Thursday, July 30, 2009

BEAT YOUR MEAT:Veal milanese

Well, Annalena apologizes for being away from her ragazzi. She had her first surgery in her life two days ago, gang. Not something she wants to repeat, and that's a promise. But we go on. We go on with something special in this, our 400th entry together! What a ride it has been. This calls for something special, with a special title....



Veal milanese is a dish that can terrify you. If you order it at a restaurant, the presentation is spectacular. You have this enormous "thing" on your plate that is somewhere in between a veal cutlet and a veal chop, and it's crispy, and it has salad on it. This is a truly spectacular dish, but if you thought that you had to go to a restaurant to have it, well, you are wrong. And if you thought that the recipe for preparing it was uniform, well, you would be wrong again. And... if you thought that Annalena was going to follow the canon on the recipe, well, you'd be sort of wrong again.

Let me say up front that this is a dish of extravagance. Veal chops are expensive. Making a less spectacular version with veal cutlets is hardly less expensive. You could do this with pork chops if you can find the right cut, or with "turkey chops, " if you can find them. Please, though, if you have the scratch , make it the first time with veal.

The list of ingredients you are going to need is somewhat long: flour and salt and pepper. Eggs. Bread crumbs, the flavored kind. Veal chops. (We'll come back to this). Oil and butter. Tomatoes, preferably cherry tomatoes, more preferably , red and yellow ones in equal proportion. Arugula, preferably wild arugula. Balsamic vinegar. The cheap kind.

Start by turning our oven to 400. Then, go to the part that inspires the title: you are going to beat your meat.
If you tell the butcher what you are going to do, if he looks at you like he has no idea what you are talking about, tell him you need chops that you will be flattening. If he still looks at you like you are nuts, go to another butcher. The ideal chop is not very thick, and has a long bone. That bone is not going to add much to the flavor of the dish , but it does make it spectacular, somewhat flinstonian in its nature.

To make four of these, start with (duh), four chops. Lay down a piece of plastic and then one chop, and cover it with another piece of plastic. Get a heavy weight, like a meat pounder (NOT you know what...), and start hitting the meat portion of the chop, HARD. Push the pounder away from you, so that as you pound, you are also trying to push the meat away. It is possible, indeed, likely, that you will break the meat when doing this. Not a problem. You should be able to increase the size of the "eye" of meat by about twice the original size. Do this for all of the chops .

Clean away the plastic and make up what we call a "fry station." Have three bowls or wide plates. One should hold flour mixed with salt and pepper. The middle one should hold 2-3 large eggs , beaten. The third, the flavored bread crumbs. Have a baking sheet at the end.

Take each chop and first dredge it in the flour shaking off the excess. Then dip it in egg , coating it completely. Finally give it a dredge in bread crumbs to coat it. Take your time. Then put the chops on the baking sheet.

When you have it all done, get rid of the excess. If you pour the flour into your sink, be ready to clean it with cold water. Hot water will create an impenetrable paste and you will curse the whole night. Trust me on this.

Now, get equal amounts of unsalted butter and olive oil in a pan, and heat at medium, until the butter has melted. Use a big pan, but even a really big pan will hold only two chops at a time. Lay them in, "69" position (if you don't know what that means, you should not be reading this blog). They will sizzle. When the sizzling has abated a bit, check, and if it's nice and brown turn them and do it to the other side (in my opinion, many restaurants opt to not do this long enough and the chops are not as tasty as they could be).

Repeat this with the other two chops, and then put the whole sheet in the oven and let the chops cook for ten minutes.

Now, here is where Annalena goes heterodox. Traditionally, you mix up a cold salad of chopped tomatoes and arugula, with a balsamic vinegar dressing and use it raw. Not me. I leave the tomatoes whole, and put them right into that hot fat from the veal cooking. In a few minutes, the tomatoes will collapse. Let them cook a minute or two more. I use about a pint in all, of mixed colors. Then add big handfuls of arugula, a handful at a time, and watch it reduce. Stir in about a quarter cup, or less, of balsamic vinegar, and then take this off the heat.

After ten minutes in the oven, the veal will be cooked through. Remove it carefully, and get one chop to each plate. Spoon some cooked salad over each one. Maybe put some slices of lemon o the plate as well.

Any "gloriously green" vegetable goes with this. Asparagus say "sophisticated," peas say "comfort," broccoli says "nutritious," squash says "Annalena's favorite." I almost always serve this with pastina or orzo , but I have seen it with rice (I approve), and mashed potatoes (I do not). But go with what you like.

To those of you who like the idea, but blanch at all those carbs , you can go directly to the pan with the beaten chops. Just salt and pepper them, since you don't have the benefit of the flour. I have had it this way, but I much prefer the traditional crusted one.

Yes, it is a budget buster, especially if you get real fancy and decide to shave truffles over it, as I once did. HEAVENS was it good. At that time, Annalena was much heavier, and while she dreamed she could have had any man at the table with the dish, alas, that was far from true. Now, however, it may be time to revisit this proposition

Incidentally, when you eat this dish, do not be polite. Pick up that bone and EAT IT. GNAW IT . Finish it off. Sophistication does not mean you waste food.

And this, with appreciation, fondness, and love, is dedicated to Jonathan.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Early Thanksgiving: pasta with greens and sausage

No, this is not a recipe for roast turkey or anything else like that . It is a recipe, connected to giving of thanks, pure and simple.
In three days, for the first time in my life, I will be having surgery. It's supposed to be routine, easy surgery, it's outpatient, and everyone whom I know who has had it, has told me it's nothing.

And I am scared to death. There is no other way to describe it. I am scared to death. Of the surgery itself, and the recovery period.

Of the recovery period, I will be "Dis" abled from cooking and other things, for a while. And that is where the giving of thanks comes in, in part. The rest comes in response to the support I have received for my fears.

My friends are cooking for me. I am overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed by much around this, like the prayers from people far away (this means YOU, Bobby D, YOU Frank M , YOU Crystal W, and your daughters, YOU Kim C, Sandra B and Eric C, YOU, all of you members of the Swindells-Peck Central NY syndicate), and close by. I can't name everyone in here. You know who you are.

I would like to think - in fact I hope I'm right - that the "boomerang effect" is working, and that I'm getting back what I put out. And if it's true, I've been putting out a lot more good than I thought I did. From David R's first toast, after my diagnosis of "here's to it not being serious," to the planning before and after the surgery, to the support everyone has given to my partner Guy. My words are failing me now, because I am too full from all the love.

The first night, my wonderful friend Keith is going to cook dinner. Let me just say that Keith is living proof of there being a higher intelligence. There is absolutely no reason that he and I should have met, or that we would have become, not friends, but FRIENDS. But we did. Who was watching and made this happen? I could say that about many others in my life, and I will, in days to come, but let me focus on Keith on this one.

Last year, on Labor Day, Keith made Guy and I this dish. It is a modification of a dish that is described in Alice Waters' cookbook, "The Art of Simple Food." I have shown Keith how to do a few dishes. The way he prepares this one, shows that he "gets it." He did NOT stick to the recipe, but he stuck to the spirit of it. And it's delicious. And I am looking forward to it very much. He taught me to make it, and now, we're going to teach you.

You start with a bunch of something green. Kale, chard, broccoli rabb, even spinach would work. I think broccoli probably would, but don't go to that one on this dish. Try to stick to something leafier. We've used kale, and we're going to use chard. Alice calls for cooking the greens in salted water and putting them aside. I don't recall Keith doing that, and neither would I. Rather, just chop them fine, and put them aside.

Now, get a few tablespoons of olive oil hot in a frying pan, and add a pound of sausage, cut into small pieces. We used lamb merquez sausage the first time, and Keith is using sweet lamb sausage this time around. Alice just calls for sausage, and calls upon you to take the meat out of the casing and cook it. You can, if you want to, but I think it's nicer the way Keith did it, with chunks of sausage. Cook them in the hot oil for about 6 minutes, and while it's cooking, slice up an onion, thin, and toss it into the fat after you've cooked and removed the sausage. Let that cook for about five minutes, and add your greens. They will cook down real fast.

While this is happening, get a big pot of water to the boil and add salt. Then add a pound of a shaped pasta. We used fusilli, or farfalle the last time (I forget which). This time, we'll use farfalle, or orecchiete, or another shape. This is the cook's choice. Cook this to al dente - you know how to do that, ragazzi, and drain it.

Decide which pot will make it easier for you to combine the sauce with the pasta, and then use it to mix the two of them together. Add a bit more olive oil if you want, and perhaps a shake or two of fresh ground black pepper. Just before you serve it, add some pecorino romano cheese to the top of it, if you like (I do. So does Keith). And serve it forth.

This will be reminiscent to those of you of a southern Italian bent, as the classic dish from Calabria, of broccoli rabb, orecchiete, and sausage if you were rich, or no sausage, if you weren't. And indeed, I think that ultimately, it is a variation on the idea of "pork and greens" which we've seen show up many times in this blog.

Cooking for friends is wonderful. When your friends cook for you, it's even better. Thank you, Keith, and thank all of you. We'll all keep our fingers crossed, and if you don't think I'll feel your presence under the anesthesia, you're wrong.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

A scallop primer (or is it primmer?)

I have no idea. And I have a feeling I have probably written this before, but wotthehell.



See, Annalena has become a facebook addict, and has taken to posting her nightly menus on her profile page. Sometimes there are reactions, sometimes, not. The reaction to last night's menu, which featured scallops, was far in excess of any other. Clearly, Annalena has touched a vein. There is a cadre of scallop lovers out there.



Count Annalena among them. I do think I could eat scallops every night of the week. That would delight no one more than my trainer Emily, who wishes I were eating more low fat protein like fish. Of course, the way I normally cook them would not please her, but half a loaf.... (she won't let me have the half loaf either). In any event, let's talk about these molluscs.



What you eat as a scallop is the muscle of a hinged shellfish. You've seen the shells. You've seen, for example, "Venus on the half shell." That's a scallop she's riding in on. There are other parts of the scallop, some not so savory, and one part where its savory quality is debatable. From time to time, you will find scallops filled with a pinkish orange roe. Annalena has been told that this is the pinnacle of good seafood eating.



Annalena would rather have a sea urchin, thank you very much. So we will be talking only about the muscle part here, leaving the roe to others to discuss.



You can buy two types of scallop: sea and bay. Bay scallops are tiny - about the size of a mini marshmallow, and are absurdly expensive. They are only available in this part of the world for a very short period of the year, and I have seen them at upwards of 35.00 a pound. I am not a big fan of them, although others feel they are the sweetest of all shellfish.



Bay scallops are much larger. You will see on restaurant menus, sometimes, "U10" scallops. That means there are ten units to a pound - your scallops are about a tenth of a pound, or 1.6 ounces each. That is a big scallop, but it is not the biggest. I have had Mexican scallops, that weigh in at 4 ounces each. Not so good. A novelty, but not worth the price. If you can get U10s, by all means, but to me, at any size, they are wonderful, and you cook them the same way.



When buying scallops, DO NOT go to your grocery store unless there is a special fish counter. Scallops that are available, wrapped in plastic in a container, are best thrown away. So, too, are scallops that look totally uniform and pristenely white in color. Those scallops have been bleached. Seriously. They have been put in a solution to keep them fresh, while the ships are at sea for days or even weeks at a time. They absorb that liquid, and then when you cook them, you will see your scallops turn into water in front of your eyes. Buy something else. Buy a can of tuna, for heaven's sake, just don't buy those.



No, the only scallops to buy are called either "dry" scallops, or "day boat" scallops, meaning they were caught that day, or that they were not stored in that ghastly solution. They will not have a uniform color: they will be white, pink, yellow, cream colored, reflecting what they last ate. They will give you a much bigger value for your money, as they will not pour off liquid when you cook them. For me, a half pound of scallops is a must. Probably, a third of a pound is a more reasonable serving. You make the call.



Here is how I almost always prepare them. First, get a bag and put about half a cup of flour into it, with about a hefty teaspoon of salt. Shake that up to make it uniform. Have your scallops ready, and toss them in, and around, to give them a uniform thin coat of seasoned flour (you could add pepper too, if you like).

To separate the scallops from the excess flour, dump the whole mess into a colander and shake. The flour will go through and the scallops will stay. You can clean up that floury mess with COLD water (don't use hot. You'll never get it up). Now, get your pan ready.

Scallops are one of two things I cook in a nonstick pan, the other being eggs. I just find that it works better for these guys. Get a BIG one. You need to get as many in the pan as you can, without crowding them. If you're working with, say, a pound, use two tablespoons of unsalted butter and two tablespoons of olive oil. Get them nice and hot. Then, add your scallops, and cook them without moving them, for about five minutes. That will give you a nice sear and get the scallops cooked more than half way through. Turn them and cook for a few more minutes - say three.

Now we're going to make a bit of sauce. Take the scallops out and put them to the side. Preferably, you'll cover them, so they won't get too cold. Take the pan OFF the heat (important), and pour in about half a cup of white wine. Hold the pan away from you, because the stuff can flare up. It did for me last night. Let it sizzle, and then put the pan down on the heat and reduce it, by about a half to 2/3. That's your sauce.

Plate up your scallops and pour the sauce over them. And you got DINNER. I like to serve this with rice, but it's really up to you as to what your starch is. For some, it's plain potatoes, for others, it is mashed potatoes, and for others, it is heartier stuff. Whatever you like.

Go forth, get thee some scallops, and cook away.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Spending eat: beef tenderloin

Yes, we are all in the midst of an economic "downturn" or a "recession" or whatever you want to call it, and we're all looking for ways to save, to stretch a buck and all those things.
Let's not overdo it. I'm serious about this. It's sort of like dieting: if you do it too rigorously, you will feel cheated, cheat on the diet, binge, and wind up worse off than you are. Trust Annalena on t his, and if you don't, ask the dietary authorities (whoever THEY are). Seriously, though, generally, the nutritionists I have spoken to say that when you diet, you have to allow yourself one "cheat day" a week. That's the only way to do it.
With food, in my opinion, it's the same way. But more. First of all, my gospel: BUY QUALITY INGREDIENTS. Last week, I had a good reminder of why this is so important. I made the same dish, twice. Once, I used supermarket ingredients, and the second time, stuff from the farmers' market. I cooked both dishes exactly the same way, in exactly the same pots.
People ate more of the supermarket dish, but that's because it didn't taste like anything. I think that's what happens: we eat so much of what we do, because we're not getting the sense of satisfaction from something truly flavorful. The farmers market dish cost about 40% more to cook, but people ate half of it. So, there were two meals there, or I could have bought half the food, etc, etc, etc.

What does any of this have to do with beef tenderloin. Uh, have you seen the price of the stuff? You could faint. BUT... there's a reason for it. When you cook beef tenderloin, there is NO waste. I was prepping one this weekend, and decided to leave the "silver skin" fat on it. When the thing was done cooking, it was gone. All melted into the beef. So there's no waste. And it is TENDER. (DUH. TENDERloin.). Honestly, taste wise, it is not my favorite piece of beef. I like other cuts more, but this one always seems to say to people "you're special." And this invokes Annalena's two rules on spending money: spend it on food, spend it on your friends, and spend it lavishly (Oh. I guess that's three. Oh well). There's a fourth one too, which is "if you have two dollars left, but two dolalrs worth of flowers." There are more rules too, now that I think about it. but not for here.

Anyway, back to the tenderloin. You usually buy this in a piece. If you CAN get a whole tenderloin, however, do so. You will probably get a price break, and you will have enough meat to feed an army. The one I cooked this weekend was 3 pounds, and it fed nine people, with a smattering of leftovers for a salad tonight. Confronted with the whole tenderloin, there is one thing you should do: tenderloins are not uniform in size. You will have a thicker end, and a thinner one. Cut the thing so that you have two pieces that are equal in thickness. That way, you don't wind up with a piece that is overcooked and leathery, or one that is undercooked and raw (although you could just throw that one to me, and I'll eat it).

The recipe I used is from Ina Garten. I used her specs, because as y'all know, I adore Ina. This time around though... having done it, I think I would have modified it, as I shall explain. But this is something you should make, at least once this summer. It is SO BLOODY EASY AND SO BLOODY GOOD. Here we go.

First, take your 2-3 pound tenderloin and put it to the side, while you preheat your oven to - ready for t his - 500 degrees. Yup, 500. All the way up. Dont argue, just do it. Then , mix together 1.5 teaspoons of salt and freshly ground pepper, and rub it all over the beef.

Put the beef on a cooking sheet, and put it in the oven. 22 minutes for rare, 25 minutes for medium rare (if you have people who don't agree on how they like it, cut the thing in half and take the first half out at 22, the second at 25).

When the meet is finished cooking, leave it to sit for fifteen minutes, and then slice it up.

You will swoon. You will not need a knife for this. You will feel like you are eating beef butter. And if you then go and cook the other one, you will have lovely sandwiches.

A cut of beef like this should need no adornment - HOWEVER, given the Italian predisposition for this, if you are going to spend upwards of 25 bucks a pound for this meat, I would suggest some sauteed, wild mushrooms on it. Or, a green sauce of fresh herbs, peppers, and a bit of vinegar. Some others will gild the lilly and add a flavored butter. Ultimately, however, this is best with the small amount of drippings that come off of it after it's rested.

Yes, it's an extravagance. But here's how you justify it: if you've been invited to someone's place for the weekend, offer to do the cooking. This will cost you less than a night's lodging at a good hotel, and you'll make everyone happy. It would probably be piggy to claim title to l eftovers, so offer to split them.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Middle European pasta: Spaetzle (or spatzl or spatzen)

I love starch. There's no doubt about it. Potatoes, pasta, rice, bread, crackers. Yes, please. Now that Annalena has started training with a woman affectionately referred to as "the tiny beast," the "ad libitum" consumption of carbs and starches has had to have been curtailed. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as Annalena is beginning to realize "OH MY GOD. I have muscles." But since the total amount of these lovely ingredients has had to be cut back, I've gone afield to start trying new or neglected ones.
Leading to: spaetzle. If you don't know these, shame on you. How best to describe them? Well, I saw a piece calling them "German egg dumplings," which really doesn't do a good job. When I think of dumplings, I think of larger, heavier units, sort of like Chinese pot stickers. Spaetzle ain't that. To me, they are sort of like a larger, irregular pasta. Now , what's wrong with that?
I have made them before, with varying success. I always felt that I was "missing something" when I made them. They were heavy, or too "solid." I once watched an Austrian chef make them on television: one of these guys who , if you saw him, you would KNOW he was a chef. He said that the key to good spaetzle was BEATING the dough - HARD. And he did. There were more than 40 lashes administered to that bowl when he was done. I tried that. I think the spaetzle retaliated . And I put them to the side.
Then, opportunity knocked. My friend Rob is making us dinner this weekend. It's Hungarian in theme, and he asked me to make spaetzle (and to be totally fair, he said we would have rice as a fallback if the spaetzle didn't work).
Those who know me well know that this is a challenge that yours truly cannot pass up. So I started my research. And I learned some rather interesting things. First, every recipe for spaetzle that I found, had way more liquid in it than the one I was using. Also, just about all of them had departed from the classic combination of flour/eggs/liquid/salt, and added an ingredient that brought some moisture to it. I saw them with peas, with butternut squash puree, and finally, the one I settled on: fresh herbs. Lots of them. And when I made them, as a trial run last night, they were GOOD. The recipe allegedly makes four, very large side dish portions. Well, there were three of us, and there ain't no more left. So, this weekend, when I go to Rob's and make these guys, we may just double the recipe.

here we go. You start with a heaping 2 cups of flour. The original recipe called for 2.25 cups, but I find that if I just heap up the two cups, I get the right amount. You add to that a sprinkle of salt, 3/4 cup of whole milk, and three eggs (I'm gonna come back to the milk quantity later). Stir this all together. You're going to get a very thick dough that is resistant to being whisked. You really need a spoon, and you DO need to get some elbow grease into this. Now, get a big bunch of herbs. For me, it was dill and parsley, and chop them very fine. VERY fine. You'll want a good third of a cup or so of them, and then stir that into the dough.

You now need a pot of boiling liquid. The choices that I've seen are water, and stock. I had one more quart of "cockstock" left, and I'm getting a rooster today for making more, so I dumped that into a pot, together with a quart of water, to dilute it. You can buy a toy called a spatzle maker. basically, it's a tear shaped grater, with a sliding box on it. It fits over the pot. You put the dough into the box, and slide it back and forth, as small bits of dough fall into the boiling liquid.

And you WILL sweat during this. You may want a change of clothes ready because this dough is fairly resistant. But you WILL prevail, and the dumplings will fall into the liquid and cook up in about two minutes. They come to the top of the liquid when they're done. Scoop em out and keep going until you use up all the dough.

Now, what if you don' thave a spatzle maker, like a normal person? Then what I would suggest is that you add a bit more milk to the dough (in fact, I may do that anyway, so that I can save some elbow grease), and then rub the dough over the larger holes of a three sided grater. My sister in law Crystel (who is from Swabia), tells me that she makes her dough VERY wet, and then just dribbles it into the liquid with a fork. Crystel KNOWs what she's doing, and I will defer to t his.

You can dress these guys when they're done, with butter, or gravy, or put them into some of the stock you've cooked them in, if you used stock. They keep for a few hours, and what I did was to just toss a few spoons of the stock in them, to keep em moist. That was all we did.

They went alongside a roast chicken. Crystel tells me that there are rules for when you can and cannot serve spatzle , but they are changing.

I am sure that if you have left over ones, they would be great, pan fried until they are crispy. And... with my evil mind working the way it is, I am thinking: beet puree. Golden beet puree. And I have just the friend to make these with: David, get over here!!!!

So, I wanna shout out a few people on this one. Rob, who sent me on the search that led to this success. Wait till tomorrow, boss. It's gonna be great. Crystel, you old spatzlemacherin, Rene, the rediscovered Austrian flash, who will probably tell me how to do this better, and David, dear David, who will come up with some more great ideas, well beyond the beet variation, and we'll do them. I can see all kinds of possibilities in the future.

Give it a try. What could a new starch hurt?

Monday, July 13, 2009

It seems French to me: peas with lettuce

Last week, I was faced with a "problem" that doesn't happen too often: serving the same vegetable two nights in a row.
Now that we are in the full swing of summer harvest, I am blessed with having to choose what to bring home, rather than being forced to "make do" with what is available. Of course, there is inevitably some overbuying as I eagerly snap up one vegetable after another, forgetting that I already have 3, 4, 5, or even 6 other ones in my bag. Then I get home and thing "Oh, dear. What do I do now?" There are only so many times your friends will be eager for a big jar of summer vegetable soup - my friends are pretty smart and can figure out what's going on - so restraint is the theme word.
What it means, fortunately, is that the vegetables we eat can vary from day to day. Never a need to repeat.
Except.... last week, we had eaten peas in one of Guy's favorite dishes: risibisi on a Wednesday night. My plan the next night, was to pan fry zucchini to put them alongside of the leg of lamb that I talked about in a prior entry, and some plain pastina with the glorious name "semini". (little seeds. I SWEAR that's what it means. Ask Jonathan if you don't believe me.). Well, when I told our guest what we were eating, asked if we could have the zucchini a different way, because his stomach had been ailing him, and he was concerned about the fried food, together with the rich lamb. I went over what was in the fridge vegetable wise, and offered all of them, not thinking for a minute he'd suggest peas.

He did. oops. Now, Guy will never have a problem eating peas two nights in a row. He LOVES them. And ultimately, neither do I. I guess I just have this "block" against doing something like that two nights in a row. Of course, we would not be having risibisi two nights in a row, but I was finding myself rebelling against the idea of just plain boiled peas. I also did not relish the idea of dicing up carrots to make little baby squares for peas and carrots (although I WILL say that there are few things better than REAL peas and c arrots. You may never use the frozen ones again).

Thinking of the things our guest likes, I recalled a recipe that I had read, years ago, in The Village Voice (it was THAT long ago: the Village Voice was actually a paper you waited for, paid for, and read cover to cover. It was GOOD. In the same way Saturday Night Live was FUNNY). I couldn't remember the recipe completely, but I do recall peas, lettuce, and butter. I seem to remember it being described as a French classic, and maybe it is. I recall NOW also having seen a recipe for a soup of green peas and lettuce. So I guess the combination is there, out there, somewhere.
Anyway, I went forward. And it was good, with two additions that I don't remember from the original: a bit of onion, and some cream.

Do any of you know this dish from the French original? I'd love to know if you do.

Start with half a stick of unsalted butter, and a lot of fresh, soft leaved lettuce. I used sucrine lettuce, but that's not all that common. You could use anything that is in the "butter leaf" family: things like Boston lettuce, or even romaine. Melt the butter in a pot and then add a few tablespoons of diced onion and cook it gently, just until the onion goes translucent. While this is happening, wash your lettuce. You don't have to be rigorous about separating it leaf to leaf, but do cut off those little bits at the end that hold heads together (and DO inspect it. Especially if you're a farmer's market junkie. I found a very large very lively snail in mine. I was kinda thrilled to see this, but Guy and our guest were not exactly thrilled to see him - or her). Shake the lettuce as dry as you can, and add it to the butter and onions, together with about a teaspoon of salt and two or three cups of fresh peas.

Watch how the lettuce just disappears in front of you, as the cells break and the water comes off. That pile of lettuce drops to a few tablespoons. The water begins cooking the peas, and after five minutes, you have your dish.

Now, if you like, you can make a nice little sauce here. Spoon out the lettuce and peas, leaving the liquid behind. Pour in about a quarter cup of cream and raise the heat, until you get a boil. This is going to reduce for about five minutes, and then you put all those vegetables back in, and let them cook for a minute or two.

Ok, we're back to adding fat to our food, but peas are really good for you. I don't know if they cancel out the butter and cream, but it sure was good with our lamb. "Tres continental," I suppose. What I KNOW is: fast, simple, and tasty. Sort of like your host on this blog....

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Languor in the kitchen, salsa and chefs who forget themselves. Two minute tuna with salsa

It's one of those days that are too good. It really is. There is brilliant, gorgeous sunshine, wonderful temperatures, bright skies. It's the kind of day that makes me think of the sound of one, lovely violin playing a long, sweet chord as a bow is drawn across the instrument carefully, slowly, with the gorgeous intonation of an expert. I hear those chords in Strauss pieces a lot, and during these slow, gorgeous summer days that are "too good," I hear them a lot. I hear musical tones that differ during days as the days differ, a lot. There's probably a condition associated with that. Scriabin used to see colors when certain chords were played. Maybe it's similar.
So why do I say "Too good?' Well, it's like an ingredient that is so perfect, so beautiful that you don't want to use it because it's "too good." Somehow, you'll spoil it if you do. So you l eave it alone until - you guessed it - it loses that goodness, spoils and you have to throw it out.

There's something vaguely Asian about that, isn't there? Something slightly Japanese? So a day like this, is too good to use, too good to spend time in, because somehow, participating in it will spoil it. TOO many people are out. There are TOO many things to do. And you overload. And that, is when the languor of a beautiful day settles in.

I would bet that there is a link between age and that feeling. I fully expect that my younger friends are all out on this day, doing something as simple as sunning, or perhaps shopping, or roller blading, who knows what? For them, there is the simple joy of "being here now," which try as I may to recall, is very difficult to do.

During those languid days, the cooking gets a little languid too. I look for things that somehow participate in that feeling, but don't make me work that hard to get there. Because I am languid too. It's time for rose' wine. Just as it is. "grape soda for grown ups" as I sometimes put it. I almost want a straw with it, and if I could just have that, and a bowl of apricots for dinner, thank you very much, I'll be fine.

Ah, but of course, we can't. So here's a dish for that feeling. You can do it now, and you should.

It involves a treatment of tuna which, honestly, I believe is fairly standard and well known. But it was repeated in a cookbook of a chef whom I do not like. In fact I despise him. I find him arrogant, mean, snotty, snooty, and way too full of himself? Any idea who I mean? I'm not going to tell you. Let me just say he's an Italian chef with a ponytail who could stand to lose some weight.

In any event, in his book, he comments on tuna to heat up a grill, and then cook it one minute per side if you like it very rare, two minutes a side if you like it a bit more cooked, and if you're going to go for more t han three minutes, open a can of the stuff instead. I agree with him on a lot of his comments on cooking, and very much so here (why is he such a pig?). If you are going to cook a tuna steak, don't cook it too much. You will spoil it.

Even as I say that, I have to admit that this is a matter of taste. My Swedish friend Par is confused by the American obsession with raw fish. He does not eat sushi, and when we go out, if he orders tuna, and he asks for it well done, there is always the second look and the "excuse me?" from the restaurant staff. But as I understand it, this is how they eat it in Sweden. Ah me.

Ok, so here's the tuna part of the meal, but don't do it first. Make the salsa. It's coming. Get a frying pan, or a ridged grill nice and hot. Before you do, rub some oil over the surface. While it's heating up, pat some tuna steaks (about 1/3 -1/2 inchi thick) dry, and salt and pepper them. If you like, dip them in some sesame seeds too, pressing to get them to adhere. Then, put the steaks on the pan or grill, high heat, for two minutes. Turn them, do the same thing on the other side, and TAKE THEM OUT OF THE PAN. Let them rest for a minute or two and then slice them, on the diagonal, just like you would a London broil.

You serve this with a salsa and here, I am going to fess up. I developed this, after I developed an addiction to a wonderful salsa you can get from "American Spoon" one of my favorite prepared food purveyors. Theirs is a peach and cherry salsa, with different spices. I love it. I could eat it on bread. But make it yourself and play with it. You need a cup or so of pitted sour cherries. If the season is over, as it soon will be, use frozen ones, thawed of course. Combine them with one, drop dead ripe peach, that has been sliced and chopped. Put them in a bowl with a teaspoon of salt and a tablespoon of sugar. Add two chopped green chilis to it. You pick the heat. You know what's too hot for you and what's too "cool." Leave the seeds and veins in if you like, or take them out. Just chop them nice and fine. If you happen to have some left over purple onion around, chop that up and put it in too. Finally, if you like, and happen to have some fresh herbs - parsley, cilantro, oregano, all come to mind - mix them in, too, and just let that sit while you're prepping cooking and slicing the tuna. It will be "cooked" when you're done.

When you're ready to serve, put a little of the salsa under the fish and then put the rest of it out, for folks to put on the fish as they like - and they will.

Now, keeping with a theme that we have had develop here, unintentionally (I SWEAR), go back through this recipe, and look for fat. Where was it? You oiled the pan, and that was it.

If you serve this with fresh corn on the cob that you've cooked gently and don't add butter (which I never do. In my opinion, fresh corn needs nothing but salt), and some asparagus, perhaps with a bit of butter, but not much, you've got a delicious, very languid kind of meal that allows you to drink all the rose' ( a GREAT wine with this meal), you want.

Put some music on. Perhaps Britten's "Ode to Music," or in a darker mode, some of the Strauss tone poems, or just some Brazilian jazz. Anything you like. Make enough to invite some friends over, and maybe take a stroll afterwards, or have an extra glass of wine on your roof and watch the sun set or the moon come out. Get languid. Now's the time

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Eliabeth, Richard and me: summer pudding, and a love story (for Charlie Beale)

I've just come out of the kitchen from making nectarine ice cream. The nectarines, from Frog Hollow farm, are the most expensive nectarines in the world, and without question, the tastiest. I was making it to go alongside a dessert that teaches us all that the simple can be sublime. A British classic, summer pudding.
So, what's the connection above with all these names? Well, the Elizabeth is Elizabeth David, probably the unarguable queen of British cooking, and perhaps the great granddame of good European cooking. Richard is Richard Sax, who taught me how to cook desserts. And here's how it all came about.
When I was first learning to cook - with more interest than "chops," I went to a class that Richard was teaching in Macy's big old demonstration kitchen. I don't remember whether I paid more attention to the lesson or to Richard, because he was an extremely handsome, engaging, genial man, but I know I enjoyed the class immensely. Afterward, I stayed around to ask some questions.
No one can ever predict how or why things like what follows, happened, but Richard asked me if I would like to come by his loft, and study cooking with him.
No "uh huhs" and "MM HMMMS" now, boys and girls. He was serious. That was clear from the very first time I walked into the loft, on Bleeker Street, and he smiled and said "you really are green, aren't you? No apron?" Well, soon I was in one of his cooking smocks (tight on me, loose on him), and I was plunging peaches into boiling water so I could peel them to make sorbet. And for about six months, we cooked together, once a week, occasionally joined by his partner Jack. Jack was always home, and usually asleep when I got there. Richard would tell me that was because he worked at night. Well, it may have been the one time that Richard lied to me.
One of the things that Richard taught me, was how to respect a recipe, while you changed it. That happened when we made summer pudding together. Richard told me that this is a classically British dessert. What he didn't tell me, because I bet he thought it was self evident, was that it is a classic British FARM HOUSE dessert. When you see how this comes together, and think of what is available to a farmer, in summer, you'll see what I mean. We started with what he felt was the standard recipe: one from Elizabeth David in her book "Summer Cookery." Now, I never met Ms. David, but every account of her talks about her eccentricity, her wit, her lack of patience with stupid people. Indeed, when you read her books, you can see that. Her recipe, for summer pudding, which I still have, states that "everyone thinks they know this dish but there are few recipes for it, so I make no apology for including it in this book."
Indeed! Her ingredient list is : day old bread, raspberries, and red currants. With optional cream. She calls for 1 pound of raspberries and a quarter pound of red currants. At that time i my life, I didn't even know what a currant was. I soon did, as it was my job to pull the fruit off of the little stems they're on, and then to go back and pull out the stems again because I didn't do a good enough job. I recall Richard smiling "you don't want those stems stuck between your teeth now, do you?"
Well, Richard started talking to me about this recipe "you know, raspberries are great, and this recipe is wonderful as it is. But what if we changed it and used a few types of fruit?" He told me that he was thinking of a classic southern German dessert "rote grutze," or "red grits," which is essentially any kind of small red fruit you can find, cooked slightly, and combined with a custard. He suggested we do something like that. And so we did. We changed the pound of rapsberries to a quarter pound of each of raspberries and blackberries, and a half pound of strawberries (I still remember hulling those little dears). We kept the currants. You need the currants because, as you'll see, this dish does not have anything in it that appears to bind it. Currants are loaded with pectin, and that is what holds this all together.
In summer pudding, what you do is line a mold with bread slices, pour in cooked fruit. Cover the fruit with more bread, weigh it down and let it sit in the fridge overnight. The next day, all of the bread has soaked up the juices of the cooked fruit and has a rather pretty mauve color. You unmold it, cut it into slices, and serve it with thick cream, that you might sweeten.

Cream, berries, bread. You seeing "farmhouse " dessert now?

Well, what I learned , after Jack had died, was that the reason why he was home was because he had late stage AIDs. This was the early 90s, and survival was not a question. If you had it, you almost inevitably died, fast. All I knew at the time was that Richard called me and said we wouldn't be able to work for a while, and he'd get in touch with me when we could.

He never did. But his book, which remains a classic, on American Desserts, came out in the meantime. The recipe he taught me that day is in the cookbook. When I look at it I still smile.

Four months later, I read his obituary. It seems that the stress of Jack dying, had pushed Richard back to smoking. He had already had one lobe of a lung removed for lung cancer (something else I didn't k now), and the smoking pushed him over the edge, and he died of emphysema. He was younger then than I am now. I miss him every day.

Well, Richard, I changed your recipe, so I changed Ms. David's too. I know that if you're watching, you would approve. Thank you for teaching me about unsalted butter, about large eggs versus medium eggs, parchment paper, sanding sugar, and so many other things. Thank you for all of the smiles, and all of the patience. And thank you for the initiative to change what is good, and at least make it different.

Here's mine. I hope you like it. First, you start with a loaf of an egg bread : brioche or challah. Get one that is in loaf form, rather than twisted or topknotted, and cut away the crusts (grind them into crumbs to use to line your cakes). Then, get a mold that holds about a quart. A glass bowl, a souffle dish, anything like that is fine. Cut about 1/2 inch thick slices of the bread, and line the mold COMPLETELY. Cut off small pieces to hide holes in the pan if you have to (you will. Also put slices up the sides of the mold. Put that aside now, as you cook the fruit.

I use a more generous filling mix. I use 2 half pint containers of red raspberries, one half pint container of red currants, off the stems (and I'm careful about it these days). Then, if I can find blackberries, a half pint of them. If not, either a half pint of black raspberries, or blueberries. Put all of that fruit into a pan, turn the heat to low, cover it, and cook it for no more than five minutes. While that's happening, stem a pint of strawberries. Cut them in half if they're really big, but if they're not, don't. When the fruit has cooked, stir in the whole strawberries, strain the fruit from the juices then pour the fruit into the lined mold. Next, cut more slices of bread, cover the top completely, and pour a little of the reserved juice on it. Cover it with a plate and put a heavy weight, like a can of tomatoes on it, and refrigerate it. The next day, like I described above, run a knife around the thing about twenty minutes before you plan to serve it, and unmold it onto a large plate, preferably one that flares upward so that extra juice can be caught. Pour the reserved juice over the "pudding," and concentrate it on spots that may not have picked up enough color.

Cut slices of this and serve it forth. With whipped cream or heavy cream. Or nectarine ice cream. Or creme fraiche. Or if you're abstemious, nothing. Look at what we didn't add: we didn't add sugar, we didn't add butter (although in my version, the bread is very rich. Use plain farmer's style bread if you like). And we still have a pretty darn good dessert.

So, thank you Ms David. Thank you Richard. You both inspire me to this day.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

A fish we wait for: striped bass

There probably is a history of striped bass written somewhere, and if there is, it needs to be updated.
I remember, when I was very young, going out fishing with my awful stepfather, alternatively nicknamed Colonel Klink or Archie Acker. He was NOT a good fisherman, but telling him that was not something you did. So I would watch the GOOD fishermen, casting from the beach, and occasionally bringing in this magnificent monsters of the ocean world. They were stripers. They were big, beautiful, and somewhat scary, with a set of teeth that looked (and were, sharp), and always left the fisherman catching his breath. They are good fighters. The "key" to getting them, I found, was getting past the sand bars, where the stripers would herd small fish and then just engage in eating orgies. Of course, you had to have the luck of baiting your hook with what they were eating, because they are somewhat finicky eaters.
Then things changed. Pollution in our water, especially rivers (where stripers spend a LOT of their time), had made it very dangerous to eat them. I remember the reports. I remember seeing the ghastly photos of the young striped bass who were so deformed by the toxins the adult fish were taking in . Then fishing for them was banned, completely. And you could NOT get local stripers.

Things changed. Water got cleaner - the striper scare woke up a lot of people - and it did a good thing for the population of the stripers as a whole. To the extent their population was crashing, it recovered. Still, locally, stripers can only be caught for a limited period of time. It starts on July 1, and I believe goes to December 15. If you live in the NY/NJ/Connecticut area, and you are offered "wild" striped bass out of that period of time, start asking questions. Stripers are farmed, but like with most farmed fish, it ain't the same.

One of the interesting things about stripers, at least to me, is that their flesh kind of looks like "blue fish," i.e, mackerel, bluefish, whiting, etc. We're all supposed to eat more of that kind of oily very available fish. I just can't get myself to eat it. If the color of the striped bass turns you off, try to forget it. You simply will not find a fish that has a tastier, sweeter meat than a striper. Early in the season, I live for black sea bass. When the stripers come in, the black bass have generally left (perhaps in fear of the bigger fish, at least a bit), and my allegiance changes. We don't eat it EVERY week, but I would say that every other week, the late summer/early fall fish is striped bass. Caught by the redoubtable Wade Karlin, almost always, it's difficult to cook this in a way that it is NOT tasty.

Here's how I did it this week. I was looking for something in a strongly mediterranean line of flavor. I had no idea what I meant by that, but I knew I'd figure it out.

It's sort of how I walk through life. Just ask Guy. I decide I'm going to do something, with absolutely not a clue as to how to do it, and then punch and counterpunch until I find the way. As I was walking home, I began to put the flavor profile together. Olive oil? Of course, but not too much. There was basil in the roof garden, which was great because I didn't want to use the richness of pesto. There were cherry tomatoes from Merry, the crazy truck driver from South Jersey. Green garlic, and a bunch of incredibly beautiful purple spring onions.

Does that say mediterranean to you? Well, it does to me and it's my dish. I had been discussing fish "in papillote" with a friend a day or two before that, so this recipe is kind of a modification of that technique.

Preheat your oven to 425. I find that with cooking fish, a higher temperature is preferred, especially if you're doing something where it's covered, like it was here. Get a pan big enough to hold the fillet (I used fillet. I will tell you about cooking it whole sometime soon). The pan should NOT be metal. Use glass or ceramic (Some of you may be wondering: he ALWAYS says 'don't use metal' Why do we have them then? Patience ragazzi, patience). Wipe the pan all over with some olive oil. You won't need much. Lay the fish, skin side down in the pan, then season it with salt and pepper. Chop up about six cloves of garlic, and half an onion, and put that all over the flesh of the fish. Get the cherry tomatoes, half them with a sharp knife, and add them to the pan. How many you add is up to you. Just toss them wherever they go. Finally, about seven or eight big leaves of basil. Tear them into halves or t hirds, toss them over the fish, and seal it with foil.

Bake this for about twenty minutes. It's not too long, because the liquids in the fish can't get out, and they keep the flesh moist. Nevertheless, if you like a more raw fish, cut the time down.

After twenty minutes, take the pan out of the oven, take away the foil, and inhale deeply. Good, huh? Wait until you taste it. This is enough for two people . It's easier to serve the fish if you "cut it," in the pan, with a flipper or something like that and put it directly onto the plates. Then spoon up the goodies and put that over the fish.

Now, for those of you who are looking for healthy meals, go through that recipe. How much fat was in it? The stuff on the pan, and.... Now, go back and read the boiled potato recipe. How much fat was there? See where I'm going?

You don't have to be ashamed or guilty about dessert with this meal. Or hollandaise sauce on some asparagus. Just don't do both.

Do it. Get in touch with what's local and what's here NOW. Enjoy it.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Being fair to the boilers

Over the past few weeks, I've posted a number of recipes for potatoes, and dishes with potatoes in them, that may lead one to believe that I HATE the red boiling potatoes. In re-reading some of the entries, it does seem that I come down hard on them.
Well, it's not that I don't like them. I just don't find them to be all that compatible with the style of cooking that I prefer. Normally, when I'm serving potatoes, I want something crispy, or soft and buttery . Boiled potatoes are great, but if I'm going to boil a starch, inevitably I make something like pasta, or rice, and almost never get to those little red ones.

But.... there are times, like last night, when they are the right thing.

Striped bass have come into season. WILD striped bass I mean. WILD, LOCAL striped bass. And I shall write at length about this incredibly wonderful fish. The main dish last night, was baked striped bass mediterranean style (and yes, the recipe SHALL go up, perhaps later today). Looking at the recipe plans for the week, which include polenta, risibisi, and perhaps pastina, potatoes were the way to go. But again, for some reason that I shall never understand, when I prepare a starch with fish, I always feel like it needs to be leaner. We were also lookng at a leaner dinner because the menu for the week features treats like pork chops and duck breast and leg of lamb with pancetta (remember? ). So, rather than push our collective cholesterol up 900 points, something simple and light seemed to be the right thing.

Many years ago, there was a "movement," (if you can call it that), to lighten potato salads. People started playing with the dish we know as "German potato salad," (which no German I know has never heard of). If you are familiar with it, generally, you know that, as compared to "American" potato salad, "German" potato salad has got a high acid content, usually from vinegar, less or no mayonnaise or other fat, and "stuff" like chopped pickle, or diced egg, and so forth.

It is actually the case that some things that you might not think work well with potatoes, do. And if you, like me, gravitate toward oil or butter or cream when making potatoes, this treatment will convince you that it is not necessary. This is a good dish. I imagine that it would work with just about any meat meal, but it did work really well with our fish.

You need a pound of small red potatoes. The variety you will almost inevitably find, is the "red bliss". Don't ask me why it has that name, I haven't a clue, although I love the name. "Red bliss" sounds like something that should be used for a variety of marijuana doesn't it?

When I say small, I mean on the order of 12-16 to a pound. I say this because - and I kid you not - one of the most common questi0ns Annalena gets asked is "how many potatoes are there in a pound of potatoes."

Now, ragazzi, think about that question for a minute. Then think about the potatoes you see in the store. How do you expect Annalena to answer this one? I TRY to be polite. I don't always succeed.

Anyway, you put them in a pot, and just cover them with water, as usual with 'taters. Add a scant tablespoon of salt, bring the pot to a boil, and cook these at a fast simmer/low boil, until you can just get a knife through to the center of the biggest one, with minimal resistance (be reasonable here, as well. Don't use the Genghis Khan approach, and don't use the new mother approach either. Somewhere mediate to these two approaches is really called for).

When you've gotten there, dump out the potatoes and let them cool until you can handle them easily. They will still be warm. PLEASE don't start burning your fingertips in pursuit of this dish, it just isn't worth the pain. It will take all of about ten minutes. Cut the potatoes in half, or quarters if they are especially big and put them back into the pot. You're putting them there, simply not to dirty another receptacle. Now, grate the rind of one lemon over those potatoes, and then squeeze in the juice of half of the lemon. Finally, add a good handful of chopped dill, and stir it into the potatoes as well.

Again, to our "German" potato salad afficionados, these ingredients will sound familiar, but you may be waiting for the other additives. There ain't none. This is a fairly pristine, fairly austere dish. But it IS good.

Go back through that recipe: did you find any fat? Nope. So, if you're one of those folks who feels a need to get into one of those speedos that USED to fit but don't anymore, or want your partner to do that, this is the dish for you. Of course, you can also use it to justify something like veal in cream sauce, or some other delicacy like that. However you lead your life. Don't let Annalena get in the way.

Hell, after all I'm just a cook....

Monday, July 6, 2009

"rolling with the punches," or how a shoulder became a leg

When you cook, and when you cook seasonally and locally, you have to learn that, as Mick Jagger once put it "you can't always get what you want." And when that happens, whether you find sometimes "you get what your need" or not, you have to learn to roll with the punches, as they say in boxing (a sport I never "got," but what do I know).
So, where is this leading? Well, you should know better than to ask that by now. We'll get there. Last week, I invited bday boy Keith to come to dinner this week. Keith's favorite protein might very well be lamb. And Keith is one of the big handful of people who can have whatever he wants when he comes to dinner. So he asked for lamb, which provoked the question "what kind of lamb?" Now, Keith is one of my better kitchen students, too, so he said "well, I guess leg of lamb is out of the question, it's a weekday" and suggested some other things, including lamb shoulder which he really thought would be great.
So did I. Except.... see, if lamb leg is out of the question because it takes too long, shoulder is as well. Leg of lamb, you can sear and roast at high temperature. It takes time, but it doesn't take forever. Shoulder, however, is tough. It needs a long, slow cook. Remember that shoulder is almost always what is used in lamb stew. I make some wonderful shoulder dishes, but most of them are for winter meals: slow cooked, in liquid, with dried fruit, or quinces or sweet potatoes. So I hunted around for something more "summery," figuring I could make it over the weekend. And I found a GREAT recipe: it called for making small slits in the lamb shoulder and filling them with a chopped mixture of pancetta, garlic and parsley. To me, that sounded like a combination made in heaven. The cooking time, was six hours, at 300 degreees. Not something for a weekday meal, but hey, it was the weekend, and wotthehell. So off I went to the farmers market to visit Ms. Karen, the queen of grass fed lamb. I hadn't seen her in a while.

After the mandatory reacquaintance, I found out that Karen had no lamb shoulder that day. She had chops (which Keith would have been fine with), but then she said she had a small, boned leg - about 3.5 pounds. Would that do?

I thought about it for a minute and decided, well, let's give it a try. I'm glad I did. It's sitting in the fridge, waiting for slicing and serving on Thursday. I suggest you make this. It is really good.

First, of course, you start with your meat, and as always, Annalena suggests you buy local, and buy grass fed. This was, as I say, a 3.5 pound, boneless leg. What that means is that you will have a cavity in a large piece of meat. You should keep this in mind. Pat the meat dry, and put it in a small baking dish 8x8 is fine for this size. Don't salt it. You won't need to with this preparation. And preheat your oven to 425. You're not going to keep it here, but you'll use it, as a start.

Make the filling. You need a good 1/4 pound of pancetta, in a chunk. cut it into smaller pieces, and dump it into a food processor with eight cloves of garlic (I used new garlic), and the leaves and upper stems of a small bunch of parsley. Grind it fine. Taste it. Good huh? If you feel it needs salt, then put it in, but you probably won't.

Take a small, sharp knife, and make small incisions, all over the leg of lamb. Then, don't be afraid to get your fingers dirty (God knows they've been in worse places than cuts in a leg of lamb, my dear), and shove filling into those incisions. You'll have more filling than you need.

Remember that cavity? Hmmmm???? Put all that extra good stuff into the cavity, and then put the whole thing in the oven and roast for 30 minutes.

Here is where you will see a difference, between shoulder and leg. The pancetta, as it cooks, renders off its fat. In a shoulder, the meat will absorb it. In a leg, it does not. CAREFULLY pull that pan out of the oven, and pour off the fat. It will be almost clear.

Put the pan back in the oven, and lower the temperature to 325. And let the meat bake away, for anywhere from an hour and a quarter (my choice), to an hour and a half (pick this if you like your lamb more cooked). Don't go beyond that. More fat will render, but this time, it will have a richness to it and a lovely brown color. You want this.

Remove the meat and let it rest. Let it rest for several days if you like, or if you're using it NOW, slice it . Take those drippings, and if you can, skim off some of the fat. If you can't, don't worry.

Now, you can pour the drippings directly over the meat, which is what I would do, but if you wanted to make a thicker sauce, well, here's a cheater's way to make something quick. Dissolve a tablespoon of cornstarch into two of cold water. Stir all that into the drippings, but them back in the pan, and cook at medium heat, stirring, until it thickens. Then , pour that over the meat.

The filling will have flavored the lamb nicely, and there will be loose filling to pick up on your fork as you eat your second helping - because you will have second helpings, trust me on this.

I plan to serve this with potato gratin (don't tell Keith), and some green vegetables. Maybe the oil poached green beans. Yes, it will be a rich meal, but emblematic of a very rich friendship.

Celebrate your friends. Make a roast. It says "I really cherish you."

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Poaching in fat

Now, first, Annalena has got to say something. Rather than putting down an entry having to do with cooking, she wanted to write a celebration of one of her dearest friends in the world, who just celebrated a birthday. But public praise and admiration is embarrassing to everyone, and as such, the words will remain private. Just let it be known: Annalena LOVES her friends more than just about anything in the world, and LOVES this friend more than just about all others. You know who you are. And know how hard it was for Annalena to not express things here.

So, instead, we turn to the subject at hand. We are talking about a technique here, more than a specific recipe. And it is a technique that you should have available to you. Know right up front: if you like your vegetables, crisp, bright green, and quick cooked, this is not for you. I like them that way, but I like them this way too. Interestingly enough, during the summer, when everyone is talking about quick cooked, light food, I like them even more. I think that may be because the rest of our summer meals are frequently lighter and simpler, so a more complex vegetable dish is especially pleasing.

In oil poaching , you combine "the best of both worlds. " You need water to cook vegetables. Heating them in water, or broth, or whatever, breaks down their structure a bit, so that what might have been inedible, or difficult to eat, becomes easier. Think of an artichoke, for example. You CAN eat them raw, but unless you shred them very fine, it is nighmarishly difficult. Beets, too. And I bet you can think of others. There are also at least a few of you out there who simply cannot handle raw vegetables, because they offer too great a challenge to your digestive system. Hence, you know about the need to cook them, by boiling, steaming, and so forth.

Salting water will get seasoning into the vegetables. BUT... what about the lovely flavor you can get from fats like butter or olive oil? No question about it, you can dress a vegetable with melted butter, or olive oil, and it's delicious. A deeper flavor can be secured, however, with a little ingenuity.

Fats cannot penetrate raw vegetables. The tissue of the vegetable needs to be broken down a bit, and then the oils can get in. And, if the oils happen to have an inherent flavor, that gets in too. So, in this style of poaching, what you do is you let the water cook the vegetable, so that the structure is broken down, and looser. When that happens, the fat can get INTO the vegetable, and you get something rather tasty.

This doesn't happen quickly however, and in the process, green vegetables will lose their bright, vibrant color. I am not particularly happy about that, but the truth is, I like the color of the longer cooked vegetable.

The trick here is to choose a vegetable that has enough "oomph" to hold up to a longer cooking time. I would not do this with peas, for example, as they will break down horrifically. Regular green beans turn to mush. But carrots are good. And artichokes. And my favorite, roma beans. These are the big, flat, fat green beans that you buy which just never come out to be tender enough when you steam them or boil them. Here's how I do them. It's imprecise. BUt it works. Then I'll tell you how to do carrots.

The roma beans seem to call out for olive oil. You put your trimmed beans into a pot, and then what you do is measure how much water it will take to just cover them. Do that by measuring the water and covering them. After you have the amount, pour the water off. Use 2/3 of it. Then add olive oil to make up the additional third. Add a clove of garlic or two, and some salt. Then, start bringing the mix to the boil, at low heat, and uncovered. What will happen is the water will eventually go off, leaving the oil behind. The oil, in turn, will penetrate the beans, taking the garlic flavor with it. This will probably take upwards of 15-2o minutes, which is way longer than we're taught to cook vegetables. Well, lemme let you in on a secret: Italians have been cooking vegetables this way, for hundreds of years.
The resulting beans are very tender. I've heard them called "spoon beans" because of the tenderness. They are GOOD. Put them beside a nice piece of meat, like a pork chop, and you're in good shape.
When I do this with carrots, I use unsalted butter instead. My spice of choice is ginger. If I didn't use ginger, I would use dill, but I would sprinkle it on at the end. (think about your choice of spice. We've discussed tender and sturdy herbs. Use sturdy ones for this.). For artichokes, I use olive oil, and rosemary and garlic.

This technique is somewhat akin to poaching lobster in butter, but that dish is way fattier, richer, and not to Annalena's liking. Honestly, if I have leftover beans cooked this way, I will slice open a long loaf of bread, stuff it with the beans, and eat them up and be blissfully happy.

The way I am with my dear friend. Caro, being with you is bliss. I hope you know that.