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.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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?
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....
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
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
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