheeses, Gruyere cheese comes from the Gruyere district of Switzerland. Cooks reach for it to create fondue and gougere. It is made of whole cow's milk; one pound of regular Gruyere cheese requires five quarts of milk. Its full flavor is nutty and spicy, and lend itself to a cheese plate as well as to other dishes.

Appenzeller comes mostly from the canton of Appenzell. It is made from raw and aged for approximately three months. Appenzeller is an aged cow’s milk that is perhaps my favorite snacking cheese with its smooth texture, fruity tang, and slight nuttiness. The rind of this pressed, cooked-curd cheese is completely edible, so you don't have to waste time and cheese by carving away a stone hard exterior, wax, or whatnot. Its interior has small holes, and the smooth texture fills the mouth in a most satisfying way (which is probably why I love to snack on it.) Like the other Swiss cheeses, it melts well.

Cheese Fondue (adapted from Martha Stewart--when her recipes rocked)
Serves 4

1 clove garlic, halved, green kernel removed
2 teaspoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons kirsch (cherry brandy) or brandy
1 1/2 cups dry white wine
1/4 teaspoon sweet paprika
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
12 ounces Raclette cheese, shredded
4 ounces Gruyère cheese, shredded
4 ounces Appenzeller cheese, shredded

1. Rub the garlic inside the
fondue pot. Dissolve cornstarch in brandy, and set aside.
2. Pour wine into pot, and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Add paprika, nutmeg, and pepper. Stir in cheese with a wooden spoon. Cook, stirring constantly in a figure-eight pattern, until completely melted.
3. Add reserved cornstarch mixture, and continue to stir until thickened and creamy.
4. Place on the lit burner of your fondue set, and serve immediately with bite-size pieces of boiled potatoes, apples, cornichons, and day-old artisan bread. (If at any time it starts to
separate, simply continue to stir in the figure 8 pattern.)

The wonderfully-delicious crusty cheese at the bottom of the pot goes to the person who has successfully not lost any piece while dipping.

Caramel: the marriage of heat and sugar

2006-02-15T14:07:00.000-08:00

Everyone knows and loves chocolate fondue, but sometimes tastebuds crave a little something extra. A caramel fondue offers a great alternative. It is deceptively simple to make, and once mastered, offers an awesome sauce that can be used in everything from sundaes to Chocolate Sea Urchins.

If you don’t know how to ready the various stages of sugar color and balling, you’ll need a thermometer that can read temperatures beyond 350 degrees. Only when it is a deep-amber color should the hot cream be added. This will ensure the correct taste and keep the fondue from clumping.

Caramel Fondue
Serving: 2 cups
2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup heavy cream
pinch salt
2 tablespoons
cold unsalted butter
Dash of vanilla extract (optional)

1. Pour 1 cup water into medium heavy-bottomed saucepan. Add sugar to center of pan, being careful to not get it on the pan sides. Cover, and bring to boil over high heat. Uncover pot, insert candy thermometer, and continue to boil about 15 minutes until syrup is thick and straw-colored (300 degrees on candy thermometer). Reduce heat to medium; continue to cook until sugar is deep amber, begins to smoke (350 degrees), about 5 minutes longer. Meanwhile, bring cream and salt to simmer in small, heavy-bottomed saucepan over high heat. (If cream reaches simmer before syrup reaches 350 degrees, remove cream from heat and set aside.)
2. Remove sugar syrup from heat. Pour about ½ cup of hot cream into sugar syrup; let bubbling subside, then add remaining cream. Add bubbling subsides, whisk gently until smooth, then whisk in butter and vanilla. Let cool until warm; serve. (Can be covered and refrigerated up to 1 month. Reheat in microwave or small saucepan over low heat.)
3. Serve warm caramel fondue in a small fondue pot with a widemouth made of heat-proof ceramic, porcelain, or enameled cast-iron over a small flame with chocolate chunks, apple, banana, butter cookies, or nuts.

The fondue can also be used as a caramel sauce.

For a more sophisticated version, with a bit more bitterness, not so numbingly sweet, carefully take the temperture to 380 degrees.

For safety, be sure to have a bowl of ice water nearby.

Oh, and it is "caramel," not "carmel," a town in California.

Crunchy banana, mister?

2006-02-03T10:34:00.000-08:00

Some articles will make you dream of a certain dish. This made me dream of not just this dish, but has set up a new standard of spousal interaction. Philippe Conticin, then head chef at the Petrossian Boutique and Cafe in New York, wrote how his wife, an engineer by profession, concocted this awesome little dessert after he had explained how salt carries the flavors and sweetness of other ingredients. I love the image of this engineer, excited by a discussion with her spouse, conducting her own experiments in the kitchen.

He describes the resulting dessert as

“not a restaurant dessert, and yet, it is no ordinary home dessert. It is what I call "gourmand" — yummy, that is. It is like the Little Prince: appealing to children and adults alike. For pastry chefs, that is the ultimate goal… Her sandwich is made with a rather coarse grain-flecked whole wheat bread, whose outer layers are spread with butter and sugar. Inside, it is layered with thin
slices of very ripe banana, a dash of cinnamon and ground ginger, and a healthy pinch of fleur de sel. As a finishing touch, there's a drizzle of sweetened condensed milk. The sandwich is then pressed closed and toasted in a sandwich griddle. The sandwich warms through, the milk moistens the middle and the outside gets crispy and caramelized.”

Long-time readers of this blog know that nothing will grab my attention like the combination of the words “moist”, “crispy” and “caramelized.” Like its namesake, croque monsieur (literally “crunch mister”), this banana version has a satisfying crisp crust, but its crispness owes more to a crème brulee-like thin layer of caramelized sugar. But unlike croque monsieur, the Banana Croque-Monsieur works as a breakfast treat as well as a dessert for anytime of the day or night. (BTW He wrote this with Amanda Hesser, who I think does her most memorable writing within the framework of a relationship such as Mr. Latte, relatives or old friends.)

Banana Croque-Monsieur (adapted from Philippe Conticin in the New York Times)
Time: 20 minutes
8 slices high-quality multigrain country bread such as Orowheat
6 tablespoons melted butter
8 teaspoons sugar
2 very ripe bananas, peeled and thinly sliced
4 large pinches ground cinnamon
4 pinches ground ginger
4 pinches fleur de sel
8 teaspoons sweetened condensed milk
1 tablespoon lemon zest for garnish (optional)

1. Heat a sandwich griddle or a large skillet on medium-high. Brush butter on one side of each bread slice. Sprinkle 1 teaspoon sugar evenly over each slice.
2. Place four bread slices on a work surface, butter-and-sugar side down. Place bananas in equal portions on the slices, leaving a 1/4- inch border. Sprinkle a large pinch of cinnamon, a pinch of ginger and a pinch of fleur de sel on each slice, and then drizzle 2 teaspoons condensed milk over the slice.
3. Top each sandwich with a slice of bread, butter-and-sugar side up. Transfer sandwiches to griddle and cook until edges are crisp and well browned and sandwiches are warmed through, about 2 minutes. Flip and cook the other side. These will burn quickly. (Alternatively, cook sandwiches in skillet, using a large spatula to gently compress them and brown them evenly, about 2 minutes on each side.) Garnish with lemon zest, and serve hot. They can also be made a head of time and heated in a warm oven.
Yield: 4 servings.

Slabs of sludge

2006-02-03T09:49:00.000-08:00

Finally--someone agrees with me about the Costco birthday cake. The LA Times published a review of three cakes, in response to Saveur’s listing it as one of the ‘’favorite restaurants, food, drink, people, places, and things" from around the world’. While it still is a great place for toilet paper or to feed your favorite fraternity, I have to take issue with sheet cakes that bring to mind the negative connotations of the word “slab” and a list of ingredients that brings to mind “sludge.” There are so many great local bakeries, why not celebrate the birthday boy or girl with something more individual? Since I was a kid I have always loved the Gingerbell (now Borrachinis) cakes, but the other night I had the best birthday sheet cake from Seattle’s Magnolia Bakery aka Upper Crust Bakery on McGraw. The cake had nice flavor and crumb, and the frosting was not a thick layer of goop, but was instead a justifiable thickness of fluffy cream, sugar and flavoring. Support your local bakery!

Biscotti

2006-02-02T16:28:00.000-08:00

No food blog would be complete without some sort of Proustian madeleine. Since most madeleines leave so much to be desired, I have never understood the magic of these cookies.

I remember when I was a little child gnawing on what I thought was biscotti. I mentioned this to my mom a few times over the past few years and she just laughed. Biscotti only recently has been available so mass-market that you would give it to a kid. But two years ago I mentioned it again, but this time Dad chimed in that Emma, his boss' Italian wife used to bring me biscotti for teething.

Emma passed away several years ago, but I tracked down her daughter who "found the recipe in the old red and white tin recipe box [she] inherited from her mother. She never used a recipe herself, but she must have written it down at some point so she could share it."

Emma Bonica's Biscotti

5 cups flour
5 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp anise seed
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup milk
1 cup shortening (vegetable oil or melted butter)
1/2 cup chopped nuts (toasted almonds are best)

1. Sift together
the flour, baking powder, and salt onto a flat surface (a counter or large cutting board).
2. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture; it should look like a wide volcano crater.
3. Break the three eggs into the crater.

4. Using a table fork, beat the eggs to combine whites and yolks, then gradually add sugar, vanilla, milk, and shortening. Blend liquid ingredients thoroughly in the center of the flour crater.
5. Using the fork, gradually gather in small amounts of the flour from the inside perimeter of the crater, blending each forkful into the liquid center. The trick is to avoid breaking the flour barrier and having the liquid center flow outward onto the counter and floor.

6. As the center becomes more and more solid with the addition of the flour, begin kneading the dough with your hands. It will be sticky at first, but keep adding flour gradually.
7. Knead in chopped almonds.
When dough is still soft, but no longer sticky, form it into flat rectangular loaves 1/2 inch thick, 6 inches wide and 8-10 inches long.
8. Bake loaves for 10 minutes on cookie sheets.
9. Remove loaves from oven, cool slightly, and slice into 3/4 inch widths.
10. Lay slices on their sides and replace in oven to toast until golden; turn slices over and toast other sides.
11. Cool on racks.

* You can also mix dough in a bowl.

Below is my revised version. They are crunchy and hard, definitely meant for dipping. Still sometimes I'll chew on one, completely destroying any benefits of wearing that expensive night guard, and pushing me ever so closer to veneers.

AJ's Biscotti (adapted from Emma Bonica)
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon table salt
2 large eggs
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
grated lemon zest (one lemon’s worth)
2 teaspoons anise seed
1/4 chopped nuts (hazelnuts, pine nuts, almonds)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees, and place the oven rack in the middle.
2. Sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt onto a flat surface (a counter or large cutting board). Make a well in the center of the flour mixture; it should look like a wide volcano crater.
3. Break the three eggs into the crater. Using a table fork, beat the eggs to combine whites and yolks, then gradually add sugar, vanilla, zest and anise. Blend liquid ingredients thoroughly in the center of the flour crater.
4. Using the fork, gradually gather in small amounts of the flour from the inside perimeter of the crater, blending each forkful into the liquid center. The trick is to avoid breaking the flour barrier and having the liquid center flow outward onto the counter and floor. As the center becomes more and more solid with the addition of the flour, begin kneading the dough with your hands. It will be sticky at first, but keep adding flour gradually. Knead in chopped almonds.
5. When dough is still soft, but no longer sticky, form it into 2 flat rectangular loaves 1/2 inch thick, 3 inches wide and 8-10 inches long.
6. Bake loaf for 30 minutes on a cookie sheet spread with parchment paper, rotating pan once, until golden.
7. Remove loaves from oven, cool slightly, and slice into 3/8 inch widths diagonally with a serrated knife.
8. Lay slices on their sides and replace in a 325 degrees oven to toast until golden; turn slices over and toast other sides (about 11 minutes per side).
9. Remove from cookie sheets and cool completely on racks before storing in an airtight container.

Since this version contains no butter or shortening, it will keep for up to a month. If you add butter, say a half stick, the biscotti will be richer, less crunchy, and more edible as a regular cookie. They will also only last a week or so before the flavor begins to go off.

Leave my leaves alone

2006-02-01T17:50:00.000-08:00

Does anything say Autumn more than falling leaves? Here, maple syrup, sugar, and butter combine to form a wonderful alternative to the usual holiday sweets. RD is allergic to all tree products except maple syrup, so he goes crazy for these. It looks like a chore to ice all these cookies, but he was smiling the entire time. We prepared a basket for him to send his mom, but I don’t think they made it to post office. We decided that we like the cookies with a glaze, not iced or frosted. The glaze provides just the right amount of visual sheen, added flavor and sugar without being cloyingly sweet. We also liked them crispy—the extra browning and crunch made the cookie more complex than what Martha recommends.

Autumn Maple Leaf Cookies (adapted from Martha Stewart Holiday Cookies)
Makes about 60 cookies
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup grade B maple syrup (if using regular syrup, add a few drops of pure maple extract for a more robust flavor)
1 large egg yolk
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cups confectioners’ sugar

1. In the large bowl of an electric mixer, cream together butter and granulated sugar. Add 1/2 cup maple syrup and egg yolk; mix until well combined. Sift together flour and salt over mixture, and combine thoroughly. Divide dough in half, flatten into a disk, wrap in plastic, and chill until firm, about 2 hours.
2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the remaining 1/2 cup maple syrup and confectioners’ sugar until smooth, adding more maple syrup for piping consistency, if necessary. Cover tightly with plastic, and set aside.
3. Preheat oven to 350°. Line four baking sheets with Silpat baking mats or parchment; set pans aside.
4. Remove half of dough from refrigerator. On a lightly-floured surface, roll dough out to an 1/8-inch thickness. Using a 2- to 3-inch leaf-shaped cookie cutter, cut out cookies, and transfer to prepared baking sheets, spacing cookies 1/2 inch apart. Chill any trimmings, and roll out again. Repeat process with remaining half of dough. If desired, use the back of a paring knife to score veins on leaves.
5. Bake cookies until light golden around edges, about 12 minutes. Transfer baking pans to a wire rack for 5 minutes. Using a spatula, remove cookies from pans to a wire rack to cool.
6. Using a pastry brush, glaze the cooled cookies with the maple mixture.
This was my first time using my new Vollrath cookie sheets. Cooks Illustrated rated them the perfect cookie sheet if you could find them. At over 2.5 #s of steel, they are sturdy, and won't warp at high tempertures. I didn't grease the sheets or use parchement, and the cookies came off with no sticking. (Maybe age will affect them, though.) the downside is that they stay so HOT after the baked are removed that cookies with butter will just gloop and spread a little too much before they are even in the oven. But at a quarter of the price of the All-Clad, and better-rated, you can afford a few more, and really, during the holidays, do you ever have too many GOOD cookie sheets?

Stuff it

2006-02-01T17:18:00.000-08:00

Today was the end of my arteries as I know them. After taking the Charcuterie class at Culinary Communion, I tackled sausage making on my own, armed with my old Mixmaster, the meat grinder and stuff attachments, and recipes for French merguez and boudin noir (blood sausage). I picked up pig blood, and hit the Pike Place Market for pork shoulder, lamb, and fat back, and casings.
The blood sausage is not as gross as you would imagine. Its not like being on Fear Factor. In fact, when the blood pops out of the container, it is so gelatinous that it reminds you of canned cranberry sauce (and is as just as appealing). And mixing up the meat, fat, spices and blood was just like mixing ketchup into meatloaf.

The recipe called for 1/4 teaspoon of quatre epices, which research showed as a combination of four spices of varying quantities and spices. I settled on powdered ginger, black pepper, ground clove,and ground nutmeg. Since I needed it for the merguez as well, I decided to make a large batch and store the remainder. So a few teaspoons of this, and a teaspoon of that, and 6 teaspoons of freshly ground black pepper all went into a clean glass bowl for my mise en place, which I then threw into the mixer. Only after it had all blended did I realize I had thrown in all nine teasppons instead of the required 1/4 teaspoon. It sure smelled good though.

But it got to be pretty nasty when I had to stuff the casings. The machine would clog, and blood would spurt all over. (I still am finding it on the pendant lights.) Blood was all over my face and glasses. Pushing the mixture into the machine would create a suction and fart-like noise but the whole sausage-making process was such that you had to disengage yourself from the corporal and not think of bodily functions, because that would lead you to think of the body, and that to blood, and fat and muscle, and then the task at hand. Best to just get on with the job of stuffing the cranberry mixture.

Dale finally came over and helped when he realized that I would be serving these on Sunday for a birthday dinner. He was grossed out to say the least (and he didn't even see the blood splattered all over my face.).

But as he loves boudin noir, he steadfastly faced his task, and continued to force the mixture into the machine while I held the casing and pulled it along. Finally we finished, and we cleaned up. Well, after two good bleachings, that blood still stains my jacket and counter towel. Luckily the stainless countertops stood up to their name, and were a cinch to clean.

As for the gingerbread boudin noir, they were delicious. The spice was definitely there, but not as obnoxious as I had feared. The texture was sublime, with little bits of white fat that melted in the mouth, creating that wonderful texture obtainable only through pork fat. In fact, if I hadn't known better, I would have thought that boudin noir was supposed to be this spicy, and would have thought everything else bland.

You say Timballo, I say Timpano

2006-02-01T16:23:00.000-08:00

The LA Times featured a timballo (timpano), which made it into the American culinary lexicon via the movie The Big Night. The recipes given were pretty simple compared to other recipes. One website contrasted the timballo with the timpano, noting the main difference is the outer layer of pastry crust on the timpano. This could be like cassoulet, with endless pedantic debate on the origins, ingredients, and construction of a true timpano or timballo. And like a cassoulet, the recipes seemed involved and time consuming.

Whatever the case for true origins and ingredients may be, the recipe that Regina Schrambling presents for Rice Timballo with Prosciutto and Peas is simply delicious and wonderful eating, full of flavors and contrasting crunchy and creamy. With its Emilia-Romagna heritage of parma ham and percorino romano, how could it go wrong?

As for simplicity, the dish is really just a bunch of simple recipes and techniques strung together: risotto and pecorino is pressed into a spring-form pan’s bottom and sides, and filled with a gussied up béchamel, which is covered with more rice mixture like a bombe.

Then it is dotted with cheese and butter and baked like a casserole. A few additional minutes at higher heat for further browning only adds to the visual appeal.

This would be a great potluck dish when you want to blow away the competition, I mean other guests’ dishes.

When the Sea Reaches for the Sky [redux]

2006-01-27T07:31:00.000-08:00

This first posting is dedicated to friends who organized a wonderful day of birthday events and a party for me. Such thoughtfulness could not go unrewarded, and there was only one dish I considered, the plateau de fruit de mer.

Although I had heard about the plateau de fruit de mer, I never had thought seriously about it until I read what has become my favorite article by Amanda Hesser in the New York Times “When the Sea Reaches for the Sky”:

“There is no precise definition for a plateau de fruit de mer... There is no recipe. It is more abstract than that. Think of it as an expression of the sea, a display of the best shellfish and crustaceans a restaurant can find that day, put forth in their purest form… All are arranged on deep aluminum trays that are filled with ice. A great plateau de fruits de mer gives a sense of excess, with the seafood coming off as if they were jewels nestled in the ice. Like a wedding cake, the bottom layer is largest. It is typically dotted with oysters, clams and scallops… This is so the diner can see that they are fresh and plump, and immersed in their liquor. (If they were placed on a higher layer, you would risk spilling the precious liquor as you lifted each shell.) The second layer, and sometimes the third, each smaller and supported by steel pedestals, are decorated with richer shellfish, like shrimp, mussels and razor clams. Sometimes, periwinkles and seaweed are slipped among them, as if they had washed up on the ice. If there is lobster, it is usually placed on top, crowning the plateau with a flash of red to catch diners’ eyes as it passes from raw bar to table. A plateau de fruits de mer is not so much a dish as an experience.”

Her descriptions are so invoking that I could not shake the idea of having my own plateau de fruit de mer. It also makes my own post difficult to write. But for some reason, even in this seafood town I never saw it on menus. Only recently did I see and order the Peruvian version frutos del mar at Andina in Portland--the other tables not only "looked on shamelessly," but each table down the row asked us what we were eating. The woman next to us obviously preferred to be eating with us, rather than with her lackluster date, who ordered the most pedestrian items on the menu

So on a rainy Saturday morning, I purchased three deep round cake pans of graduated diameters, five bags of ice chips, and hit three of Seattle’s best seafood stores. By lunch I had a makeshift tower of cake pans, a disassembled French coffee press, and a chinois stand, all ready to be covered with ice and Neptune’s best. (Years later I would learn that the real stands were right behind me when I bought the cake pans at Sur La Table.)

Minutes before the guests arrived, I assembled the tower: the tiny and little known Olympia Oysters, Kumamoto Oysters (I think), boiled red crayfish and prawns, seviche, uni, raw scallops, sashimi (toro, wild king salmon, and hamachi) on shiso leaves, and two Dungeness crabs. Bright yellow wedges of lemon added a little visual order to the unrestrained bounty, and seaweed draped over the platters of ice as if they were rocks or driftwood.
After hors d’oeuvres and Taittinger, I led everyone to the dining room, which was illuminated only by a few candles and two tiny spotlights that shone on the glistening ice and flashes of color. A single prawn tail enticingly dripped melted ice onto the tier below. Now, I know the guys were impressed by the oohs and aahs, and protests of “you shouldn’t have, but so glad you did,” however, I knew that I had done the job right when one guy whipped out his cell phone and snapped a picture.

Then we sat down to eat. I served a bottle of iced sake in glass vials, embedded in ice. Glass bowls with condiments, glass candlesticks, white flowers, and white plates and white hand towels continued the ice theme. But who cared? We had serious eating to do, and nothing shows appreciation like watching people eat with their hands. Hands flew over the three tiers, grabbing and cracking crab legs, squirting lemon onto an oyster before tipping it back and slurping it down, peeling prawns, snatching a piece of fatty tuna.

After the shells, tiers, and ice were removed, I served dessert, the last bit of “seafood,” chocolate sea urchin.

To keep with theme of seafood, albeit not iced, I pulled out my version of Patina’s Chocolate Sea Urchin. This dessert was so rich, so chocolaty that at the end of dinner at Patina, Mom said she never wanted to see a piece of chocolate again. No one has ever said this about my recipe, but then, they didn’t have a five-course meal at Patina, plus the chocolate petit fours.

I wish I could find the section drawing I made of this as I tried to figure out how it was made--it was a handsome colored pencil and ink drawing. The chocolate sea urchin is basically a hard hemisphere shell of bittersweet Vahlrona chocolate. Almond slivers dipped in melted chocolate protrude from the shell, which sits on oozy passion fruit. A slice into the shell reveals a filling of dark bittersweet mousse, with a center of caramel. Incredibly rich, with a variety of textures, and flavors (but always dominated by chocolate), the sea urchin is the bazooka of desserts.

It was as good as a meal as the best of friends, food and drink can make, and a fitting conclusion to and beginning of another year of my life.

A few words to Chew by, if not live by

2006-01-26T13:57:00.000-08:00

Back in Art School, after I dropped out of Economics, I realized that my artistic talent rested in not rendering or sculpting, but in cooking. Why I didn’t just stop then and head off to the Culinary Institute of America, I don’t know, since even back in junior high I had written away for its brochures when the other kids were dreaming of high SAT scores, a preppy lifestyle, and beer bonging. And while other kids purchased Sports Illustrated, Tiger Beat, I picked up Cook’s Magazine and Bon Appetit. Years later, at architecture school, I was fortunate to have instructors who considered the food on the table as important at the table setting, the table and chairs, the room finishes, and the room itself. All seemed reconciled.

But now as a professional in the construction industry, I yearn for the immediate and sensual gratifications of the culinary world. While I am likely to read an article about how construction in China affects the price of steel in Colorado, I’ll print and save an article on making my own bacon. To paraphrase Brillat Savarin: “The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than a new shopping center.”

This blog, then, attempts to reconcile (again) these conflicting passions without falling into the pathos of a self-help journey. I hope there will surprises, a reasonable amount of stability, a ramble and a rant now and then, but most all, an inspiration for good food on the table and in conversation.