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Archive for January, 2010

Whenever I return to Beaumont, I inevitably bump into a certain woman who corners me and jabs her finger under my nose. “I still miss that beet salad!” she exclaims accusingly. At Liberty Market & Cafe we served a roasted beet salad with chevre and balsamic vinaigrette. I know, I know, you can’t swing a cat by the tail in most parts of the world without hitting a roasted beet salad with chevre and balsamic vinaigrette, but Beaumont had only recently discovered baby mesclun mix when I began serving the dish 10 years ago. Each time we have this exchange, I patiently tell her how to make it (I’ve never been one to keep any recipe secret). “It’s simple,” I say, and launch into the recipe for the dressing, and instructions for roasting and peeling the beets. Each time, she waits with lips compressed and toe tapping for me to quit talking. “It doesn’t taste the same,” she huffs, and stalks off.

How is that possible, I wonder? It occurs to me that there are, perhaps, several techniques and ingredients employed in restaurant kitchen everywhere (well, at least the ones where they actually still cook things from scratch), that might be unknown or mysterious to cooks in home kitchens. First, there are several basic recipes that no chef worth his or her salt would ever purchase. These foundational components really, truly do make all the difference, no matter what Nigella says. First: stock. I make a pot of stock almost every week, keep it in the refrigerator, and use it for almost everything. Anytime I have leftover bones from roast chicken or from chicken breasts, I add them to a bag in the freezer. To make stock, “sweat” the bones with a quartered onion in a covered stockpot for 15 minutes. Add water, then simmer for 15 minutes. No salt, no celery, no spices. Now, your risotto, beans, soup, braised vegetables, sauces and mashed potatoes will have a certain magical depth, richness, and texture that was always missing before. No, you can’t replicate this with a cube of chicken whatever-that-is, or shelf-stable broth. Your food will still be good, but not as good. Vegetarians can make an amazing potato peel and carrot stock. Second, as much as I love Paul Newman, everyone should make their own dressing. Get out the whisk and fancy vinegars if you want, but placing 4 tablespoons of white wine vinegar, 1/4 cup of olive oil and a teaspoon of whole grain mustard in a jar and shaking it takes about as long as opening a bottle with all kinds of stabilizers and who-knows-what-else in it. Once you’re in the habit, basic vinaigrette can go in an infinite number of directions.

Ingredients matter, too. Chefs spend a lot of energy sourcing the most beautiful produce, the highest quality meat and seafood, and you should too. Taste, touch, sniff. Don’t buy anything pre-cut or “bagged and washed.” Make sure your salt, oil and spices are fresh. And use shallots. Diced shallots go into restaurant sauces, soups and pastas by the handful. They have a subtle flavor not quite like onion or garlic, but cousin to both. Again, that elusive, magical depth and richness. Salt is a key player too. Diamond Crystal kosher salt has no additives and is less salty than Morton’s or sea salt. Salt early (especially meat) and taste often.

And here’s a little trick I almost feel funny sharing. I’m afraid no one will believe me, but go to the restaurant supply store and buy a huge stainless bowl. You’ll be amazed at the difference it makes. Really. Before roasting vegetables, drizzle oil and spices over them and mix well in the big bowl. They’ll cook more evenly and the flavors will really connect. Toss salads in the big bowl so that every leaf of lettuce is perfectly coated with vinaigrette. Sauce hot pasta in the big bowl and every strand of noodle will be perfectly sauced.

One drizzly March day several years ago, I had a cumin and lemon-scented roasted carrot salad at The Spotted Pig in Manhattan. One bite and I knew that my choices were to either move to New York City next door to The Spotted Pig, or learn to make it myself. Thanks, big bowl.

Roasted Carrot & Avocado Salad

adapted by memory from The Spotted Pig, NYC and from Jamie at Home by Jamie Oliver

1 bunch small carrots, peeled, some stem left intact

1 avocado

2 lemons, quartered

1 orange, quartered

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 cup olive oil

4 Tbs. red wine vinegar

1 small red onion, sliced

baby greens, arugula, and/or mixed interesting salad greens, washed and torn if large

a few sprigs thyme

1 tsp. ground cumin

1 tsp. paprika

sunflower seeds, sesame seeds, poppy seeds, and pumpkin seeds

2 Tbs. Mexican crema

Preheat oven to 425. Place mixed seeds in small skillet and toast over medium to low heat. Set aside to cool. Cut carrots lengthwise and place in a large bowl. Add cumin, paprika, garlic, thyme, lemon and orange. Drizzle with 1/4 cup olive oil and red wine vinegar. Toss well to coat, place on heavy, oven-proof pan, and roast at until carrots begin to caramelize, but are still crunchy. Remove from the oven and let cool. Squeeze lemon and orange juice into a bowl along with all pan juices. Slowly drizzle in remaining olive oil and whisk constantly until emulsified. Slice avocado and squeeze lemon juice on top to prevent  browning. Return carrots to bowl, along with salad greens and red onion, and toss with dressing. Place on serving platter or individual plates, arrange several pieces of avocado amongst carrots and greens, drizzle with crema and sprinkle with seeds.

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Twine, butterflies, quill pens, little worms, wheels, snails shells, little ears, angel hair, twins, radiators, cocks’ combs, shoestrings, little tongues, wood knots, little sparrows, rifles, and priest-stranglers. An accounting of the goods and customers in a post-apocalyptic rag and bone shop? No, Italian names for pasta.

What do we have so many names for? Cars? Money? So many times when I’m writing about food, I stop, stumped for a word to describe a flavor other than “spicy,” “salty,” “sweet,” or “sour.” I love to talk to my children about food–their descriptions so often veer towards the tactile. Foods are not only “mushy,” or “crunchy,” but also “slippery,” “squeaky,” and “sharp.” I find that some things are “tickly,” or “velvety,” myself.  My favorite recipes are ones that call for a “glug” of oil and use visual words like “stringy,” “ropy,” “satiny,” and “bubbly.” In our increasingly virtual world, there’s not much left that is as sensual as food. Food engages all five senses–sizzling, popping, searing, piled high on the plate in a gorgeous abundance of color and nutty, caramelly, tongue-tingly flavor, wafting scented steam. Is creamy a flavor or a feeling? How delightful that it is both! Here’s hoping we all take a little time to register the nuances of pleasure available to us three times a day . . . maybe good food is the Mother Tongue after all.

Cauliflower & Bacon Strozzapreti

2 strips bacon, diced

olive oil

4 cloves garlic, sliced thin

1 red onion, slivered

1/4 c. sundried tomatoes, julienned

1 small head cauliflower, cut into florets

small handful torn basil and chopped parsley

1 pound strozzapreti, or pasta shape of your choice

salt and pepper to taste

grated parmesan

In a large skillet with high sides, saute bacon in olive oil. When bacon begins to get crisp add onions and garlic and saute until golden. Add sundried tomatoes and toss. Add cauliflower florets and saute until tender-crisp. Meanwhile, boil pasta until al dente. Drain, reserving a cup of pasta cooking water. Add pasta to skillet along with cooking water, a handful of grated parmesan and herbs. Toss everything together and serve with additional grated parmesan on top.

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Fennel Gratin

Anise Dreams

There are moments in life where you have a sudden realization that you are living what had once been your wildest dreams. Such was my thought as I stood over Stephanie, who crouched over the row of fennel, clippers in hand. I pointed, “I’ll take that one. Oooh, and that one looks really good!” I mean honestly, who has it that good? I laughed, holding back the row cover for her, dreaming already about what I might make from these beautiful licorice-flavored dirt candies. A salad with citrus and spring onion? Pasta with caramelized fennel, its anise notes mellowed and sweetened?

It was cold and raw, so I opted for a gratin, that most comforting and warming of dishes, tender and nutty under a blanket of fragrant, golden cheese . . . Yes! I would make it a symphony of fennel, revealing its complexity and nuances in the flavor layers of seeds, bulb and fronds . . .  would a shot of pastis, sambuca or ouzo on the side be too much? Not for a dreamer like me!

Fennel Gratin

2 tsp. fennel seeds

1-2 bulbs fennel

1 small red onion

1 russet potato, peeled and sliced paper thin

2 cloves garlic, minced

olive oil

salt and pepper

3 Tbs. minced fennel fronds

1/2 c. cream or half and half

1/4 c. grated parmesan

Preheat oven to 350. Toast fennel seeds in small skillet until fragrant. Once they cool, chop finely and set aside. Cut fennel bulbs in half lengthwise, and remove the core. Slice the halves into paper thin slices and place in a large bowl. Cut onion in half and cut halves into thin half-moons. Add to bowl with fennel, along with fennel seeds, garlic, potato slices, and fennel fronds. Drizzle with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Add cream or half and half and toss to coat. Line bottom of small gratin dish with potato slices, then pack remaining ingredients on top. Pour cream left in bowl over potato-fennel mixture, adding more cream as necessary to come about halfway up sides of gratin dish. Top with grated cheese. Bake until potatoes are tender and top is brown.

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When I was in college, certain criteria were of the utmost importance in choosing a roommate. It didn’t bother me in the slightest if someone smoked, caroused, borrowed my lipstick, or left dirty clothes on the floor (perhaps because I was guilty of such breaches myself). What was important was food. Did prospective roommate leave dirty dishes in the sink? Use the last of the olive oil without replacing it? Most important, what skills and equipment was prospective roommate bringing to the table? Candy thermometer? Ability to make a good, dark roux? Peel a pound of shrimp in less than five minutes?

I met Holly one summer–a torrential downpour caught us as we were leaving English class, and she offered me a ride. I learned she was looking for a new place to live, my apartment on Chimes street had an empty bedroom, and, then, I discovered her family was Italian.

How lucky could I get? Holly’s parents lived in Baton Rouge, and when we were hungover, hungry, or needed to do laundry, we could just drive across town to her parents’ house . . . around dinner time. Holly’s mother was an amazing cook, regularly turning out all kinds of authentic Italian-American fare like lasagna with giant meatballs on the side, shrimp scampi, smothered cucuzza squash, and this rustic supper dish, which never failed to send me into a swoon of nostalgia for the Italian grandmother I never had. Really–borrow my lipstick anytime.

Braised Greens with Tomato & Farm Eggs

1 onion, diced small

4 cloves garlic, minced

olive oil

1 28 oz. can whole tomatoes

2 large handfuls greens (spinach, mustard, collard, etc)

4 farm eggs

grated parmesan cheese

grilled foccacia or ciabatta

In a skillet with high sides, saute onion and garlic in olive oil until tender. Crush tomatoes with your hands or pass through a food mill and add to skillet. Season to taste with salt and pepper and simmer until sauce thickens slightly. Cut greens into ribbons and rinse in colander. Shake some of the water off, and add to tomato sauce. Cover partially and cook until greens are tender. Removed lid, and make 4 wells, or indentions, in the sauce. Carefully crack one egg into each well, sprinkle with salt, cover, and cook until eggs are just set. Sprinkle with parmesan and serve with grilled bread.

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