In the last post, I sang the praises of rhubarb, which I shall continue to do for a while . We are in that period of the year, however, where the spring goodies are simply not plentiful enough to push the winter goodies out of the way completely. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. As the constant reader knows, Annalena is very fond of working with what winter gives her. And if the winter gives her leeks, well, Annalena is "there."
This is a pasta sauce which, believe it or not, represents a REDUCTION of richness. As I was making it, I was tasting, and it is such a strong tasting sauce that as I looked ahead, I realized that it was going to be 'too much'. Now, coming from the pen of the writer who has said that "wretched excess is barely enough," that is saying something. But bear with me. If you make this - and I hope you will - you will see what I mean.
The ingredients are fairly simple. You need butter and olive oil. 2 tablespoons of the former, and one of the latter. You will also need LOTS of leeks - I would say that six of the monsters you can buy in the supermarket, or up to 12 of the normal sized ones you'll find at the farmers market. You really can't use too many leeks in this recipe. You also need a good dozen cloves of garlic. Use the plump ones. You'll get about six of those from every head of garlic, so do the math. In terms of liquids, you will need either 1.5 cups of chicken stock (or clear vegetable stock), or a cup of stock and half a cup of white wine. As I present this recipe, I will write it as if I were using the wine, but make the substitution. you're smart. You also need half a cup of heavy cream and, if you take this all the way, half a cup of grated pecorino romano cheese. Grate it yourself.
Now, the thing that will take the most time here, is cutting the leeks. Get rid of the dark green part, and then slice the remaining leeks into half moons. It's going to take a while, but it's all worth it. If they are dirty - and they probably will be - dump them in a big pot of water. Peel the garlic. Don't sit there and try to be clinical about this step - just smash em and pull off the skin, then cut the cloves in half.
Got everything together? Ok, let's cook. Get a wide skillet ready and put the fats in it. When the butter has melted, add the leeks, the garlic, a pinch of salt, a pinch of pepper, and lower the heat. Stir this mess a bit, for about five minutes. Now add the half cup of wine, and raise the heat, until it evaporates. If you blink, you'll miss it. Add the rest of the liquid, and lower the heat.
My original recipe calls for putting a sheet of parchment paper on top of this and lowering the heat, and I did in fact do this, but I imagine if you have a tight fitting lid, you'll be fine. The heat should be low, and you'll want to come back and stir this, every five minutes or so, for about 40 minutes.
Taste as you go along and you'll realize how much sugar is in each of these "vegetables." This sauce is going to develop a very strong, sweet, carmelization typ e of flavor. You will not think there's garlic in it. I promise.
You can use this sauce as it is, and perhaps you should. I did then add the half cup of cream, and stirred it until the stuff thickened. Once I tasted it, putting in cheese was out of the question. Indeed, when I used this as a pasta sauce, I added water to thin it, and no one minded.
You will get enough sauce here to serve at least six people. I had doubled the recipe, served 8 folks, and had enough left over to serve 3 more people. The portion size of pasta may seem small at first: you want 3 ounces per person. BUT... given the flavor of the sauce, with or without the cream or cheese, it's very mouth filling and it is really a first course kind of thing.
The extra sauce, by the way, was smashing on some guinea hen meatballs that I made from some left over meat . I think it's probably great on green vegetables too.
So, want something a bit offbeat, that kind of straddles winter and spring? Here you go. And make it during the spring when you can get the baby leeks. I'm looking at modifying it with some fava beans. Sounds good to me.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Spring has sprung: rhubarb cake
And Annalena has been reveling in it. And neglecting her gentle readers. Mi dispiace, as my amici will recognize as an apology immediately.
I have been enjoying the "markers" of spring, even if it is pushing it here in NY. The first local ramps have come in, and that is it. So I have been splurging on importing the stuff from hither and yon, as well as using up what is left of the spring freeze fest. That includes a couple of bags of rhubarb, and that's what this one is all about. That an a dedication to my sweet friend Jeremy. Why? Well, Annalena does not need a reason; but if you want one, because this cake makes me think of Jeremy. The minute I read the recipe it seemed to have his name written all over it, and in honor of Jeremy, who is much more old fashioned than even yours truly, I left behind my kitchen apparatus and did this one by hand. It's a snap. Try it.
My standard rhubarb cake comes from the King Arthur Baking Sheet, and it's called "rhubarb ripple cake." I commend it to you. It is on their website, and it is internal to this blog; however, this new one may be better. It is definitely purer. And again, this reminds me of Jeremy, who in turn reminds me of Parsifal, in so many ways.
Abbastanza. Lets cook. Prheat your oven to 350
You start with 3 cups of all purpose flour. It's not all alike. Use a good, unbleached one, organic if you can. Mix it with a big pinch of salt. Add 3 tablespoons of sugar, and a half teaspoon of baking soda. Now, get a stick of unsalted butter, cut it into pieces, dump it into that flour, and work it in with your fingers, until you get a sandy texture. If you remember, take the butter out half an hour before you're going to make this cake, and it makes things easy. But you don't have to. it's still very easy.
In a separate bowl, combine a half cup of a dairy product and one large egg.. I used yogurt, even though the recipe called for buttermilk. I find that I can substitute yogurt for buttermilk in just about every baking application, and I always have yogurt on hand, never buttermilk. You can "make" buttermilk by adding a tablespoon of white vinegar to whole milk, or you can use whole milk. Or sour cream. SOMETHING. Stir t hese together, and then pour it into the flour mixture and moosh it up with your hands. It's fun, and it's easy. Then divide it in half.
Pat or roll out half to a ten inch circle. If you have a ten inch springform pan, this is very easy to measure. In any event, you can measure ten inches, can't you? Put that into a baking dish of some kind.
Now, here's the fun part. Cut up a pound and a half of rhubarb OR use a pound and a half of frozen, which is what I did. Put that right on top of the dough, and then pour a cup of sugar over that. Now, roll out the rest of the dough, put that on top of the rhubarb, and pinch the edges together.
Take an egg , and beat it with a teaspoon of water, and then paint the top of hte cake with this.
Don't leave out this step. DON'T.
Bake this at 350 for about an hour. You'll see the rhubarb oozing out of the sides, and the cake will get a nice golden color from the egg. The original recipe called for pouring half a cup of sugar onto the top of the cake as soon as it came out of the oven. I did that, but I don't know what good it does, except for decorative effect. And you're done.
I'm going to try this cake again with another fruit - probably frozen blueberries. Got lots of those from last year, too.
And Jeremy, you go and make this better. I know how your mind works and I can see the ginger in the rhubarb already. Or the lemon peel. Or the brown sugar and cardamom. You're the best, sweetheart, and you know it. So I'll call this Jeremy's cake from now on, how's that?
I have been enjoying the "markers" of spring, even if it is pushing it here in NY. The first local ramps have come in, and that is it. So I have been splurging on importing the stuff from hither and yon, as well as using up what is left of the spring freeze fest. That includes a couple of bags of rhubarb, and that's what this one is all about. That an a dedication to my sweet friend Jeremy. Why? Well, Annalena does not need a reason; but if you want one, because this cake makes me think of Jeremy. The minute I read the recipe it seemed to have his name written all over it, and in honor of Jeremy, who is much more old fashioned than even yours truly, I left behind my kitchen apparatus and did this one by hand. It's a snap. Try it.
My standard rhubarb cake comes from the King Arthur Baking Sheet, and it's called "rhubarb ripple cake." I commend it to you. It is on their website, and it is internal to this blog; however, this new one may be better. It is definitely purer. And again, this reminds me of Jeremy, who in turn reminds me of Parsifal, in so many ways.
Abbastanza. Lets cook. Prheat your oven to 350
You start with 3 cups of all purpose flour. It's not all alike. Use a good, unbleached one, organic if you can. Mix it with a big pinch of salt. Add 3 tablespoons of sugar, and a half teaspoon of baking soda. Now, get a stick of unsalted butter, cut it into pieces, dump it into that flour, and work it in with your fingers, until you get a sandy texture. If you remember, take the butter out half an hour before you're going to make this cake, and it makes things easy. But you don't have to. it's still very easy.
In a separate bowl, combine a half cup of a dairy product and one large egg.. I used yogurt, even though the recipe called for buttermilk. I find that I can substitute yogurt for buttermilk in just about every baking application, and I always have yogurt on hand, never buttermilk. You can "make" buttermilk by adding a tablespoon of white vinegar to whole milk, or you can use whole milk. Or sour cream. SOMETHING. Stir t hese together, and then pour it into the flour mixture and moosh it up with your hands. It's fun, and it's easy. Then divide it in half.
Pat or roll out half to a ten inch circle. If you have a ten inch springform pan, this is very easy to measure. In any event, you can measure ten inches, can't you? Put that into a baking dish of some kind.
Now, here's the fun part. Cut up a pound and a half of rhubarb OR use a pound and a half of frozen, which is what I did. Put that right on top of the dough, and then pour a cup of sugar over that. Now, roll out the rest of the dough, put that on top of the rhubarb, and pinch the edges together.
Take an egg , and beat it with a teaspoon of water, and then paint the top of hte cake with this.
Don't leave out this step. DON'T.
Bake this at 350 for about an hour. You'll see the rhubarb oozing out of the sides, and the cake will get a nice golden color from the egg. The original recipe called for pouring half a cup of sugar onto the top of the cake as soon as it came out of the oven. I did that, but I don't know what good it does, except for decorative effect. And you're done.
I'm going to try this cake again with another fruit - probably frozen blueberries. Got lots of those from last year, too.
And Jeremy, you go and make this better. I know how your mind works and I can see the ginger in the rhubarb already. Or the lemon peel. Or the brown sugar and cardamom. You're the best, sweetheart, and you know it. So I'll call this Jeremy's cake from now on, how's that?
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Of complex recipes, crossing cooking worlds, and carbs: chicken with roasted shallots
There MUST be at least one thing in that title that catches your attention. I hope more than that. And I promise that I will link them all together, although I make no claims to doing so without digressions.
It has been said, not without reason, that Annalena favors complex dishes. While I try to present simpler items here on this blog, the fact is, cooking takes time, and sometimes it takes a fair piece of work. Not everything, but some things. I can tell you until I am pink in the face that as you cook and get more proficient at what you're doing, it takes less time, but the fact, is COOKING TAKES TIME. If you are not inclined, as I am, to spend time in the kitchen on your off hours, you are going to look for simpler things to do. And I have one for you, and it comes from a pastry chef. Onto the second link.
David Lebovitz writes one of my favorite blogs, and he writes some of my favorite cookbooks. I recommend them all. He is a fabulous pastry chef. "Pastry" as they call it in the cooking world, includes baking, ice cream making, anything that is not "savory." I know few authors who have the art of presentation down as well as he does. His recipes are so clear, and so simple (to the extent they can be), that at least to this cook, they are a joy.
In the cooking world, however, there is a split: with almost no exceptions, savory chefs do not do pastry, and pastry chefs do not do savory. Patty Jackson is the one person I know who has pulled this off completely, and her dishes, from both ends of the menu, are fabulous. In fact, there are times I think that her savories are better, even though she is a trained pastry chef. Anita Lo has pulled it off too, to some extent. She has 3-4 pastry dishes that she keeps on her menu all the time. They are wonderful, but if your palate craves the new with each dessert, well...
So when a pastry chef presents a savory dish, I pay attention. I pay special attention when it is David Lebovitz. And I'm glad I did. You will be too. The amount of work in this dish is minimal. I think it took me six minutes to put it together. If you are new to chopping and mincing (food, not walking), it may take a little longer, but double the time then: 12 minutes of preparation. You can handle that. It takes more time to brew coffee. Then you put the thing in the oven for 40 minutes. So, if you step into the kitchen, you can have dinner for six people out in an hour. Doubt me? Go ahead and do this one.
Now, to the carbs: this is a minimalist dish. It's perfect for those of you whom Annalena is suspcious of, for not eating carbs. I guess one could argue about the sugar in the shallots, but then again, one could argue about anything, as Annalena so frequently does.
Ok, so let's start to cook. You need a cut up chicken, or the equivalent. For Annalena, that was either four whole chicken breasts, which I boned, or something like 8 chicken legs, whole. Whatever floats your boats. David's original recipe called for the cut up chicken. In my experience, you get uneven cooking when you mix types, so I stick to one type. Your call. You also need soy sauce, olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, pepper and four shallots.
Now, David clearly says if you don't have shallots, AND YOU SHOULD, you could substitute onions. RIGHT ON MR LEBOVITZ. Annalena is never without a shallot or two. But if you don't have them, sigh.. alright. Do you have a leek? Double sigh. In any event, mince your shallot or oniony equivalent, while you are preheating an oven to 425. In all, you want about 3/4 to a cup of chopped shallot/onion/leek. It took me 3 minutes to do this.
Get a big roasting pan. One big enough to hold all the chicken in one layer. A 9x13 suited me just fine. Put 3 tablespoons of olive oil, 3 tablespoons of red wine vinegar, a tablespoon of soy sauce and the shallots in this, and mix them up together. Now, add your chicken pieces, and turn them in the mix until they are good and coated. Sprinkle on some salt and pepper.
Was that hard? Hmmmm? Turn the pieces so that the skin side faces up, get the pan in the oven and bake for 20 minutes. During this 20 minutes, your home is going to start smelling wonderful, as the vinegar vaporizes and the onions roast. It is truly a wonderful smelling dish.
After 20, turn the pieces and roast for another 20 minutes.
You're done. David advocates adding a big handful of chopped parsley, and I dissent from this. If you want, though, please feel free.
If you are of the carb lovers school, you will of course have noted that there is plenty of time to make a pot of rice, or pasta, or couscous or something. You will want that, espcially if you use chicken breasts, because there is a fair amount of liquid at the end. It's good. You should taste it.
I am thinking through variations of this . I suppose that any vinegar would work. Indeed, in the closest dish I can think of to this one, a French stew of vinegared chicken, I use white wine vinegar. Balsamic surely sounds good if you like the sweeter end of things. I think you might substitute the soy sauce with something like Worsteshire (I spelled that wrong), or Asian fish sauce, or any of other salty condiments you have. In fact, I'm thinking that ketchup might work as well.
This recipe is so easy and so much fun, and so good, that if this were a class, and Annalena were in the front of the room with a pointer, she would assign this as homework. She would require you to make the recipe as written, and then do a variation and report on it.
In fact, I shall ask you to treat it as such. Get to work.
It has been said, not without reason, that Annalena favors complex dishes. While I try to present simpler items here on this blog, the fact is, cooking takes time, and sometimes it takes a fair piece of work. Not everything, but some things. I can tell you until I am pink in the face that as you cook and get more proficient at what you're doing, it takes less time, but the fact, is COOKING TAKES TIME. If you are not inclined, as I am, to spend time in the kitchen on your off hours, you are going to look for simpler things to do. And I have one for you, and it comes from a pastry chef. Onto the second link.
David Lebovitz writes one of my favorite blogs, and he writes some of my favorite cookbooks. I recommend them all. He is a fabulous pastry chef. "Pastry" as they call it in the cooking world, includes baking, ice cream making, anything that is not "savory." I know few authors who have the art of presentation down as well as he does. His recipes are so clear, and so simple (to the extent they can be), that at least to this cook, they are a joy.
In the cooking world, however, there is a split: with almost no exceptions, savory chefs do not do pastry, and pastry chefs do not do savory. Patty Jackson is the one person I know who has pulled this off completely, and her dishes, from both ends of the menu, are fabulous. In fact, there are times I think that her savories are better, even though she is a trained pastry chef. Anita Lo has pulled it off too, to some extent. She has 3-4 pastry dishes that she keeps on her menu all the time. They are wonderful, but if your palate craves the new with each dessert, well...
So when a pastry chef presents a savory dish, I pay attention. I pay special attention when it is David Lebovitz. And I'm glad I did. You will be too. The amount of work in this dish is minimal. I think it took me six minutes to put it together. If you are new to chopping and mincing (food, not walking), it may take a little longer, but double the time then: 12 minutes of preparation. You can handle that. It takes more time to brew coffee. Then you put the thing in the oven for 40 minutes. So, if you step into the kitchen, you can have dinner for six people out in an hour. Doubt me? Go ahead and do this one.
Now, to the carbs: this is a minimalist dish. It's perfect for those of you whom Annalena is suspcious of, for not eating carbs. I guess one could argue about the sugar in the shallots, but then again, one could argue about anything, as Annalena so frequently does.
Ok, so let's start to cook. You need a cut up chicken, or the equivalent. For Annalena, that was either four whole chicken breasts, which I boned, or something like 8 chicken legs, whole. Whatever floats your boats. David's original recipe called for the cut up chicken. In my experience, you get uneven cooking when you mix types, so I stick to one type. Your call. You also need soy sauce, olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, pepper and four shallots.
Now, David clearly says if you don't have shallots, AND YOU SHOULD, you could substitute onions. RIGHT ON MR LEBOVITZ. Annalena is never without a shallot or two. But if you don't have them, sigh.. alright. Do you have a leek? Double sigh. In any event, mince your shallot or oniony equivalent, while you are preheating an oven to 425. In all, you want about 3/4 to a cup of chopped shallot/onion/leek. It took me 3 minutes to do this.
Get a big roasting pan. One big enough to hold all the chicken in one layer. A 9x13 suited me just fine. Put 3 tablespoons of olive oil, 3 tablespoons of red wine vinegar, a tablespoon of soy sauce and the shallots in this, and mix them up together. Now, add your chicken pieces, and turn them in the mix until they are good and coated. Sprinkle on some salt and pepper.
Was that hard? Hmmmm? Turn the pieces so that the skin side faces up, get the pan in the oven and bake for 20 minutes. During this 20 minutes, your home is going to start smelling wonderful, as the vinegar vaporizes and the onions roast. It is truly a wonderful smelling dish.
After 20, turn the pieces and roast for another 20 minutes.
You're done. David advocates adding a big handful of chopped parsley, and I dissent from this. If you want, though, please feel free.
If you are of the carb lovers school, you will of course have noted that there is plenty of time to make a pot of rice, or pasta, or couscous or something. You will want that, espcially if you use chicken breasts, because there is a fair amount of liquid at the end. It's good. You should taste it.
I am thinking through variations of this . I suppose that any vinegar would work. Indeed, in the closest dish I can think of to this one, a French stew of vinegared chicken, I use white wine vinegar. Balsamic surely sounds good if you like the sweeter end of things. I think you might substitute the soy sauce with something like Worsteshire (I spelled that wrong), or Asian fish sauce, or any of other salty condiments you have. In fact, I'm thinking that ketchup might work as well.
This recipe is so easy and so much fun, and so good, that if this were a class, and Annalena were in the front of the room with a pointer, she would assign this as homework. She would require you to make the recipe as written, and then do a variation and report on it.
In fact, I shall ask you to treat it as such. Get to work.
Monday, March 15, 2010
The Cleanout continues: pea soup with pesto
You know, it is beginning to amaze me as to how much food is in that damn freezer. I feel like I have been pulling stuff out for weeks, and there SHOULD be more room. But there ain't Blanche, there ain't. Now part of that may be because I keep putting things IN it. I couldn't resist some pork tenderloins. Or a skirt steak. And of course, more ice cream. Such is life. But this is one that I made that "killed 2 birds with one stone," as it were. I was working on using up the bulky items in the freezer, and in this case, that meant another bag of peas. BUT... I remembered that there are still cubes of pesto from my big pesto freeze last year.
When people think of pea soup, the "split" in front of it is assumed. It's supposed to be a thick , hearty soup ('that fog was as thick as pea soup'), usually with a ham component of some kind in it. Well, this one ain't. I think that basil gives things a smoky flavor, so there's where perhaps a "ham" component comes in here, but the soup is thick yet delicate. More to the point, this may very well be the easiest soup you will ever make. See if you spend more than thirty minutes doing it.
If, as I encourage you to do, you have your own frozen peas and pesto in the house, go to the front of the class. If you do not, oh well, buy some frozen organic peas, get some pesto (PLEASE READ THE LABEL AND MAKE SURE IT'S ALL NATURAL) and you'll have this on the table in half an hour. I mean it. Read through and you'll see.
You need an onion, on the small size, a carrot, also to the small end of things, and one celery rib. Slice the carrot and celery thinly, and chop the onion. You will also need 2 cups of chicken stock, or water, or vegetable stock as well as 2 cups of water in addition, if you use stock. You also need a good pound of peas. If you wind up with too many in your package, like an 18 ounce package or something like that, so what? Use em all. Finally, you need from 1/4 to 1/3 cup of pesto. I LOVE pesto, but in this soup, I would use the smaller amount.
Ready to cook? OK. Put the onion, carrot and celery in a pot and add the water and stock. Add 1/2 teaspoon of salt and, if you have fresh pepper around, a few grinds of it. Cover the pot, bring it to the simmer, and cok for about 6 minutes. Now add the peas, and another 1/2 teaspoon of salt.
Little "trick of the trade." I don't think anyone knows why, but salt helps peas to keep their green color. Keep the cover off the pot now, and let it cook for 3-4 minutes.
We're almost there. Let the stuff cool a bit, and then puree it all in a blender. I was surprised how well the pea skins pureed, but they did. Then, add the pesto. If you happen to have frozen pesto, heat the stuff up a bit, but if you're using it out of the jar, or, unlike Annalena, you had the foresight to thaw it, just stir it in.
And know what? You've got six cups of a beautiful green soup, that tastes so good, you'll want to make it again. And when you look at the work, or lack thereof (remember, Annalena is an attorney), that you spent on it, you will.
I really liked this one. I was surprised, but I did. It may very well become a regular on the menu. Make it yourself, and tell me how you like it.
And, by the way, don't cheat yourself. Have a nice, big piece of toasty garlic bread with this. Annalena approves
When people think of pea soup, the "split" in front of it is assumed. It's supposed to be a thick , hearty soup ('that fog was as thick as pea soup'), usually with a ham component of some kind in it. Well, this one ain't. I think that basil gives things a smoky flavor, so there's where perhaps a "ham" component comes in here, but the soup is thick yet delicate. More to the point, this may very well be the easiest soup you will ever make. See if you spend more than thirty minutes doing it.
If, as I encourage you to do, you have your own frozen peas and pesto in the house, go to the front of the class. If you do not, oh well, buy some frozen organic peas, get some pesto (PLEASE READ THE LABEL AND MAKE SURE IT'S ALL NATURAL) and you'll have this on the table in half an hour. I mean it. Read through and you'll see.
You need an onion, on the small size, a carrot, also to the small end of things, and one celery rib. Slice the carrot and celery thinly, and chop the onion. You will also need 2 cups of chicken stock, or water, or vegetable stock as well as 2 cups of water in addition, if you use stock. You also need a good pound of peas. If you wind up with too many in your package, like an 18 ounce package or something like that, so what? Use em all. Finally, you need from 1/4 to 1/3 cup of pesto. I LOVE pesto, but in this soup, I would use the smaller amount.
Ready to cook? OK. Put the onion, carrot and celery in a pot and add the water and stock. Add 1/2 teaspoon of salt and, if you have fresh pepper around, a few grinds of it. Cover the pot, bring it to the simmer, and cok for about 6 minutes. Now add the peas, and another 1/2 teaspoon of salt.
Little "trick of the trade." I don't think anyone knows why, but salt helps peas to keep their green color. Keep the cover off the pot now, and let it cook for 3-4 minutes.
We're almost there. Let the stuff cool a bit, and then puree it all in a blender. I was surprised how well the pea skins pureed, but they did. Then, add the pesto. If you happen to have frozen pesto, heat the stuff up a bit, but if you're using it out of the jar, or, unlike Annalena, you had the foresight to thaw it, just stir it in.
And know what? You've got six cups of a beautiful green soup, that tastes so good, you'll want to make it again. And when you look at the work, or lack thereof (remember, Annalena is an attorney), that you spent on it, you will.
I really liked this one. I was surprised, but I did. It may very well become a regular on the menu. Make it yourself, and tell me how you like it.
And, by the way, don't cheat yourself. Have a nice, big piece of toasty garlic bread with this. Annalena approves
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Stealing from Raffaele, who stole from... Sicilian style cauliflower
The aforenamed Raffaele is one of my favorite chefs. He's the only one I refer to as "Monzu'" which is a very significant title. It's Sicilian, rather than Italian, and it sort of has the resonance, in a southern Italian kitchen, that "Sensei" used to have in Japanese. It is not to be thrown around lightly.
I met Raffaele when he tended bar at a restaurant that was a favorite. He then moved into the kitchen and, for reasons not important here, left to go to another restaurant. We tried his first place, but it just wasn't the same. The new place, however.... It's a fave. Try it. It's called "Palma" which is an odd word, meaning "roof tile." By coincidence, the restaurant is located in the very same building where Annalena's great grandmother moved to , when she left Boston because she would not agree to be una promessa sposa, and where the family line began.
One of the dishes that Raffaele always had on the menu at the first restaurant was a play on a Sicilian cauliflower dish. Sicilians eat a LOT of cauliflower. It goes into salads, it's fried, it goes into pasta sauces. Indeed, the recipe in question begins, as far as I can tell, as a pasta sauce: you use the florets of cauliflower, and boil them in the pasta water. You combine everything with pine nuts, currants, maybe some fennel, and something salty, like anchovies, or capers. You give the dish a final lashing of olive oil, and that's that.
When I have made this as a pasta dish, it is always one of the favorite things on the table. Raffaele did not serve it as pasta, however. His is a side dish, "un contorno" if you will. In his version, the cauliflower is not in the form of florets, but it is just about the size of the pine nuts and the currants. THAT SMALL. The resulting, larger surface area, allows it to pick up a lot more of the flavors of the dish, and because everything is the same size, you can get a mouthful of everything at once - not always possible with the pasta sauce version .
The dish is not on the menu of his new restaurant, but it's always there. I know because he always serves it to us. We never order from the menu with Raffaele; rather we send it back with the words "cooks choice." The food is always different, but there is always a version of lamb, and there is always his cauliflower.
I have tried for a long time to copy his cauliflower. I even asked him for the recipe. He laughed and said "come un Siciliano." And that was that.
Cazzino. (don't use that word). Well, the part of it that I couldn't figure out was getting the cauliflower that small. Cutting it didn't work. The stuff crumbled into an ill defined, ugly mess. Trying to break the pieces apart with my fingers almost drove Annalena madder than she already is.
The last time Raffaele served it to us, I paid VERY close attention to it - as much attention as one can spare after two martinis. And I recognized something that has allowed me to get VERY close.
Raffaele's cauliflower is very soft. That means he's cooked it already, before he does the combining with the other ingredients. And I began thinking: he's got uniform pieces. They're small, but they look like individual florets. What would happen if, instead of boiling it as florets, I boiled the whole thing and then took it apart.
BINGO. This gave me something that was very close to Raffaele's. Mine was less salty , because I did not use capers or anchovies, and less oily, because I did not add more oil at the end, but it WAS good. Now, I want to lay it out for you.
To make it as authentic as possible, you'll need salted capers, pine nuts and currants. The currants and capers will need soaking. I will not be able to give you precise amounts, but use half the volume of capers that you do of currants. Put them in separate bowls, and cover them with water. After ten minutes, drain the capers and do this again. You want them each to soak for about fifteen minutes.
While they're soaking, get about thee inches of salted water boiling, in a large pot. Then, add a medium sized cauliflower, whole, to the pot. Cover it, and let it cook. Every few minutes, check the softness of the center with a knife. It should be VERY soft: knife tender, so to speak.
While the cauliflower cooks, toast the same volume of pine nuts as you have currants, in a tablespoon of olive oil until they just begin to smell toasty. Put them, and the oil, in a bowl, with the drained currants, and the drained capers. Meanwhile, let the cauliflower cool down and then break it apart. You'll see: it falls apart like little tiny pieces of a stone. This is what you want, and you'll have lots of it. You won't be able to do that with the stems, only the florets. Save the stems for soup, if you like.
Now, get the pan where you toasted the pine nuts, and add two-three tablespoons of olive oil and get it warm. Toss everything together in the oil, for a couple of minutes, and you are really done. If you like, when you dump the stuff out of the pan, you can add some more olive oil.
You can use this as a pasta sauce, but for my money, it is the best thing in the world to serve alongside some simple roast lamb, just the way Raffaele does.
Monzu'. Yup, that's what he is.
I met Raffaele when he tended bar at a restaurant that was a favorite. He then moved into the kitchen and, for reasons not important here, left to go to another restaurant. We tried his first place, but it just wasn't the same. The new place, however.... It's a fave. Try it. It's called "Palma" which is an odd word, meaning "roof tile." By coincidence, the restaurant is located in the very same building where Annalena's great grandmother moved to , when she left Boston because she would not agree to be una promessa sposa, and where the family line began.
One of the dishes that Raffaele always had on the menu at the first restaurant was a play on a Sicilian cauliflower dish. Sicilians eat a LOT of cauliflower. It goes into salads, it's fried, it goes into pasta sauces. Indeed, the recipe in question begins, as far as I can tell, as a pasta sauce: you use the florets of cauliflower, and boil them in the pasta water. You combine everything with pine nuts, currants, maybe some fennel, and something salty, like anchovies, or capers. You give the dish a final lashing of olive oil, and that's that.
When I have made this as a pasta dish, it is always one of the favorite things on the table. Raffaele did not serve it as pasta, however. His is a side dish, "un contorno" if you will. In his version, the cauliflower is not in the form of florets, but it is just about the size of the pine nuts and the currants. THAT SMALL. The resulting, larger surface area, allows it to pick up a lot more of the flavors of the dish, and because everything is the same size, you can get a mouthful of everything at once - not always possible with the pasta sauce version .
The dish is not on the menu of his new restaurant, but it's always there. I know because he always serves it to us. We never order from the menu with Raffaele; rather we send it back with the words "cooks choice." The food is always different, but there is always a version of lamb, and there is always his cauliflower.
I have tried for a long time to copy his cauliflower. I even asked him for the recipe. He laughed and said "come un Siciliano." And that was that.
Cazzino. (don't use that word). Well, the part of it that I couldn't figure out was getting the cauliflower that small. Cutting it didn't work. The stuff crumbled into an ill defined, ugly mess. Trying to break the pieces apart with my fingers almost drove Annalena madder than she already is.
The last time Raffaele served it to us, I paid VERY close attention to it - as much attention as one can spare after two martinis. And I recognized something that has allowed me to get VERY close.
Raffaele's cauliflower is very soft. That means he's cooked it already, before he does the combining with the other ingredients. And I began thinking: he's got uniform pieces. They're small, but they look like individual florets. What would happen if, instead of boiling it as florets, I boiled the whole thing and then took it apart.
BINGO. This gave me something that was very close to Raffaele's. Mine was less salty , because I did not use capers or anchovies, and less oily, because I did not add more oil at the end, but it WAS good. Now, I want to lay it out for you.
To make it as authentic as possible, you'll need salted capers, pine nuts and currants. The currants and capers will need soaking. I will not be able to give you precise amounts, but use half the volume of capers that you do of currants. Put them in separate bowls, and cover them with water. After ten minutes, drain the capers and do this again. You want them each to soak for about fifteen minutes.
While they're soaking, get about thee inches of salted water boiling, in a large pot. Then, add a medium sized cauliflower, whole, to the pot. Cover it, and let it cook. Every few minutes, check the softness of the center with a knife. It should be VERY soft: knife tender, so to speak.
While the cauliflower cooks, toast the same volume of pine nuts as you have currants, in a tablespoon of olive oil until they just begin to smell toasty. Put them, and the oil, in a bowl, with the drained currants, and the drained capers. Meanwhile, let the cauliflower cool down and then break it apart. You'll see: it falls apart like little tiny pieces of a stone. This is what you want, and you'll have lots of it. You won't be able to do that with the stems, only the florets. Save the stems for soup, if you like.
Now, get the pan where you toasted the pine nuts, and add two-three tablespoons of olive oil and get it warm. Toss everything together in the oil, for a couple of minutes, and you are really done. If you like, when you dump the stuff out of the pan, you can add some more olive oil.
You can use this as a pasta sauce, but for my money, it is the best thing in the world to serve alongside some simple roast lamb, just the way Raffaele does.
Monzu'. Yup, that's what he is.
Friday, March 12, 2010
"The Law of Like": Stovetop sunchoks and artichokes
When Annalena was studying anthropology (yes, there WAS a stab at that), she came to the point where she had to wade her way through Sir Fraser's "The Golden Bough." Those of you who know this work will be smiling and shaking your heads. Yes, ALL of it. To those of you who don't, let's just say it's big and rough going - sort of like -
Ok, I'm not going there. In any event, early on, there is a discussion of a rule of magic, "the law of like." It says exactly what you'll think it does: things that are alike, have the same properties. Things that are alike go together, and so on, and so forth. It's the basis of the development of what we (well, not ALL of us), call simulacra, and things like that. I will not get more philosophical than that; rather, I'm just setting up for a theory about an oddity in cooking, that works.
Since I have started liking, and in fact loving, jerusalem artichokes (the "sunchokes" above), and looking for recipes, I find a lot of them where they are combined with plain old artichokes. Now, on a very basic level, this does not make any sense. Jerusalem artichoks are tubers. I have written about them before. They are the roots of sunflowers. They are firm, and hard and crispy, sort of like raw potatoes, and you treat them as such when you cook them. Artichokes you know. And, no, they are not related in any way, manner or form, other than their name, and no one knows where the "artichoke" part of jerusalem artichokes came from. I certainly don't, and I am NOT consulting Sir Fraser's tome to find out. I'm sure I won't either.
But, for all of that the two work together beautifuly in foods. I make, occasinally, a soup of the two of them that Alice Waters developed. I have seen a salad that I don't find particularly appealing. And then, not that long ago, this one. A recipe for the two, combined, in stove top/oven cooking, which is one of my favorite things.
This is a really good recipe, and, it's odd to say something like this in March, but jerusalem artichokes are "going out of season" soon, so get them while you can. They also use one of the few vegetables that I find acceptable, in purchased frozen form: the artichokes. This is one where I use them because, prepping the artichokes for this recipe would be too damn expensive, and too much work. So here goes.
You will need a pound of jerusalem artichokes. That's about 5 or 6 nice sized tubers. Also, a package of frozen artichoke hearts. They come quartered. Let them thaw. You also need a couple of good sized shallots, or half an onion, and then a quarter cup of white wine, and the juice of half a lemon. Two tablespoons of olive oil. Finally, two tablespoons of butter, the unsalted kind.
Let me digress for a minute here to explain my system of measurements here. This recipe originally called for 3 tablespoons of vermouth, and one tablespoon of lemon juice. You CAN measure these out and be precise about it; however, four tablespoons is a quarter cup. I find it easier to pour stuff into a measuring cup, from a large bottle, than into a tablespoon. Also, if you are going to squeeze fresh lemon juice until you get a tablespoon, well, you're going to get frustrated. I KNOW you are. Also, note the change from vermouth to white wine. Use vermouth if you have it,but most people don't have it around. They do have wine. Your call.
Now that you've collected the ingredients, preheat your oven to 400. Let's prep the jerusalem artichokes, by washing them to get any dirt off (remember , they're underground tubers), and then cut them into chunks.
Get a wide pan, that you know is safe for the oven (no nonsticks here). Get the olive oil shimmering hot. If you don't know what that means, then put the oil in the pan at medium heat, and watch it. Eventually, and it won't take long, you'll see almost a "wave" or ripple across the oil. Now you're ready.
Put the sunchokes into the oil, together with a double pinch of salt (note to the measurement minded: a pinch is an eight of a teaspoon. You want a quarter teaspoon here). Let the sunchoks cook away for about two minutes then turn them, and cook for another 2-3. You should see the start of browning . If you don't , cook a little more. Now add the artichokes, with another pinch of salt, stir everything together, and then put the pan in the oven, for twenty minutes.
When you come back, PROTECT YOUR HAND and take the pan out. There will be much more browning, and the dish will look beautiful. Now, we're going to do the finishing. Put the cooked veggies into a bowl, and then dump the shallots or onions into the pan. You may need to add the tiniest amount of oil here, and cook them until they just start to brown. MAYBE two minutes. Now add the wine, and stir, picking up the brown goodies in the pan. The wine will almost evaporate. For this next step, lower the heat as low as it can go. Then put in the lemon juice and add the butter, in small pieces (4 or 5 of them), waiting until each piece melts until you put in the next one (this helps with a little emulsification). When that's done, put the veggies in, stir it all together, and add some salt and pepper.
ALL DONE. One of the lovely features of this recipe, I have found, is that you can do it ahead of time and reheat it. Originally, it called for the addition of parsley and a little fresh tarragon. Tarragon and Annalena are not on good terms, but it does seem to show up in a lot of artichoke recipes, so if you're a fan, do not let me stop you.
Try this. It will not be long before we'll be eating ramps and fiddleheads and early spring tasties, and it will be time to bid a short farewell to sunchokes. You may be a convert, if you're not already, after you eat this.
Ok, I'm not going there. In any event, early on, there is a discussion of a rule of magic, "the law of like." It says exactly what you'll think it does: things that are alike, have the same properties. Things that are alike go together, and so on, and so forth. It's the basis of the development of what we (well, not ALL of us), call simulacra, and things like that. I will not get more philosophical than that; rather, I'm just setting up for a theory about an oddity in cooking, that works.
Since I have started liking, and in fact loving, jerusalem artichokes (the "sunchokes" above), and looking for recipes, I find a lot of them where they are combined with plain old artichokes. Now, on a very basic level, this does not make any sense. Jerusalem artichoks are tubers. I have written about them before. They are the roots of sunflowers. They are firm, and hard and crispy, sort of like raw potatoes, and you treat them as such when you cook them. Artichokes you know. And, no, they are not related in any way, manner or form, other than their name, and no one knows where the "artichoke" part of jerusalem artichokes came from. I certainly don't, and I am NOT consulting Sir Fraser's tome to find out. I'm sure I won't either.
But, for all of that the two work together beautifuly in foods. I make, occasinally, a soup of the two of them that Alice Waters developed. I have seen a salad that I don't find particularly appealing. And then, not that long ago, this one. A recipe for the two, combined, in stove top/oven cooking, which is one of my favorite things.
This is a really good recipe, and, it's odd to say something like this in March, but jerusalem artichokes are "going out of season" soon, so get them while you can. They also use one of the few vegetables that I find acceptable, in purchased frozen form: the artichokes. This is one where I use them because, prepping the artichokes for this recipe would be too damn expensive, and too much work. So here goes.
You will need a pound of jerusalem artichokes. That's about 5 or 6 nice sized tubers. Also, a package of frozen artichoke hearts. They come quartered. Let them thaw. You also need a couple of good sized shallots, or half an onion, and then a quarter cup of white wine, and the juice of half a lemon. Two tablespoons of olive oil. Finally, two tablespoons of butter, the unsalted kind.
Let me digress for a minute here to explain my system of measurements here. This recipe originally called for 3 tablespoons of vermouth, and one tablespoon of lemon juice. You CAN measure these out and be precise about it; however, four tablespoons is a quarter cup. I find it easier to pour stuff into a measuring cup, from a large bottle, than into a tablespoon. Also, if you are going to squeeze fresh lemon juice until you get a tablespoon, well, you're going to get frustrated. I KNOW you are. Also, note the change from vermouth to white wine. Use vermouth if you have it,but most people don't have it around. They do have wine. Your call.
Now that you've collected the ingredients, preheat your oven to 400. Let's prep the jerusalem artichokes, by washing them to get any dirt off (remember , they're underground tubers), and then cut them into chunks.
Get a wide pan, that you know is safe for the oven (no nonsticks here). Get the olive oil shimmering hot. If you don't know what that means, then put the oil in the pan at medium heat, and watch it. Eventually, and it won't take long, you'll see almost a "wave" or ripple across the oil. Now you're ready.
Put the sunchokes into the oil, together with a double pinch of salt (note to the measurement minded: a pinch is an eight of a teaspoon. You want a quarter teaspoon here). Let the sunchoks cook away for about two minutes then turn them, and cook for another 2-3. You should see the start of browning . If you don't , cook a little more. Now add the artichokes, with another pinch of salt, stir everything together, and then put the pan in the oven, for twenty minutes.
When you come back, PROTECT YOUR HAND and take the pan out. There will be much more browning, and the dish will look beautiful. Now, we're going to do the finishing. Put the cooked veggies into a bowl, and then dump the shallots or onions into the pan. You may need to add the tiniest amount of oil here, and cook them until they just start to brown. MAYBE two minutes. Now add the wine, and stir, picking up the brown goodies in the pan. The wine will almost evaporate. For this next step, lower the heat as low as it can go. Then put in the lemon juice and add the butter, in small pieces (4 or 5 of them), waiting until each piece melts until you put in the next one (this helps with a little emulsification). When that's done, put the veggies in, stir it all together, and add some salt and pepper.
ALL DONE. One of the lovely features of this recipe, I have found, is that you can do it ahead of time and reheat it. Originally, it called for the addition of parsley and a little fresh tarragon. Tarragon and Annalena are not on good terms, but it does seem to show up in a lot of artichoke recipes, so if you're a fan, do not let me stop you.
Try this. It will not be long before we'll be eating ramps and fiddleheads and early spring tasties, and it will be time to bid a short farewell to sunchokes. You may be a convert, if you're not already, after you eat this.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Crispy corn, or Annalena finds a way she likes it
Back to cleaning out the fridge. One of the things that always goes into the freezer when the stuff is in season, is corn. Corn, corn and more corn. Annalena's long suffering partner loves the stuff. Not one of my favorites. Ah, the things we do...
BUT... in working with a bag of the stuff not that long ago, I found a way of cooking it that I really liked.
"Caramel corn" , you know that sweet stuff yes? Well, caramel is really what makes everything brown. One of the more important chemical reactions Annalena studied when she was a pre-med student (you didn't know, did ya?), involved the so-called "Browning reacton, " which is kind of a cute name for it. So yes, she can go on at great length about what happens to cause food to brown, but she won't. Instead, she'll talk about this corn dish, which I think you will like.
It fits the "simplicity rule" of less than five ingredients. Indeed, there are but three if you do not count the salt: corn, oil or butter, and shallots. You can substitute the shallots with onions, or leeks or any member of that family, and you can mix the oil and butter, turning it into four ingredients. Use about 3-4 cups of kernel corn, and if it's still frozen, the dish won't mind.
Slice your onion ingredient thinly, until you have a scant cup or so. Then, put a few tablespoons of fat in a pan, and get it hot. Add the onions, and cook them until they just begin to soften. When that happens, add your corn, some salt, and turn down the heat.
Now, here's the most important part of the recipe and the one that people always have trouble with. LEAVE IT ALONE. Let it cook, without stirring, for 3-4 minutes. THEN turn it . You're going to get some corn sticking to the pan (that's a good thing), and you'll see the browning happening on those kernels. Cook for another 3-4 minutes and you're ALMOST done. Almost, because now, you're going to get that last bit of brown stuff.
Add a quarter cup of water . The pan will spatter in protest, but be brave, and start stirring. The water will evaporate, the brown stuff will come up and coat the corn, and you'll get something even tastier.
Caramel corn as a vegetable side dish. Ain't you clever?
BUT... in working with a bag of the stuff not that long ago, I found a way of cooking it that I really liked.
"Caramel corn" , you know that sweet stuff yes? Well, caramel is really what makes everything brown. One of the more important chemical reactions Annalena studied when she was a pre-med student (you didn't know, did ya?), involved the so-called "Browning reacton, " which is kind of a cute name for it. So yes, she can go on at great length about what happens to cause food to brown, but she won't. Instead, she'll talk about this corn dish, which I think you will like.
It fits the "simplicity rule" of less than five ingredients. Indeed, there are but three if you do not count the salt: corn, oil or butter, and shallots. You can substitute the shallots with onions, or leeks or any member of that family, and you can mix the oil and butter, turning it into four ingredients. Use about 3-4 cups of kernel corn, and if it's still frozen, the dish won't mind.
Slice your onion ingredient thinly, until you have a scant cup or so. Then, put a few tablespoons of fat in a pan, and get it hot. Add the onions, and cook them until they just begin to soften. When that happens, add your corn, some salt, and turn down the heat.
Now, here's the most important part of the recipe and the one that people always have trouble with. LEAVE IT ALONE. Let it cook, without stirring, for 3-4 minutes. THEN turn it . You're going to get some corn sticking to the pan (that's a good thing), and you'll see the browning happening on those kernels. Cook for another 3-4 minutes and you're ALMOST done. Almost, because now, you're going to get that last bit of brown stuff.
Add a quarter cup of water . The pan will spatter in protest, but be brave, and start stirring. The water will evaporate, the brown stuff will come up and coat the corn, and you'll get something even tastier.
Caramel corn as a vegetable side dish. Ain't you clever?
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