Shelbs & Cheese

Trufflepalooza at Locanda Verde

2012-02-02T13:26:00.001-05:00

I like Locanda Verde. I like truffles. I like wine. I saw no reason why I wouldn’t like all of these things together. Though the reservation line opened and closed before I was able to secure my spot for the third annual Trufflepalooza, I jumped at Urban Daddy’s offer of a multi-course, wine-paired meal bedecked with truffles in the cozy back room of the TriBeCa restaurant. Sure, it was pricier than the initial restaurant offer, but it included wine pairings (which proved to be generously poured), a couple of additional bites, and tax and tip, which meant that, come Monday, we were completely settled-up.

The last time Rob and I were at Locanda Verde with his family, we sat next to a table of Kardashians (Khloe, Lamar, Kris and Kourtney, the douchey-looking guy and their kid). This time, though, we came for truffles. The event was held in the private room in the rear of the restaurant. Upon checking in, we were greeted with a glass of prosecco (Aneri Prosecco Brut). I always enjoy a glass of bubbly, so not a bad start at all. Place cards dictated seating, and Rob and I nestled in to our (tight) seats in the center of one of the two long communal tables that had been set up back-to-back. All of the food (save the burrata) was served family-style on large platters, so making friends with those across from us was inevitable.

After our prosecco (the only glass of the night I was able to successfully polish off, despite leaving rather tipsy), we were given a hearty pour of Inama Soave Classico 2009, a full, round white that stood up well to the truffle flavor dotting our first courses. (The restaurant was supremely dark, so please bear with my Camera+'ed iPhone photos. Danke.)

The bread course was not immune to the truffle treatment; the black truffle focaccia was light and airy and eminently fluffy, though my piece tasted more of cheese than of truffle. Not a bad thing, of course, but not precisely as advertised.

Plates of beef tartare descended upon the table next. Portioned atop well-oiled crostini and crowned with a wisp of black truffle, the beef lacked zing. It tasted merely of cold and fat, and could have used a bit more time with the salt shaker. The truffle, though optically present, didn’t stand up to the taste of the meat, which overpowered.

Perhaps my favorite course of the evening was the burrata, though this might not be a fair contest given my deep-rooted affection for the cheese. It was everything burrata should be, creamy, salty, ooey, gooey. It played wonderfully with the roasted butternut squash and melted leeks. The truffles were perfect here – the funky earthiness a welcome complement to the salty cheese and the sweet roasted veggies. Pumpkin seeds for crunch and a light coat of dressing helped knock this dish out of the park.

Once the last licks of burrata were cleared from the table, the red wine portion of the evening commenced with a hefty glass of Renato Ratti Nebbiolo d’Alba 2009, my favorite wine of the evening. Of the three glasses in front of me by the end of the night, this was the wine I kept coming back to, pairings be damned.

Buckwheat ravioli was up next, stuffed with truffled ricotta and topped with a blanket of trumpet mushrooms, cabbage and black truffle shavings. This dish was another hit at the table, the pasta was toothsome and nutty, and despite being obviously bathed in butter, felt almost wholesome. The truffle came through very subtly in this dish, not taking over, but merely accenting the other ingredients. Not a raviolo remained when the plates were cleared.

The meat portion of the meal was paired with a big red, Grifalco della Lucania Aglianico del Vulture 2008. The chicken came portioned into quarters, flanked on all sides by chestnut chicken sausage, Brussels sprouts and apples, all atop a bed of lovely black beluga lentils (one of my favorite types). The lentils were awesome, the Brussels sprouts great, the chicken – oh the chicken – so flavorful, so well-seasoned, so…dry. The sausage was pretty good, certainly juicy with a nice snappy casing. But the chicken merely served to uphold my belief that one should not order chicken in a restaurant; sure it was tasty and well-seasoned, but ultimately, it’s just chicken.

I’ve been to Locanda Verde multiple times before, always drawn back by the sheep’s milk ricotta and, as out of character as it may be, the desserts. Karen DeMasco does supremely ridiculous things at the restaurant - by day with the pastry bar up front, by night with desserts. Never has a dessert failed to satisfy there – and it’s the rare case when it fails to go above and beyond mere satisfaction. Monday night’s dessert was no different. It was, in a word, incredible. It was the one course that sent murmurs up and down the tables, that had strangers locking eyes in mutual, contented surprise. Her carrot black truffle cake came to the table looking rather ordinary, aside from the pile of black truffles atop it, of course. It was far from ordinary, though – a crunchy, chewy crust gave way to a moist, dense, almost gritty crumb that I imagine was the product of cornmeal in the batter. The white chocolate mascarpone crema was delicious as well, thick and rich and far from sweet. The whole dessert had a very savory quality, and I kept digging my fork in well past my declaration to Rob that I was about to burst. It was, in a word, awesome.

Though there were high and low points of the meal, we enjoyed a lot of good food, which I’ve come to expect from Locanda Verde and a lot of good wine. Not a bad Monday night at all.

Locanda Verde

377 Greenwich St (at N. Moore St.)

(212) 925-3797

Rouge Tomate - Restaurant Week, Winter 2012

2012-01-27T13:29:00.001-05:00

Rouge Tomate has been on my radar for a while now. The restaurant was built up during its opening as a health- and environment-conscious Belgian import, ready to merge New Yorkers' collective (and often fanatical) love of good food and general proclivity for staying fit and take the city by storm. The concept definitely piqued my interest, and I've been meaning to stop by for a while now, but given that an estimated 98% of my dining out occurs south of 14th street (particularly during the winter), I haven't been in the general vicinity of the restaurant at any opportune time. Thankfully, that time presented itself this week, and my mother and I headed over to the restaurant for a non-committal, Restaurant Week sampling of the menu.

A word about Restaurant Week: Restaurant Week has always been a bit hit-or-miss for me; what should be an opportunity for restaurants to develop new clientele and build word of mouth about their establishment typically winds up being, well, a circus. Hopes of solid, well-thought out meals and polished service are dashed by hurried service, off-menu items created solely for the event to keep costs down, and a general feeling that you're doing nobody a favor with your patronage. It's also an opportunity to give an expensive restaurant a trial run, a peek into what it's capable of turning out before you decide to blow three-figure amounts on a single meal. A review of the proposed Restaurant Week menu is always a good idea; if I can't review the menu, I'm just not going. Rouge Tomate's Restaurant Week menu looked rather appealing, and since its regular menu does not come cheaply, Mom and I decided to give it a go.

The restaurant is located on East 60th street, half a block off of central park, and the clientele seems mostly pulled from the surrounding residences. The space is modern and sprawling, with boxes of apples (fake; "not very environmental of us", according to our server, though she was quick to share that the restaurant composts all eligible waste). The environmentally-friendly angle is played up - sustainable and bio-dynamic wines and organic beers are highlighted on the list, and the menu lists the provenance of many of its ingredients.

Beet Tartare Amuse Bouche

After selecting our drinks (an organic Samuel Smith lager for mom after some gushing on my part over the brewery's oatmeal stout - my very favorite beer - and an "unusual" Spanish red for me, which I really liked at first taste, but my enjoyment of which diminished with each sip), we were presented with an amuse of beet tartare with horseradish foam. The restaurant uses no butter or cream in its cooking, which meant that most of what we ate was kept light and undeniably true to taste. The beets were incredibly beet-y, sweet and juicy, while the horseradish foam was a bit tame for my tastes. Mom likened it to borscht, a comparison hard to refute.

Cauliflower-Almond Spread and Rosemary-Infused Olive Oil

Bread service was accompanied by rosemary-infused olive oil and a cauliflower - almond spread (remember, no butter here). The spread, again, tasted exactly as described, but was a bit thin atop the bread.

Seeded Roll and Sour Wheat Bread

We sampled each of the three offered bread types; I really enjoyed the slight sourness of the plain wheat bread, and the heartiness of the peasant roll, generously topped with pumpkin and sunflower seeds. The poppy- and sesame-seeded roll (pictured above) was regrettably soft throughout - no chewy crust here.

Autumn Squash Soup

Mom started her meal with the Autumn Squash Soup (Apple / Pumpkin Seed / Fall Spice / Anisette). It was sweet, the apple coming through loud and clear, with an anisette foam that lacked pizzazz. (Is Rouge Tomate perhaps forced to rely on foams since it can't fall back on cream? Cream (crème fraîche in particular) would have been better here, and a little dollop here and there never killed anyone. The pumpkin seeds provided a lovely textural contrast, and came through almost like granola. Pretty good overall, and Mom cleaned her plate.

Hawaiian Walu Crudo

I started with the Hawaiian Walu Crudo (Avocado / Yuzu / Soy / Jicama / Jalapeño / Lemongrass-Ginger Oil), which I really enjoyed. The fish was tender and buttery, the yuzu bright and refreshing. A little bit more in the accoutrements department wouldn't have hurt, but this dish was certainly a hit with me. (Side note on Walu, also called escolar and butterfish - WTF. Thankfully my appetizer was not rewarded with any such symptoms.)

Steelhead Salmon a la Plancha

For the mains, Mom went with the Steelhead Salmon (Five Grain Salad / Pine Nut / Broccoli Rabe / Raisins / Beldi Olive / Sauce Vierge). She'd been expecting to see arctic char on the menu, as advertised on the restaurant's website, but she loved the fish nonetheless. I tasted a corner, and the skin was cooked to a perfect crisp, and what I tasted of the fish seemed tender. The taste of Steelhead (actually not salmon, but [rainbow] trout) will just never compare with wild-caught salmon for me, though, as it lacks that certain richness. The fish was nicely portioned and plated atop a generous pile of what seemed to be quinoa, millet, couscous and a couple of other grams I couldn't readily identify, which tasted nutty and wholesome. Pine nuts provided texture, and the broccoli rabe was cooked tender, but not beyond.

Hudson Valley Duck a la Plancha

My entree was the Hudson Valley Duck a la Plancha (Endive / Grapefruit / Rutabaga / Apple / Ginger-Foie Gras Jus) (yea, I'm back). The duck was cooked superbly, a perfect rare to medium-rare (yea, sorry about the grainy, horrendous iPhone pictures). The majority of the fat was rendered from the breast (we are at a 'health-conscious' establishment after all, but the bit that remained proved to be the perfect amount, providing that lusciousness but not overwhelming the very, very tasty meat. The accompaniments were fine, nothing that really wowed, but nothing that clashed with the main event.

Onward we slogged to dessert, though I was entirely sated at this point - Rouge Tomate did not skimp on the portions during Restaurant Week. Mom ordered the Pear and Cinnamon Ice Cream Terrine
(Spiced Chiffon Cake / Poached Pear / Cranberry), and I the Bittersweet Chocolate Ganache
(Banana / Graham Cracker / Marshmallow / Maldon Sea Salt). Both desserts arrived far too cold, on plates that had clearly been refrigerated before being brought out from the kitchen in all its pre-fab, Restaurant Week glory.

Pear and Cinnamon Ice Cream Terrine

I tried only a tiny bite of Mom's terrine - it was fine, but the healthy nature of it was glaringly evident. The cranberry dollops were refreshingly tart, though, and helped offset the otherwise one-note nature of the dish.

Bittersweet Chocolate Ganache

I enjoyed my dessert a bit more than Mom's, though chocolate tends to wear on me quickly. The ganache was smooth and certainly bittersweet, hardly saccharine at all, which I favor. Graham cracker crumbs are undeniably fun, and these were no different. The little chocolate balls provided some crisp and crunch to the affair, and the sorbet was nothing more than some one-ingredient banana soft-serve. I cleaned my plate of the banana and graham cracker elements, had a couple of spoonfuls of chocolate, and my sweet tooth was perfectly content.

Overall, we really enjoyed our meal at Rouge Tomate. The restaurant put forth a solid, friendly Restaurant Week performance with really good, generously portioned food and attentive service. Since I don't typically eat out in this area of the city, I'm not sure how quickly I'll be back, but I'm sure I will be.

Rouge Tomate
10 East 60th Street (b/w 5th and Madison)
646-237-8977

Sardine and Avocado Sandwich

2011-12-05T21:46:00.003-05:00

So, where did we leave off, oh…three months ago? That’s right – that kind-of-sort-of-vegan thing. Well, suffice it to say that my efforts for healthfulness in that journey were not met with success, and for a variety of reasons I have chosen to depart from a mostly-vegan diet. Though many of my meals are still vegan, and I think that it is a truly admirable and healthful way of life, it’s just not right for me, right now. Though I’ve reverted back to my fish and cheese and egg-eating ways (oh runny yolks, how I missed you), I haven’t been as quick to jump back on the totally-omnivorous track, though perhaps that will come. Phew, now that that’s off my chest, we can proceed.

This little meal here I think serves as a wonderful bridge between my last post and what I imagine for those in the future. While fishing practices for certain species have vastly degraded the environment and left certain fish on the verge of extinction, sardines are an exception and a great sustainable choice, as they’re abundant and have high reproductive rates. Not only that, but those little buggers are healthy as hell, boasting awesome amounts of omega-3s and essential proteins, and since sardines are low in the food chain, the mercury levels in sardines are much, much lower than their big-eye tuna brethren. Eat your sardines from a can and you’ll receive an added bonus: the teeny little bones, which can barely be detected, are a great source of calcium. Oh yea, they're cheap too.

Now I realize what I’m proposing may be a bit of a hard sell. But before you balk at the mere idea of sardines, hear me out. Canned tuna is eaten with vim across this country – and I maintain that canned sardines should be too. Though they’ve gotten a bit of a bad rap from their former status as a recession-friendly food (and, fine, their stink), there are many who take great joy in eating them straight from the can with some mustard and crackers. There’s even an entire blog devoted to them. If the idea of straight tin-to-cracker sardine consumption sounds a bit intense for you, let me propose something a bit more dressed-up, which should calm some fears about the fishiness and “ick factor” of sardines. I can find little fault in a meal of sardines, dressed in a mixture of sherry vinegar, lemon and parsley. Add some avocado and delicious bread, and you have an open-faced sandwich that’s pretty damn good all around.

This sandwich idea comes from Alton Brown, who hailed it as his diet savior – and that makes total sense – this is a meal that is balanced, healthy and totally satisfying. And because sardines are oily fish, the sandwich has a certain richness while still feeling virtuous. So go on, embrace the sardine.

Sardine and Avocado Sandwich

Makes 2 open-faced sandwiches
Adapted from Alton Brown

I usually use one tin per two open-faced sandwiches, though bigger appetites may want to use the whole tin; the leftover sardine mix stays well in the fridge and makes the second sandwich a breeze to prepare. I have used both oil- and water-packed sardines with success. If you use water-packed sardines, be sure to add some oil to the mix, about a tablespoon or so will do, though do note that the oil from the tin lends great flavor to the sandwich. I like to add a little bit of Dijon mustard and onion, but both are entirely optional. Alton recommends brushing the bread with the sardine oil before toasting – I think this is unnecessary.

1 tin sardines
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley, additional for garnish
1.5 – 2 teaspoons sherry vinegar (if you don’t have sherry vinegar, substitute lemon juice, but the sherry really does add a very nice touch)
1/8 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard, or to taste (optional)
1 tablespoon onion
2 slices of bread (I like using a whole wheat sourdough; try to pick a bread with a good bite, as opposed to sandwich bread)
½ ripe avocado
salt and pepper to taste

If using oil-packed sardines, drain the oil from the tin into a bowl. If using water-packed, drain off and discard the water and add one tablespoon of olive oil to a bowl. Add the parsley, sherry, lemon zest, and, if using, the mustard and onion to the bowl. Add the sardines and mix to combine, mashing a bit if desired. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Set aside for a few minutes to allow the flavors to combine (in the refrigerator if not using for more than an hour).

When you’re ready to assemble, toast the bread. Mash the avocado half in its skin and divide between the two slices of bread, spreading the avocado evenly to cover the bread. Divide the sardine mixture evenly between the two slices of bread, spreading it out over the avocado. Sprinkle sandwiches with additional parsley and finish with a squeeze a lemon. Then, enjoy.

Pasta with Creamy Vegan 'Alfredo' Sauce

2011-09-15T21:32:00.007-04:00

So I had been working a lot. Like, a LOT. And when I wasn't working, I wasn't able to muster up the energy to write a post. My weeks this summer pretty went like this: work, work, sleep (a little), work, work, deposit self on beach, work (sometimes on beach), sleep (a little more), work. In the little time I had in between, I was reading. A lot. Too much, some (cough, boyfriend, cough) might say.

All of this reading, coupled with an over-reactionary stomach these past few months, has led me to make some changes in my diet. Big time changes. As in, no meat or dairy, kind-of-sort-of-vegan changes. I mean, I love me some cheese, though it has admittedly always weirded me out that we are the only species on earth that eats milk of other mammals intended for their young. Sick. Though cheese is delicious.

Now I don't think I can say that I'll be shunning meat and dairy forever, but I can see myself significantly restricting my intake of both for the near and not-so-near future. While I don't know that I could forever say goodbye to smoked salmon, I think I'd be doing both myself and the environment a favor by largely limiting the amount of animal products I consume. And I'm not going to put pressure on myself my placing a label on my diet. I'm not going to declare that I "am" anything, and then set lofty expectations for what I (or others) think my diet should comprise. If I want to be a "kind-of-sort-of-vegan, who sometimes eats smoked salmon, or lobster rolls or finds herself at a really great restaurant and wants to enjoy a meal sans dietary restrictions", so be it.

And honestly, it's been kind of fun. It's really exciting to get into the kitchen and wing it sometimes. To try to create really exciting meals without the crutch of bacon fat or the richness of eggs. This hasn't been about trying to recreate the non-vegan dishes I love: the macs & cheeses, the bacon egg and cheese sandwich because honestly, I don't miss them. I have not eaten a single slice of Tofurkey (nor do I intend to) - substituting meat and dairy with overly processed soy is not really going to do my body much good. This for me has been about creating foods that are delicious in their own right, but that are easy enough to digest and don't make me feel bloated or tired afterwards. But once in a while, only a creamy pasta dish is going to satisfy, and for those times, I'm glad I found a few vegan 'alfredo' sauce recipes to mash together into one. A garlicky, saucy alfredo facsimile that I felt not only not bad about eating, but great about eating.

Pasta with Vegan Alfredo Sauce

Adapted from here and here

The cashews lend this sauce a nice, creaminess, and together with the tahini and nutritional yeast give the dish a boost of protein. Nutritional yeast is a great resource for vegetarians and vegans, since it is one of very few non-meat sources of vitamin B12, and it has a vaguely cheesy taste. The sauce comes together in a blender, food processor or a magic bullet in a snap and needs just a couple of minutes of warming and thickening in a pot with the pasta, making this a very weeknight-doable meal.

I'd recommend only combining the pasta and sauce that you plan on eating at that time; if there are leftovers, the sauce and pasta / vegetables are better stored separately and reheated together in the pot when you're ready to eat the rest of what you've prepared. Once combined, the dish doesn't reheat as well, though if you have sauced pasta left over, adding a bit of almond milk when reheating will restore some creaminess to the dish.

Ingredients:

4 ounces pasta (I used whole wheat rotini)
1/2 cup frozen peas
1/2 cup chopped frozen broccoli
1/3 cup raw cashews
2 garlic cloves
3 T nutritional yeast
1 cup unsweetened, unflavored almond milk
1 T lemon juice (I added a bit more after tasting it)
2 T non-dairy buttery spread, such as Earth Balance
1 T low-sodium soy sauce
2 tsp Dijon mustard
1 T tahini
Pinch of nutmeg
1/4 t sea salt
1/2 tsp paprika
lots of freshly ground black pepper (or to taste I guess)

Process:

Cook pasta in well-salted water in a sauce pot. About two minutes before the pasta is to be al dente (don't cook it all the way in the water, since it will continue to cook a bit once the sauce is added), add the peas and broccoli to the pot with the pasta. Cook until the peas and broccoli are bright green and cooked, making sure not to allow them to get mushy. Drain the pasta and vegetables in a colander and return to the pot.

While the pasta is cooking, add the rest of the ingredients to your blender or magic bullet and blent until smooth. Taste and adjust seasoning as desired.

Add sauce to the pot with the pasta and vegetables and heat over medium heat. Allow the sauce to thicken and heat through, stirring frequently. Top with a few turns of freshly ground pepper and a dusting of paprika.

Serves 2.

Beer Pancakes

2011-05-18T15:02:00.008-04:00

About once a weekend I cook my wonderful boyfriend breakfast, or brunch, or whatever you'd like to call the first meal of the day that usually happens no earlier than 1 p.m. This process typically starts with a variation of an exchange in which I ask him what he'd like for breakfast, I tell him I can make him whatever he'd like, suggest a few things, and then make my way into the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, I only offer to make meals that can be assembled from items that I already have on hand - the first meal of the day is not the time to go out for groceries, is it? (Let's not dwell on the fact that I have to merely cross the street to arrive at a more than serviceable grocery store, okay? Thanks.)

So imagine my displeasure when, after Robbie took me up on an offer of chocolate chip pancakes, I opened my fridge to find myself entirely out of milk, of any sort. No cow, almond or coconut milk, and definitely no buttermilk. Though he (probably) would have been happy with anything (edible) I put in front of him, because that's just the kind of guy he is, I didn't want to let him down.

But I recalled reading a Dear FloFab column in the Diner's Journal that revolved around a secret recipe for pancakes, and whether it was right for someone to insist on being given an old family recipe for pancakes that the question poser was given by her aunt on her deathbed, and is now the only person in the family in possession of the recipe. [Though now that I'm searching for this column I can't seem to find it anywhere, but I'm fairly secure enough in my sanity to say I read it at some point; maybe it just wasn't FloFab? Anyone?]

Scrolling down past Florence's pithy reply (how I love reading her responses to these questions), I came upon the comments. Many of them. And instead of responding to the question posed, instead of chiming in on the merits of keeping such a thing secret, the commenters to the post took turns guessing what that secret recipe might have hidden within it that it creates what must be the world's greatest pancakes. One of the commenters piped in: "beer!" Which makes sense, in a way, since beer contains both yeast and carbonation, which helps keep things light and fluffy, certainly an attribute when it comes to pancakes. I use seltzer in my matzoh balls to help keep those from becoming too dense, so the same logic would seem to apply to pancakes. And while I had zero types of milk in the fridge, I had no less than four types of beer. Problem - potentially - solved.

So I turned to Google, and found a few different recipes for beer pancakes, which I cobbled together. I used part whole wheat flour in part because I felt its nuttiness would play nicely with the malty undertones of the beer. And it did. The pancakes were light, but crispy around the edges, with faint yeasty notes in the backdrop that played surprisingly well with the chocolate chips.

What type of beer you should use will depend on how prominently you'd like to feature it in the taste. A cheap light beer will interfere less with the taste of the other ingredients, but will still provide a noticeable beer flavor. On the other hand, a nice rasperry lambic would work quite nicely as well, providing fruity notes that would play well with blueberries or chocolate chips in the batter. Regardless, once the bottle's open, you might as well finish it up. It's brunch, after all, and is brunch really brunch without booze?

Whole Wheat Beer Pancakes
Adapted from Multiple Sources
Serves 2

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
3 tablespoons sugar
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 large egg, separated
1 cup beer (I used a cheap light beer, since I didn't want the taste of beer to be too prominent)
2 tablespoons butter, melted (optional, but why not)
1/4 good quality cup chocolate chips (optional, blueberries would also be good, especially with a fruity beer)

In a large bowl, combine the dry ingredients. Add the egg yolk, beer and butter and whisk to combine. Don't overmix - it's okay if there are a few lumps.

In a separate bowl, beat the egg white with a hand mixer or whisk until soft peaks form. Add a bit of the egg white to the batter to lighten it before folding in the rest, being careful not to deflate the egg whites. Fold in the remaining egg whites to combined.

Note: if you want to skip this step, you certainly can, but I think separating the eggs results in wonderfully light pancakes. If you want to forego whipping the whites, just don't separate the egg and beat it lightly before adding it to the mixture with the beer and butter.

Heat a griddle or a skillet over medium heat and coat with a respetable layer of butter. I find that a little extra butter helps the edges of the pancakes get nice and crispy. Once the bubbles in the butter have subsided a bit, spoon the batter onto the hot griddle or skillet, using about 1/4 cup of the batter per pancake. Dot the surface of the pancakes with chocolate chips or blueberries, if using, pressing down on them gently so that they become slightly submerged in batter. When you see bubbles appear on the surface of the pancakes, about 3-4 minutes, flip them over and cook until done on the other side.

Serve with a dusting of powdered sugar and maple syrup and a healthy amount of bacon if you're hearing the siren song of a salty-sweet breakfast.

Oat Bran with Mushrooms, Arugula, Blue Cheese and Poached Egg

2011-03-02T11:49:00.009-05:00

I don't know about you, but I found this winter to have been a trying one. It feels like it snowed relentlessly, stopping only long enough for the temperatures to dip far below freezing and turn the city into a sheet of ice. Weather like we've seen this winter beckons for comfort food. For cheesy, gooey, hearty things that stick to your ribs and warm you from the inside. But it's also March now, people! I don't know how this came to be, but apparently we're already two full months into 2011. And though the weather's not quite spring-like yet, before we know it, we're going to be expected to don swimsuits and look like we were utterly and completely unaffected by winter.

This meal is perfect for this time of year. There are few things better in the winter (or ever, really) than a warm, creamy bowl of grits. However, grits are pretty much devoid of nutrition, especially the instant kind. Whole-grain cornmeal and polenta are a little better, but they take a lot of time and patience to cook - not exactly the type of thing you can whip up in a few minutes when you're looking for a quick weeknight meal. Enter oat bran: hearty, quick-cooking, yet retaining all of the nutrients that made it a dieter's darling. And no need for it to be sweet, either. Leave the maple syrup for those times you want waffles for dinner (though some may argue those are better topped with ice cream for dinner, or for any meal...some) and make this into the rich, savory and hearty meal we're all craving right about now.

Listen, I know it sounds weird. But hear me out on this one. It's delicious. Oat bran got a bad rap in the 1980's (or so I hear, anyway), when it was touted as THE HEALTHIEST THING EVER. Its popularity among the health nuts faded, and it became something of a joke. But it shouldn't be, because it's incredibly versatile - and while it might not be the healthiest thing ever, its definitely definitely good for you.

This oat bran is rich and warm, yet won't weigh you down. Strong flavors like blue cheese are - perhaps counterintuitively - great items to use when I'm trying to keep things light. The funkier the cheese, the farther a small amount will go. I used no more than an ounce of the stuff in this recipe, and that includes both what was mixed into the oatbran during cooking and what I sprinkled on top afterwards. It's got protein and fiber from the oat bran, and the arugula not only provides a subtle, peppery pop that really sets off the whole dish, but gives the dish a boost of greenness that will ease your mind and prevents the whole thing from looking too, well, bland.

Mushrooms provide a bit of bite to the dish, banishing images of gruel and textureless slop that might come to mind when oat bran is mentioned. Of course the egg does not hurt in any respect - it's the rare savory dish that is not improved by a poached egg, a runny yolk coating all components and making everything extra good. And it's one of nature's more perfect nutritional packages, conveniently portioned and packed full of protein. Not to mention that poaching is one of the healthier ways to cook eggs, since, unlike scrambling or frying it relies on no added fat. Hard-boiled eggs don't require any extra fat either, of course, but being hard-boiled, they obviously don't offer that whole runny yolk thing.

Oat Bran with Mushrooms, Arugula, Blue Cheese and Poached EggServes 1

1 teaspoon butter
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 tablespoon shallots, finely chopped
1/2 cup crimini mushrooms, sliced
1 cup milk or water
1/3 cup oat bran
1 cup baby arugula
1 ounce blue cheese (I used a strong triple creme blue, but gorgonzola or really any blue should work just fine)
1 egg
Salt and Pepper, to taste

Fill a saute pan with water and place over medium heat until a simmer is achieved.

While the water in the saute pan is heating, place a small pot over medium heat. Add the olive oil and butter and heat until the bubbles from the butter have subsided. Add the shallots and cook, stirring occassionally, until the shallots are soft and beginning to turn transluscent. Add the mushrooms and cook until browned, about 5 minutes. Add the milk or water to the pot, season with a dash of salt and raise the heat to medium high. Once the liquid has boiled, add the oat bran to the pot, stir to combine, and lower the heat to low. Cover the pot and cook the oat bran for 3-5 minutes, until the desired consistency is achieved, stirring often so as not to burn and adding additional milk or water as needed to achieve your desired texture. In the last minute of cooking, add the blue cheese, reserving some if desired to top the dish with the the end. Stir to combine, allowing the cheese to melt into the oatmeal. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Add the arugula to the pot and cover to allow the steam to wilt the arugula. Give it frequent stirs to help the arugula along. Remove from the heat and transfer the oat bran to a serving bowl.

In the meantime, add a splash of vinegar to the now-barely-simmering water in the skillet. Carefully slide the egg into the skillet, either directly or by first cracking the egg into a ramekin or teacup and then sliding it gently into the water, using a slotted spoon to gather the whites together if necessary. Allow to cook until your desired doneness, about three minutes or so for a nicely runny yolk. Lift the egg from the skillet with a slotted spoon and blot dry with a paper towel, and place it in the bowl over the oat bran. Finish with any reserved blue cheese, a final sprinkle of salt and pepper, crack that yolk and enjoy!

Sake Fish en Papillote

2010-11-29T20:49:00.005-05:00

I cook real food, too, you know. It’s not all ice cream and frozen yogurt and rugelach and brownies. I even cook and eat things without butter or cheese or any dairy products whatsoever in them sometimes – food that some might even consider “healthy”. Of course, it helps when such things are also delicious.

The intersection of healthy and delicious is an ideal, and one that oftentimes seems unattainable. We all know that definitely need not be so. Certain methods of cooking tend to produce healthier results. Steaming is one such method, but one that has gotten a rather bad rap. Thinking back to the steaming of our childhoods often conjures up images of sadly steamed broccoli releasing its sulfuric compounds, an unfortunate byproduct of overcooking cruciferous vegetables (that's whymost of us probably never liked Brussels sprouts much growing up, though we know how great those can be). When we dwell on comfort foods, odds are we're not hankering for anything steamed - it just doesn't carry with it delicious connotations. But that needn't be so.

But steaming, like Brussels sprouts, shouldn't be feared. Baking in parchment paper essentially allows the contents nestled within the package to steam, since the heat created during the cooking process is trapped within the package. Baking in parchment is a great little trick to have in your arsenal - it is incredibly simple - just throw a few things on a parchment (aluminum foil often works if you don't have parchment on hand), throw it in the oven for a few minutes, and just like that - like magic, really - what lies within emerges perfectly cooked. And yes, what you're eating is, in fact, steamed - but you needn't say so.

Fish en papillote, which literally means "in parchment" is the french term for baking things within a little package - and doesn't it just sound so much nicer than "steamed fish"? It's a phenomenally easy thing to prepare for a dinner party as well, you could plate it unopened, so as to require audience participation. It's always exciting to open a present, and that is no less true when there are delicious scents emanating from the package.

Sake Steamed Fish en Papillote
Adapted from Gourmet, June 2009

This recipe couldn't be easier - you throw some things in parchment, tie it up, with scallions if you want to be fancy about it, with string if not, throw it in the oven and forget about it for a few minutes. It sounds so much more complicated than that though, but who's to know? Regardless of how you advertise it, what you're left with when you open that package is something fragrant, delicate, delicious and blessedly healthy. I served it with some sauteed baby bok choy and brown rice for a round, wholesome meal.

1/3 cup sake
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon grated peeled ginger
1/2 teaspoon sugar
2 (6-ounce) pieces skinless fillet of any firm, white fish (about 1 inch thick), bones removed
1/3 cup sliced scallions

Note: You'll also need two 12ish-inch squares of parchment paper and, to tie up your parcels, some string or a couple of scallions.

Preheat oven to 400°F with a baking sheet on bottom rack.

In a bowl, stir together sake, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, and sugar.

If fish fillets are more than 4 inches long, fold ends under. Put a fish fillet in the center of each piece of parchment paper and sprinkle with salt. Divide scallions evenly, sprinkling them on top of each fillet. Holding up two corners of the parchment paper to prevent liquid from running off everywhere, spoon one half of the sake mixture over the top of one one the portions. Gather the sides of the aprchment paper together to form a pouch encasing the fish, make sure there are no openings through which the steam can escape, and tie tightly with string or a scallion. (If using a scallion to tie the pouch, quickly steam it so that it softens, which will prevent them from snapping when you try to form a knot.)

Bake on hot baking sheet until fish is just cooked through, 10 to 12 minutes.

Serves 2.

Peanut Butter Ice Cream

2010-09-16T12:08:00.008-04:00

As Labor Day has come and gone, and the temperatures have been dipping
into the chilly zone come nightfall around these parts, it seems that
summer's on its last legs. Don't tell that to my ice cream maker. I
know there's been a lot of ice cream around here, but I hope you'll bear
with me for one more before season's end. This one's worth it.

Peanut butter was never my favorite thing as a kid - in fact, I don't
think I actually touched the stuff until I was in 6th grade. Something about it
just freaked me out, and my parents were never the peanut butter and
jelly-pushing sorts. I wasn't a picky kid, so I don't think they had
to utilize the pb&j crutch on which so many parents rely just to make sure
their kids get some calories in them. (While calories weren't a problem, calcium was - I was not one for milk, and my parents finally just gave in and allowed me to eat ice cream for breakfast, sometimes even without the proper-breakfast-validating waffles. Major win.) When I finally did get into peanut butter, it wasn't the cloyingly sweet, oil-slicky smooth commercial varieties, but the chunky, grittier "natural" stuff. The texture is more substantial, the flavor more reminiscent of actual, real-life peanuts and less of sugared-up legumes.

I can't really explain then why this ice cream pulled me in, considering it calls for that processed, not-so-natural stuff. It wasn't about nostalgia, since I had sat on the sidelines, quietly enjoying my tuna sandwiches, watching my friends lap feverishly to get those smooshy soft sandwiches unstuck from the roof of their mouths; this peanut butter was never a feature of my childhood. It has to be, then, that what drew me in was the inkling I had to take the ice cream and throw a whole slew of salty stuff in there. And I think by now we know how I feel about sweet plus salty. Throw a toasty, crunchy, nutty aspect in there as well, and it's pretty much a done deal.

While this ice cream falls somewhere between a custard-based ice cream and the frozen greek yogurt in terms of complexity and involvement, it is definitely much closer to the almost-too-easy-to-be-true frozen yogurt end of the range. And that's just because of all the extras I chose with which to bedazzle my ice cream. Had I not had to chop these mix-ins (and I threw a LOT of stuff in there), there'd have been little more to this recipe than a couple of measurements and a quick buzz in the blender.

I toyed a bit with doing a peanut butter and jelly version instead, but clearly the siren song of salty-sweet was simply too much for me to resist. And I don't regret it for an instant. Neither will you.

Sweet and Salty Super Loaded Peanut Butter Ice Cream
Ice cream base recipe adapted from The Perfect Scoop, by David Lebovitz

3/4 cup smooth peanut butter*
2/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 2/3 cups half-and-half
Pinch of salt
1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup salted, blanched peanuts, chopped coarsely
1 cup dark (or milk, if you prefer, but I like the bitterness of dark) chocolate, chopped coarsely or semisweet chocolate chips
1 cup salted pretzels, chopped (note: I used standard, salted pretzels, but would probably use chocolate-covered pretzels next time, since the pretzels got a little bit soggy after a while)

* Don't be tempted to use natural peanut butter, as the oils will separate and this will not make you happy.

Combine the peanut butter, sugar, half and half and salt in a blender and blend until combined and the sugar has dissolved. Place the mixture in the refridgerator until cold. Freeze the mixture in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. In the last two minutes of the churn cycle, add in the various mix-ins until combined. Transfer the finished ice cream to a container and freeze until you're ready to enjoy. I enjoyed a little additional sprinkling of coarse sea salt over my bowls of this ice cream.

Frozen Yogurt with Figs and Honey

2010-07-27T23:42:00.011-04:00

I knew that this guy was going to be trouble. There was no way that I was going to make it out of the summer without a severe ice cream-making addiction, so I just embraced it - there's been mint, coffee, peanut butter ice cream (that one's coming soon - stay tuned!), the list goes on. And I haven't really looked back.

OK - I looked back just a little bit, deciding that not everything that The Churnster (as I've affectionately dubbed him) produces has to be the richest thing ever (or at least the richest thing since the last thing that we made together). I made frozen yogurt. And you know what? It was awesome. It was made with greek yogurt, so it had that thick, assertive tang that I love so much about the stuff. I cut back on the amount of sugar in the recipe, since I really wanted that tang to be at the forefront of the finished product.

When I was in Greece, I ate yogurt with walnuts and honey with reckless abandon. The simplicity of it all just made me sit back and appreciate the various ingredients, which came together to form one of my favorite combinations of all time. And because that shit is awesome. Seriously - smooth, thick, tangy yogurt, tempered by the muted sweetness of thinly drizzled Greek honey, saccharine, yes, but not cloyingly so, and dotted with the crunch of bitter walnuts. I can think of almost no better dessert. Except ice cream, of course. So obviously the next logical step was to make this into a frozen dessert.

Greek yogurt is pretty much just your plain-old typical yogurt from which the whey has been strained. Since the liquid's been removed from the equation, you're left with unadulterated yogurt; in-your-face, tangy, thick-enough-to-stand-a-spoon-in yogurt. I know that a lot of people can't get into it for those exact reasons. But those very reasons are why it makes such a great base for frozen yogurt. While a far cry from the richness of an egg yolk-laden custard base, it's at once rich and delicate, with a tangy heft that makes you sit up and take notice. So even if you're loathe to eat greek yogurt on its own, give this a go; you won't be sorry.

I swapped out the walnuts for figs, for no real reason other than I had a pint of them and they don't have a particularly long shelf-life. And they pair awesomely with honey and yogurt. It also seemed a "Greek" enough substitution so as not to stray too far from the nostalgic roots of the yogurt.

I can absolutely not stress enough how easy this recipe is. There's close to nothing to be done - seriously. Take some greek yogurt, mix in some sugar until it dissolves - the stand mixer made incredibly easy work of this, but it is not much more laborious to do it by hand, add in some vanilla if you're so inclined. Then let it chill in the fridge for a little bit - both figuratively and literally, of course, until you're left with a cool and laid-back yogurt base. Throw that awesomeness into your ice cream maker and you're there. That's. It. Awesome frozen yogurt at your disposal.

Greek Yogurt with Figs and Honey
Adapted loosely from 101 Cookbooks
Makes approximately one quart of frozen yogurt

This recipe is really the easiest thing ever. It's tanginess is reminiscent of the frozen yogurts on offer at Pinkberry, Red Mango and those guys. But it's wholly unlike those, if for no other reason than that you know there's absolutely nothing in there but the good stuff. No chemicals, no stabilizers, just pure yogurt. And anything else you want to throw in. I went with figs, which I cut and allowed to freeze a bit on a sheet tray before throwing them into the mix so that they wouldn't be completely dessicated by the Churnster. The only downside with this frozen yogurt is that it's best almost immediately after it's been made, and tends to harden a bit more than is desirable in the freezer. Just take it out a few minutes before you're ready to eat it, though, and you should be good to go.

If you're turned off by the sourness of plain yogurt, feel free to add a teaspoon of vanilla, which will temper the tang and round out the flavor a little bit. Next time I make this, I'm throwing some fresh ground black pepper in the mix. I ground some over a couple of servings after drizzling some honey on top and it was a great move, so I think it deserves a place within the yogurt as well.

3 cups Greek yogurt (the original recipe calls for full-far yogurt, but given that I was trying to make this a lighter production, I went for 1 1/2 cups full-fat yogurt, 1 1/ cups 2%)*
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla (optional)
1 1/2 cups fresh figs, cut into small pieces and semi-frozen
1/2 cup honey

Mix the sugar (and vanilla, if using) into the yogurt and stir until the sugar is completely dissolved into the yogurt. Refrigerate until the mixture is cold. Freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. About two to three minutes before the churning process is finished, gently add the figs to the ice cream maker. Spread about a third of the honey on the bottom of the container in which you plan to store the frozen yogurt. Working quickly, add about a third of the frozen yogurt to the container, then another layer of honey, then another third of the frozen yogurt, then honey, then yogurt, until it's all been used. Freeze until ready to eat, or dig in immediately. Either way, drizzle some extra honey on top, and if you're up for it, a couple of twists of the pepper mill.

*Greek yogurt can be a bit expensive, so if you want to make your own, just take a container of plain yogurt and empty it into a colander that you've lined with cheesecloth or paper towels and that you've placed over a bowl (to catch the whey, since it will make a mess otherwise). Place it in the fridge and let it strain overnight. Do note, however, that the volume of the yogurt will be cut in half, so a cup of plain yogurt will produce 1/2 cup of greek-style yogurt.

Butter Poached Fish

2010-06-25T17:32:00.003-04:00

There are days when I get home from work, usually after I've put in some decent work scouring the internet for some dinner time inspiration, totally psyched to get my hands dirty cooking a labor-intensive meal. Then there are days where I want nothing more than to sit down to a cheese plate with some good bread and butter (which is why I usually find myself with no less than four different cheeses on hand…) and, lately, piles upon piles of radishes.

But then there are those in-between days, when I want something warm, but something that's not going to suck those last few precious drops of energy from my body. Sometimes those days end in eggs, gently poached and piled atop something or other - sometimes green, sometimes grain. But sometimes that just won't do - sometimes I want something that most normal people would consider a proper meal - and for those days, I turn to butter poached fish.

I don't cook a lot of meat at home - not for any particular reason, really. I don't frequently crave it as is, and it seems almost silly to prepare meat when it's just myself I'm feeding. Chicken is easy enough I guess, but chicken is also boring. Since it's easily portioned and any uncooked portions can be frozen and quickly defrosted at a later date, fish is a pretty good choice to prepare for one. It also cooks in a snap. But because of this latter feature, fish is sometimes tricky to prepare properly, since you have to pay such close attention to it as it overcooks so quickly. And if there's one thing that suffers after a day at work, it's my attention span. Poaching the fish in a shallow pool of fat, however, is so forgiving that even my post-work brain can handle it.

This butter poached fish is something I first read about in the Times a little over a year ago. It seemed so simple - too simple, really, so I gave it a try. Not only was it just as easy as advertised, its deliciousness belied its simple roots.

Since pretty much every ingredient can be swapped out for another or changed at your whim, this dish is more concept than recipe, more guidance than anything. Every element can be varied, from the herbs or spices, to the fat in which you're cooking, even the fish itself - none of it's safe from your tinkering. The important thing to remember is to select a firm-fleshed fish, or else you risk having it crumble and disintegrate. It'll still taste good (not that I know from experience or anything), but you won't have the satisfaction of stabbing your fork into those bigger hunks of fish.

Poaching the fish in fat, as opposed to water, not only imparts so much flavor, but ensures that your finished product is going to be moist and, well, buttery. Both fresh herbs and dried work equally well. I've made this with both the dried mint recommended by the Times article and with fresh parsley and dill, both to great effect. And the fat in which you've done the poaching makes an excellent sauce - whether you choose to use it is up to you and your diet. The fish and sauce are wonderful over egg noodles in the winter; for a lighter summer meal, lift the fish out of the pot with a slotted spoon and serve along side some barely cooked vegetables or a barely-dressed salad. So do as you please, and rest easy that you'll enjoy.

Butter Poached Fish
Adapted from Melissa Clark, original recipe here.
Serves 2 well.

Again, this is more guidance than rule, so go crazy. The general idea is about a pound of firm-fleshed fish, about four tablespoons of fat, be they butter or olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic and herbs of your choosing.

One pound firm-fleshed fish, such as halibut, mahi mahi, basa or even salmon. Cod is a bit delicate for this, but if you're careful, it can definitely work.
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon pepper, or to taste
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil*
3-4 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped
4-5 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced

1. Season the fish generously all over with salt and pepper. In a medium-size skillet just large enough to fit the fish in a single layer, heat the butter and oil over low heat. Add the fish, dill and 3-4 tablespoons of the parsley, and let cook slowly until the fish begins to turn opaque, about 3 minutes.

2. Stir in garlic and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper, and cook until the garlic is fragrant and the fish is just cooked through, another 3 minutes or so (the heat should be low enough so as not to brown the garlic or fish but high enough to gently cook everything; the cooking time will vary widely with your stove).

3. Taste and add more salt and pepper and a few drops of lemon juice if desired. Stir in the remaining fresh parsley and serve (using a slotted spoon to leave the cooking liquid in the pan if desired).

*I use a mix of butter and olive oil, since I like the taste of butter, but I don't like having to worry if it's going to burn. Even though that's unlikely since we're cooking over such low heat, the olive oil allows me to rest easy that it won't burn, which is a good thing given my aforementioned attention span.

Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

2010-05-28T15:35:00.010-04:00

A couple of months ago, I welcomed a newcomer into my kitchen. I'd been speaking for ages of getting an ice cream maker, and I finally made an honest woman of myself and bought the ice cream maker attachment for my Kitchen Aid stand mixer.

Now, you might be wondering why I haven't shared this unfathomably exciting news with you just yet. And there are reasons, some more exciting than others, some just mere effrontery and excuses for my general laziness and inability to sit down in front of a computer to a task requiring anything more than a three minute attention span. And it's probably a bit of all of those things, but what it comes down to, really, is that we just hadn't made anything together worth sharing.

Yes, the flavor of that dark chocolate sorbet was spot-on - rich, deep, all that wonderful stuff. But the texture left something to be desired - it wasn't quite as silken as it should have been. And sure, the vietnamese iced coffee ice cream tasted great - it paired the smooth, easy sweetness of sweetened condensed milk with that deep, rich flavor of a strongly brewed cup of coffee; so strongly brewed, in fact, that into the garbage it went, since even the mere two spoonfuls I'd sneak in before bed were enough to keep me awake for hours. I'll revisit both of those in due time, I have no doubt, but I knew that my ice cream maker and I, we could do better.

And so we did. Mint chocolate chip was always one of my favorite ice cream flavors growing up (coffee is the other), and it still ranks very high up there. I was convinced at a young age that the green mint chip ice creams tasted mintier than their colorless counterparts (except for Breyer's Mint Chip, which was pretty much the only white mint chip ice cream we had on constant rotation in our freezer when I was young). But these days I want the colors in my ice cream to be more muted - more of a byproduct of the actual, natural flavors than a distraction from the unnatural flavors imparted by a tasteless bottle of chemical-laden food colorings. And fresh mint brings such a clean bite that can't be matched by any amount of extracts, and it’s a bit softer around the edges than those artificial mint flavors. After all, we're eating ice cream, not gum.

This mint chocolate chip ice cream is great, though I still think it can get better. The amount of sugar was perfect - not too sweet in the least. The original recipe, however, called for a 2:1 ratio of heavy cream to milk, but I found that the cream dominated my palate a bit too much and stole a bit of the spotlight from the fresh mint. Next time I'm going to go for an even cup and a half of each, or maybe swap out the cream for half and half, as well as use a little bit more fresh mint. If you play around with the figures below, let me know how it turns out. I'll check back in after my next attempt.

The texture of the ice cream, though, was spot-on. Rich, eggy, silky smooth. It was awesome. It even had the faintest shade of green from that final squeeze of those mint leaves. I made this recipe a week ago, and, suffice it to say, it wasn't long for this world. But now that I'm armed with my ice cream maker, I know that there's much more where it came from.

Fresh Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream
Adapted from David Lebovitz, original recipe here

Ingredients

1 cup 2% milk
3/4 cup sugar
2 cups heavy cream
Pinch of salt
2 1/2 cups tightly packed fresh mint leaves
5 large egg yolks
1 cup chocolate chips, chopped to your desired consistency. I left some chunks larger than others, but for the most part chopped it finely.

Procedure

1. Warm the milk, sugar, half of the cream, and salt in a small saucepan, but don't bring to a boil. Once warmed, add the mint leaves and stir until they're fully immersed in the liquid. Cover the mixture, remove from the heat, and let the mint leaves steep in the milk at room temperature for 1 hour.

2. Strain the mint-infused mixture through a mesh strainer into a medium saucepan. Press on the mint leaves to extract as much of the flavor as possible, then discard the mint leaves. Pour the rest of the cream into a large bowl and set the strainer on top.

3. Rewarm the mint-infused mixture. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Temper the eggs by slowly pouring the warm mint mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly as you pour, then scrape the warmed egg yolks back into the saucepan.

4. Stir the egg yolk and mint mixture constantly over medium heat with a heatproof spatula, scraping the bottom as you stir to prevent scorching, until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula (if you're unsure, run your finger through the liquid on the spatula, if it doesn't run, then you're ready to proceed). Pour the custard through the strainer and stir it into the cream. Stir until cool over an ice bath.

5. Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator (I let mine sit there overnight), then freeze it in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. Add the chopped chocolate to the ice cream maker during the last two minutes or so of the churn.

Enjoy!
Makes a bit more than a quart.

Rugelach

2010-04-20T16:46:00.008-04:00

When I was younger, I was never one to pay any mind to rugelach. Ice cream, pudding and (gasp) 3 Musketeers - those were the things I loved when I was younger (though my love affair with ice cream is still ongoing, and I have no reason to believe that flame will ever die). Rugelach just seemed the type of dessert relegated to the adult palate and the adult plate. It just doesn't look like much, all that pastry and dried fruit - and when you're a kid, looks mean a lot. It lacked all that nougaty goodness and arm-drippy action of other desserts. And there were no special ways to eat it (i.e. take Yodel, freeze, bite off chocolate at each end, nibble at chocolate seam, unravel, eat or, take Oreo, Double Stuf, of course, twist apart, eat cream, place two halves back together, hide back in package (option A) or take two Oreos, Double Stuf, twist each apart, ensuring that all cream sticks to one cookie, place two cream-topped halves together and voila, Quadruple Stuf (option B, a/k/a the only way I'd actually eat the chocolate wafer)).

But somewhere along the way, my tastes matured, and I learned to appreciate the less flashy desserts. Like the plain-jane best friend in a cheesy romantic comedy, it took me a while to love rugelach, I had shunned it at all our family gatherings for years in favor of the poufs of whipped cream and jewels of sprinkles atop ice cream sundaes, but after my tastes "grew up," it was like I was tasting it for the first time. I finally saw the beauty that is rugelach - flakey, tender dough wrapped around a bounty of wonderful: sweet, spicy cinnamon, crunchy nuts, sweet, chewy jewels of dried fruit - each bite revealing something new. That little swirl of pastry contains a bounty of spices and textures, begging to be uncovered at first bite.

I never had the chance to taste my great-grandmother's rugelach. I'm not quite sure when she stopped churning them out, but I'd imagine it was a few years before she died when I was in the fourth grade. Not that it'd have mattered much, since the rugelach would have gone to waste on little me, not quite having come into my rugelach-loving self. I hear that her rugelach were divine. And I hear that these little beauties would have made her quite proud (not my words, of course).

The key is the cream cheese in the dough. It gives it a depth, a richness, that can't be achieve by butter alone. The fillings are adaptable to your preferences - I like mine studded with a whole mess of nuts.

I won't lie to you, this recipe requires a little bit of your time (and some upper arm strength when rolling out the chilled dough), but it is undoubtedly worth it. Give it a whirl; not only will you not regret it - you'll be thumbing your nose at those lesser bakery specimens for good.

Rugelach
Makes Many
From Gourmet (RIP), May 2004

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter, softened
8 oz cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup plus 4 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup apricot preserves
1 cup loosely packed golden raisins, chopped
1 1/4 cups walnuts (1/4 lb), finely chopped
Milk for brushing cookies

Whisk together flour and salt in a bowl. Beat together butter and cream cheese in a large bowl with an electric mixer until combined well. Add flour mixture and stir with a wooden spoon until a soft dough forms. Gather dough into a ball and wrap in plastic wrap, then flatten (in wrap) into a roughly 7- by 5-inch rectangle. Chill until firm, 8 to 24 hours (I usually just let it rest overnight and take it out of the fridge whenever I'm ready for it the next day).

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Line bottom of a 1- to 1 1/2-inch-deep large shallow baking pan with parchment paper.

Cut dough into 4 pieces. Chill 3 pieces, wrapped in plastic wrap, and roll out remaining piece into a 12- by 8-inch rectangle on a well-floured surface with a floured rolling pin (or an old wine bottle with the label removed...). Transfer dough to a sheet of parchment, then transfer to a tray and chill while rolling out remaining dough in same manner, transferring each to another sheet of parchment and stacking on tray.

Whisk 1/2 cup sugar with cinnamon.

Arrange 1 dough rectangle on work surface with a long side nearest you. Spread 1/4 cup preserves evenly over dough with offset spatula. Sprinkle 1/4 cup raisins and a rounded 1/4 cup walnuts over jam, then sprinkle with 2 tablespoons cinnamon sugar.

Using the parchment paper as an aid, roll up dough tightly into a log. Place, seam side down, in lined baking pan, then pinch ends closed and tuck underneath. Make 3 more logs in same manner and arrange 1 inch apart in pan. Brush logs with milk and sprinkle each with 1 teaspoon of remaining granulated sugar, trying your best to keep the sugar from falling to the parchment (or at least minimize it), as it will caramelize and start burning in the oven, leaving the bottom of your pastries sticky and potentially unpleasant (not speaking from experience or anything). With a large, sharp knife, make 3/4-inch-deep cuts crosswise in dough (not all the way through) at 1-inch intervals. (If dough is too soft to cut, chill until firmer, 20 to 30 minutes. Note: The dough should be pretty firm - if it's too soft it will start to tear - just think about how many calories you're burning rolling out that dough!)

Bake until golden, 45 to 50 minutes. Cool to warm in pan on a rack, about 30 minutes, then transfer logs to a cutting board and gently slice cookies all the way through.

Passover Recipes

2010-03-27T19:14:00.002-04:00

With the holiday around the corner (the first seder is on Monday night), I figured I would put all of my Passover recipes in one place.

Wishing you all a happy and healthy whatever it is you're celebrating!

Savories
Matzoh Ball Soup
Sweet and Spicy Charoset
Homemade Gefilte Fish (with horseradish cream, which you should make at some point regardless because it's seriously delicious)
Brisket with Merlot and Prunes
Raw Beet Salad

Sweets
Chocolate and Caramel Covered Matzoh
Cocoa Brownies

Cocoa Brownies

2010-03-24T17:56:00.009-04:00

So I was going to tell you about some awesome rugelach. The post is underway, a draft in the works, forthcoming, I promise. But then I made these brownies. And they demand your immediate attention. They're divine, as far as brownies go - so deep and rich that a teeny tiny square will more than suffice to quell your cravings.

Oh, no cravings for brownies, you say? Have a little bite, and let the cravings commence. A thin, crackly top gives way to a fudgy, dense, irreproachably chocolaty interior. The edges are chewy, the insides moist, the whole thing a perfect little package of brownie goodness - no need for a slick of ganache (in my belief a good brownie shouldn't need a ganache-boost) or a sprinkling of powdered sugar atop these bad boys, they're fantastic just as they are.

You see, I'm not really a brownie connoisseur. They're not what I turn towards when my dessert cravings hit. A mere little bite usually sates me, and I can move on to other things. But when my roommate had shoulder surgery a couple of days ago, I knew I needed to provide him with a little something to help the healing. And this kid loves his chocolate, so I immediately scoured the interwebs for brownie recipes. When I saw these brownies, I knew I had hit the jackpot. And I was not wrong - these brownies are, to date, the best I've made. And, since I'm not a huge brownie person, there were no prior brownies with which Dom could compare these, he agreed that these reached levels of brownie awesomeness.

Not only that, but the small amount of flour gives me reason to believe that these can be easily adapted to a passover context - and the fact that they rely solely on cocoa powder for their chocolaty needs means that there's no reading of labels or settling for kosher-for-passover chocolate to thwart your quest for brownie supremacy. Now, I haven't tested this theory out yet, but I'd be willing to bet that swapping the half cup of flour for matzoh cake meal will not mess with these gems all too much. But rest assured that, as the Seders loom on the horizon, such a test is forthcoming, and I will report back, hopefully confirming my hypothesis.

UPDATE: A pan of these brownies, with five tablespoons of matzoh cake meal substituted for the flour have just emerged from my oven, and the texture is a little, well, passover-ish, but they're still pretty good!

Cocoa Brownies

Adapted from Alice Mendrich's Bittersweet via Smitten Kitchen

10 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups sugar
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 large eggs, cold
1/2 cup all-purpose flour or 5 tablespoons matzoh cake meal (confirmation of success pending - confirmed!)
2/3 cup walnut or pecan pieces (optional, I didn't use but I imagine they'd be awesome in there)

With rack in the lower third of the oven, preheat oven to 325°F. Line bottom and sides of an 8×8-inch square baking pan (note: I used a circular pan because my square pan is 9x9 and I was afraid that the brownies would be too thin, which just meant that there were little scraps leftover after I'd cut them into squares, which, you know, totally did not go to waste) with parchment paper or foil, leaving a bit of an overhang on two sides, which will allow you to lift the baked brownies out of the pan with ease.

Combine butter, sugar, cocoa, and salt in a medium heatproof bowl and set the bowl in a wide skillet of barely simmering water. Stir from time to time until the butter is fully melted and the mixture is shiny and rather smooth and hot enough that you want to remove your finger fairly quickly after dipping it in to test. Remove the bowl from skillet and set aside briefly until the mixture is warm, not hot. (As Deb notes, don't be taken aback by the texture at this point in the process, though it looks rough, that is totally fine).

Stir in the vanilla with a wooden spoon or rubber spatula. Add the eggs one at a time, stirring vigorously after each one to combine. When the batter looks thick, shiny, and well blended, add the flour and stir to combine until you cannot see it any longer, then beat vigorously for 40 strokes with the wooden spoon or rubber spatula. Stir in the nuts, if using. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. It will be rather thick, but just spread it around with your spatula so that it's even.

Bake until a toothpick plunged into the center emerges slightly moist with batter, about 20 to 25 minutes. Note that I let mine go a little bit past the "emerges slightly moist with batter" stage, but to no ill-effect. Let cool completely on a rack, or do as Deb suggests and throw them in the icebox for a little while to get them to really cool and facilitate easy cutting.

Lift up the ends of the parchment or foil liner, and transfer the brownies to a cutting board. Cut into squares with a very sharp knife, as big or small as you desire. Enjoy!

Julia Child on David Letterman

2010-03-09T13:20:00.004-05:00

Andrew showed me this clip of Julia Child on the Late Show from the late 80's a few days ago. It's truly classic, so I thought I'd share. Enjoy!

Manolo Caracol - Panama City, Panama

2010-02-25T20:45:00.022-05:00

At the end of our holiday, Andrew and I found ourselves in Panama City, in a quite romantic part of town, on a very (admittedly manufactured) romantic day of the year. Due to the fact that we were thousands of miles from our kitchens and apartments, if we were going to celebrate the holiday, we had no choice but to deviate from our typical stay-in-and-cook Valentine's Day celebration and cease control of our palates to a stranger. Thankfully, we were thousands of miles from home, thousands of miles from prix fixe menus dotted with purported aphrodisiacs, thousands of miles from profit-hungry restauranteurs who view Valentine's day as nothing more than a ripe opportunity to turn tables as quickly as possible and take advantage of dudes who need a table that will impress their girlfriends.

We were staying at a little bed and breakfast (breakfast to come) in Casco Viejo, a neighborhood on the southern edge of Panama City that has seen a renaissance of late - its narrow, cobbled-stoned streets have been the subject of a vast gentrification effort. It was hard to imagine a better scene for a Valentine's day stroll and repast. The buildings range from gutted and totally renovated, with new, wrought iron railings to charmingly (and not-so-charmingly) dilapidated structures with balconies that appear mere seconds from collapse. With much of the city's residents out of town to escape the insanity of Panama City's Carnival, the neighborhood was dark, quiet, peaceful.

As we'd heard that the restaurant is one of Panama City's most popular, we made reservations ahead of time, figuring that between Manolo Caracol's destination dining status and Valentine's Day we'd need one. However, the mass Carnival-driven exodus meant that there was little reason for them. While nearly all of the tables had little reservation cards noting the party's name and anticipated time of arrival, many tables remained unoccupied throughout the duration of our meal. We didn't mind, though. After so many meals in the crowded confines of New York City restaurants, it felt nice to have some breathing room.

Manolo Caracol is fully ingredient-driven. There is no set menu whatsoever, except for wine. The chef creates twelve small plates, served tapas style, based on what is fresh and what his suppliers have come through with that day. For this reason, I've heard that the restaurant is very hit and miss - sometimes spectacular, sometimes less so. From what we tasted, I'd imagine that the better the haul of the restaurant's seafood suppliers, the better your meal will be.

We were treated first to plantain chips with a tomato and olive salsa. The chips were great, sliced lengthwise, super thin and perfectly crispy. Because of how thin they were, they didn't risk turning soggy as soon as they reached room temperature. I think the kitchen waited a bit too long to salt these, though, after they came out of the fryer, since they were on the bland side, the bottom of the serving glass littered with salt crystals.

At the same time, we were brought two little cups of ceviche, which were stellar. The shrimp were juicy and tender, having been perfectly cooked by the lime juice without turning rubbery. The onions were raw so that they were still crunchy, but their sting was tempered by the lime juice as well so as not to overwhelm the other elements. There were other crunchy things in there, which now escape me, but the dish as a whole was really great, especially spooned atop the plantain chips, which provided another level of crunch.

After that came a huge salad, topped with fresh, crunchy greens and what I believe was a beet vinaigrette. The salad was great to provide some much-needed roughage, which had bee missing from most of our meals in Panama, but was otherwise unremarkable. It seemed a bit out of place with all the other dishes, since there was no element that elevated it or made it anything more than your standard side salad. Still, I ate it gladly.

Following the salad, we were brought tiny bites of tuna tartar, wrapped in seaweed. They were topped with julienned carrots, a couple of sesame seeds and sesame oil. and were so, so good. The tuna was finely diced, but contained in a neat little package, and had a great mouthfeel. It was simply a classic dish, but one perfectly done.

Oh yea, there were button mushrooms too. They were...button mushrooms.

Two discs of chicken roulade, stuffed with basil and carrots, dusted with paprika and paired with a passion fruit sauce. The chicken was well-seasoned and just slightly on the dry side of well-cooked. The passion fruit sauce seemed a bit odd at first, since I don't tend to associate chicken with fruity sauces the same way that I associate pork or duck or other gamier meats, but it actually worked. It was light and not overly fruity and I ended up eating every last bit off the plate.

Steamed littleneck clams in a basil and parsley broth (I think). The clams were nothing remarkable, tender, but could have been cleaned a bit better. They were good, but nothing mind-blowing.

Roasted red peppers stuffed with shrimp and vegetables were next. These were extremely flavorful, especially after the lightly seasoned clams, and were a big hit. The shrimp were finely diced, yet managed not to get lost at all in the aggressively-flavored pepper.

"Meat," as this plate of veal was so artfully described by our server, followed. The meat was overcooked, save for patch of pink in the thickest part of the veal. It was seasoned simply with salt and pepper, and tasted very vealy; had it not been overcooked, it would have been a winner.

We were then given a plate of rice and beans, topped with a chunky salsa. While Andrew is not a bean fan in the least, I love rice and beans with an unbridled passion. That said, these were nothing amazing. I like the "beans" part more than the "rice part" and I like my beans to be mildly soupy. These were dry, and, though they were perfectly cooked, they got lost in the rice. The salsa provided a wonderful textural contrast.

This piece of fish was next up. It actually reminds me a little bit of the mahi-mahi I made with cilantro chutney once upon a time. This one was really a winner. The kitchen's strength is definitely in its seafood preparations. This little piece of fish, I'd venture to guess it's corvina, which is widely available in Panama, was tender, flakey, pretty much everything you want in a piece of fish. It was seasoned delicately with an herb sauce and dotted with capers to provide a briny note. Really, truly wonderful.

Dessert was another simple affair. A lilliputian bowl of vanilla ice cream, topped with a rich, thick caramel sauce, decorated with slices of strawberries and crowned with a swirl of whipped cream. There was something chunky going on in there that I couldn't put my finger on as well, it had the texture of partially-hardened wax and didn't really taste like much. That said, it didn't adversely affect the dish, which I enjoyed because hell, I'll eat ice cream any day of the week.

All in all, this was a really enjoyable meal (made more enjoyable that the tasting menu is $25 per person, which I'm sure made me more forgiving in my criticism of the restaurant throughout the meal). Though I've only been there once and don't know if the kitchen tends to reuse certain staple dishes, since there is no menu, it's probably a really fun place to stop in frequently, since it's unlikely you'd get bored with the menu choices. The kitchen prepares a bunch of the same dish at once, it seemed to be sending about 4 or 5 out at a time, so that affects the timing and pace of your meal, sometimes negatively. We would sometimes be brought two dishes at once, or three within 6 minutes, and sometimes would wait 20 minutes between courses. Overall, though, it was a very pleasant dining experience and one that will not put a huge dent in the wallet. Manolo Caracol is a pioneer in the Panama City restaurant scene, having spawned restaurants using a similar concept, and generally opening the door for fine dining in the city. Though it's hit or miss, if you have the time to spend a leisurely couple of hours enjoying some simply prepared food, it's a worthwhile risk to take.

Manolo Caracol
Calle 3a Oeste (at Avenida Central)
(507) 228 4640
Panama City, Panama

Wallsé

2010-01-28T13:47:00.015-05:00

After many futile attempts to take my wonderful boyfriend out to dinner for his birthday (there were many factors at play and cross-country trips to compete with), in the beginning of January, we finally made it happen - and only 37 days after the fact! We walked in to Wallsé (pronounced Vall-Say) right on time for our 8:30 reservation, and we were greeted warmly by the hostess at the front. I left a note on OpenTable that it would be great to get a nice table since we would be celebrating my boyfriend's birthday (I was sure not to use "it is my boyfriend's birthday," since it was not, in fact, his birthday, but we were, in fact, celebrating - nobody likes a liar).

Wallsé is located on a very quiet Far West Village corner, as not many people find their way to the corner of West 11th and Washington unless they're there for a reason. But we had a reason, and the quiet corner seemed completely befitting the restaurant, which exuded a warm, welcoming vibe, giving it the feel of a fabulous neighborhood haunt. The space is outfitted in dark colors; the black carpeting and large paintings prompted Andrew to declare that he felt as if he were in L.A. I didn't get the same feeling, but the restaurant was very spacious and quite relaxing. We settled in to our corner banquette near the front of the restaurant, which was great, since it allowed us to sit next to one another without having to be one of those couples that sit on the same side of the booth.

We started with a bottle of Riesling, the name of which escapes me now, and I was clearly not diligent enough to jot it down or snap a picture at the time. It was a bit sweeter than we prefer, as we both tend towards dry Rieslings, but it was light and delicious nonetheless.

The menu is broken down into Appetizers, Fish, Meat and Sides. Since there were so many things on the menu that looked great, we decided to go with the four-course prix fixe - a great option since you're able to choose your own courses, with the only requirement being that one of your four courses has to be dessert. Since we're the sharing, generous types, we decided on six dishes that we both wanted to try and decided we'd split all of them; I think this approach threw our waiter for a loop a little bit, but it all worked out in the end.

Despite knowing how much food was headed our way, I cannot abstain from a bread basket - and I'm glad I didn't here. The whole wheat bread was the lightest I've had in a really long time, with large holes and a crisp crust, it was awesome.

For our first course, we went with the Spätzle with braised rabbit, wild mushrooms and Brussels sprouts and the Rösti with lobster, fennel and oranges.

The Spätzle is a signature dish at Wallsé - I believe it's been on the menu since the restaurant's inception - and it's a signature for a reason. This dish hit all the right notes: chewy, freshly made spätzle (a nostalgic favorite of mine), studded with tender, juicy hunks of braised rabbit and earthy, satisfying crunches of separated Brussels sprouts leaves. All coated with an unapologetically rich quark-based sauce and brightened by teensy shreds of basil, this dish was a home run. I would return for this dish again and again, had I no fear for the implications such a habit would have on my waistline.

The Rosti was another success - the lobster was meaty and tender, and while my feelings towards potato pancakes can be summed up by my always latke-less Chanukahs, this one was perfect. The crispy exterior gave way to pillow-soft insides and the bright citrus flavors and crisp fennel made the dish feel almost light. Though in comparison to that spätzle, macaroni and cheese burgers might even seen light - not that that's a bad thing, of course…that spätzle haunts my dreams.

We moved onwards to fish. The steamed halibut was fabulous - left pretty much raw in the middle, the purely white fish was accompanied on the plate by a shock of green in the form of a cucumber dill sauce, all topped with a mess of mushrooms. The halibut was as delicate as any I've ever had - though halibut is a meaty fish, the steam treatment gave it an impressively soft, silky texture, one that I don't think I've experienced with halibut before. The sauce was bright, heavy on the dill, and delicious - the perfect complement to the mild flesh of the fish and the earthiness of the mushrooms.

The wild striped bass was accompanied by sauerkraut, a pairing I don't think I'd seen before. The kraut was awesome, and the bass a shining example of a perfectly cooked piece of fish. Crackly skin gave way to a tender, moist white flesh. Another mild fish, the dish was amped up by the aggressive flavors of the sauerkraut, which might have been a bit too much for the meekly flavored fish had it not been for the depth of the black truffles cutting right through it.

For our third course, we went with the monkfish, which was served with a porcini mushrooms and a semolina quenelle, with a petit bowl of Styrian cabbage on the side. These mushrooms were undeniably addictive - at this point in the meal I was about ready to burst, but I could not keep my fork out of those mushrooms. My body said no, but I was not about to deprive my taste buds of those mushrooms - they were innocent bystanders in my destruction of my body anyway, totally undeserving of deprivation.

The cabbage seemed a bit disjointed from the monkfish, but, whatever - it was great too, finely shredded and dotted with juicy, salty bits of ham and caraway seeds, which I adore, it was light and fresh, serving to cut the richness of both this dish and the meat dish we ordered.

That lone meat course (I realized after the fact that it was a bit odd that we'd eaten so much fish given that we were eating in an Austrian establishment, and Austria isn't known to be big on the seafood, being landlocked and all) was a plate of veal cheeks, which sat atop a pile of roasted winter root vegetables and a fingerling potato puree, all crowned with a curl of veal tongue. The veal cheeks were tender, the pieces pulled away with the most minimal of fork-driven efforts. This dish was unmistakably Austrian - the deeply braised meat, fatty and rich, was hugely flavorful. The tender tongue seemed almost superfluous, but who am I to argue? It was delicious.

For dessert, we opted to share one dessert to share a cheese plate, which ended up being a great move since they brought the cheese plate out after we finished our dessert, serving to elongate the meal. The Salzburger Nockerl with huckleberries was brought to our table with a lit candle in a quenelle of schlag (a nice touch, considering I had been a delinquent girlfriend and totally forgot to ask them to put a candle in it, they were really paying attention to those opentable notes). Salzburger Nockerl is like a giant pouf of meringue, burnished in the oven until it achieves that beautiful golden brown crown. This was light, and very, very sweet - as one would expect of something made almost entirely of egg whites and sugar. The dish was definitely a looker, but it was rather one-note, especially once you we got past the slightly crispy tops. The huckleberries provided a bit of a tart foil for the sweetness, but they were rather sweet as well, and after a few bites, both Andrew and I had enough, which isn't to say it wasn't good, it was just a bit too much for both of us.

The cheese plate, which came with fig and - I think - apricot chutney, was completely unnecessary at this stage in the meal, given all that we'd already ingested, but I am a sucker for milk fat in all of its forms so I was not going to stay away. The cheese menu notes that the cheese on offer are Bergkäse Alt, a cow's milk cheese from Bregenz, Austria, a cow's milk Münster from Voralberg, Austria, a cow's milk Gunzesrieder from Allgäu, Germany and Noble Goat from the Austrian Tirol - so I presume that these were the four we were given (I was again, not that diligent, but hey, at least I have the excuse of being half a bottle deep at this point). The second from top in the photo above was my favorite - I believe, but don't hold me to it, that this was the Gunzesrieder, though I have a soft spot for creamy cheeses.

As if that were not enough, we were given a plate of mignardise, which comprised a raspberry macaron, a gelée of some sort, a chocolate-cakey petit four and a little cellophane-wrapped hazelnut nougat. The macaron was pretty good, though light on the filling, the outer shell had that nice crackle and that chewy interior that I love about macarons. Andrew devoured the gelée and claimed it to be delicious. The thought of chocolate at that point was too much for me to handle, so that poor little guy went untouched, while I pocketed the nougat for the next day (it was really quite good).

I have been to a number of Michelin-starred restaurants at this point, and I think there's a great variation in the quality of meals I've enjoyed in such establishments. Judging from this meal, Wallsé should rank very high on the list of one-star Michelin restaurants; it's definitely very high on my list of New York restaurants. The service was effusive, without being overbearing - everyone was treated as if they were a regular. There was none of that fake, haughty courtesy, but instead a warmth and appreciation that made you feel like making your experience exceptional was truly important to everyone involved.

Our server was incredibly helpful, the maitre d' stopped by to check on us and see how everything was going, and the hostesses engaged in very lively banter with us about Julian Schnabel and Lou Reed, who the hostess had chatted with as if they were old friends (turns out Lou Reed is just a regular) when they left the restaurant a few minutes before us.

Because of it's relatively out-of-the-way location, it seems that Wallsé is trying to cultivate regulars, and, had I the funds of the likes of Lou Reed, I'd be a regular in a second.

Wallsé
344 West 11th Street (corner of Washington)
New York City 10014
(212) 352-2300

Sugar Sweet Sunshine's Banana Pudding

2010-01-24T20:53:00.007-05:00

Now I have said before that I am not a big dessert person. So as not to beat a dead horse, we'll just leave it at that. There are, however, a few desserts and desserty-type things that I find myself with constant cravings for. Chief among such crave-ables is ice cream, which I think is more of a craving for an incomparable texture/mouth feel/eating experience than for the sweetness that comes with those inimitable features. And I have obviously shared my salty-sweet-tooth with you before. But outside of these, there isn't much that I really crave. There are, however, a couple of dessert dark-horses that I just really can't resist - if offered them, it's quite hard for me to turn them down. One such thing is banana pudding. I don't know where this affinity comes from - it's not like there's any sort of nostalgic connection between me and banana pudding. It's just so innately, deeply comforting - the sort of flavors that are familiar regardless of whether you've ever had them before. Banana, whipped cream and vanilla cake, cookies, whathaveyou - these things just belong together.

Yet despite this affinity for banana pudding, it's not something I find myself eating frequently. Unlike ice cream, it's not something you can just keep around and eat when you feel lie it, and there aren't multiple places (or just one little place in particular) selling it on my way home. And while I really do enjoy it, I rarely find myself actually craving it - while I really love the creamy texture and the sweet, creamy bite of banana hunks throughout, when I'm sitting on my couch crying about the Jets - it's ice cream, and not banana pudding, towards which I will look to drown my sorrows. But all this was before I had tried Sugar Sweet Sunshine's banana pudding. This is truly amazing stuff - and might catapult my relationship with banana pudding from being a passive enjoyment, wherein, should banana pudding cross my path, I will likely indulge, to an active love affair - leading me to find reasons to traipse on down to the lower east side and perhaps swing by SSS and pick up some banana pudding.

I can't really describe this banana pudding in any better way than to say it is eminently craveable. It's smooth, and sweet, borderline overwhelmingly so, though the sweetness is imparted by ripe (but not overripe) bananas, and not by an artificial banana flavor (though, it kills me to admit, I really do love that artificial banana flavor - while the lime and orange runts were mere ammo in games of "throw the runts into the bug zapper," banana runts actually provided a good deal of sustenance at sleepaway camp). The fact that it is borderline too-sweet is, I believe, a blessing in disguise, as I can have a few bites and put the rest away for later, allowing me to savor the deliciousness that much longer. The classic nilla wafers benefit from their pudding partners, somehow taking on all of the attributes of rich, buttery pound cake by virtue of their association with the other ingredients. The final product is a study in textural contrasts, the moist nilla wafers have a great crumb, moistened pleasantly by the pudding and is accompanied by the creamy bite of fresh bananas, all crowned with a light-as-air, barely sweetened (if at all) whipped cream, that ties it all together with an almost unbearable lightness. It's, in a word, delicious. A sweet, creamy, delicious, chunky mess of a dessert. I suggest you give it a try.

Sugar Sweet Sunshine
126 Rivington St. (between Essex and Norfolk)
New York, NY 10002
(212) 995-1960

Oatmeal with Apples, Gruyere and Rosemary

2010-01-08T19:27:00.009-05:00

With the start of each new year, many among us make resolutions, a large portion of which tend to revolve in some way around the way we eat - be it losing weight, eating more fruit and vegetables, eating more responsibly-sourced meat and local ingredients, and just generally getting healthier. While I don't kid myself with such grand illusions, every once in a while I make a resolution, and I do my best to make it stick. Apparently we're more likely to stick with a resolution if it's specific ("I will do yoga three times a week") rather than overbroad and vague ("I will exercise more"). The specificity gives us an actual goal to work towards, rather than a foggy conception of what it is we'd like to achieve, and it's therefore easier to hold oneself accountable. Last year I made an effort to floss every single day (please don't judge me for my less than exemplary flossing habits). I made it to the end of February - pretty good, mais non?

Truth be told, it's never a bad idea to eat healthily no matter what time it is, regardless of whether you've made resolutions or just want a general detox from the unavoidable holiday bingeing. I try to keep my diet relatively healthy, and I'm typically successful. One of the staples of my diet is oatmeal. It is one of the few things that I could eat every day, at practically any time, no less. I eat it at my desk for breakfast usually every day at work (with the odd fage detour). Sometimes I even eat it for dinner. I don't love over-sweetened oatmeal, but prefer to taste the nuttiness of the grains through whatever flavorings I'm using. When it comes to dinner, however, I often go for straight savory options.

I have, for a while, been using oat bran almost as a substitute for grits. The texture is not exactly the same, as oat bran does not maintain that same, well, grittiness that corn meal does, softening a bit further than polenta can as it cooks. It is, however, a good deal better for you than corn meal, with fiber and protein to keep you sated for a while. When it comes to those meals, I'll often flavor my oatmeal with a pinch of salt and a pepper, whatever spices or herbs I'm feeling at the moment, grate in a little bit of parmegianno for some umami, and top it with a runny-yolked poached egg. A little prick of that yolk sends the unctuous yellow river flowing from the egg, coating everything in the bowl with a wonderful richness. It's simple, it's satisfying, and it's really quite healthy.

Ever since reading that Mark Bittman loves his oatmeal topped with soy sauce and scallions, though, I've expanded my oatmeal horizons beyond my egg-topped oat bran and into the world of whole oats - the article serving as reassurance that my oatmeal was not going to revolt if I did not top it with brown sugar. I've tried different permutations, some sucessful and some not. A couple of (cough) weeks ago, however, I stumbled upon one that I quite like. And it should be no surprise, for the flavor combination is a quite familiar one.

Apples and oatmeal are frequently paired together, though usually cinnamon and brown sugar join them. This time, though, I went for gruyere, which I have used many times before to make grilled cheese and apple sandwiches. If the flavors worked there, why wouldn't they work here? And I added some rosemary to the pot, to brighten up the flavors and provide some freshness to the dish to make it seem a bit rounder, more complete. What I had was a fine dish indeed, it tasted healthful, but not boring. It was clean and simple enough for me to feel good about what I was eating, but not wish that I was eating something else. It is, simply, good.

Oatmeal with Apples, Gruyere and Rosemary
Serves 1

This is an approximation of a recipe, as I measured nothing except the oats and water. Granted, however, there are only two other ingredients that arguably require measuring.

I used quick-cooking steel-cut oats here, since I really like the way they almost seem to pop in your mouth, but I don't really want to stand over the stove for 45 minutes waiting for them to cook (though making this for dinner is less burdensome than making it for breakfast, as there's no impending need to get dressed and out of the house as soon as possible). While I'm sure this would work well with your standard rolled oats as well, I really like the textural contrast between the oats and the apples, which soften up during cooking.

1 tsp. butter (salted or non-, depending on your preference)
1 small to medium-sized apple, cut into bite-sized pieces (Skin on or off, as you desire. I like to leave the skin on since that's where a good amount of the nutrients in an apple are hiding. Also, I used a gala apple)
1/4 cup steel-cut irish oats or 1/2 cup rolled oats
1 cup water
a couple of tablespoons of shredded gruyere, or more to taste
Rosemary, 1/2 - 1 tsp fresh, finely chopped or 1/8 tsp dried, or to taste, depending on how much you like it
Salt and Pepper

In a small pot over medium heat, melt the butter and saute the apples until they start to soften up just a tad, about a minute or two. Once that happens, add the oats to the pot and stir them around a bit, allowing them to get toasty, which will create a nuttier depth of flavor. Toast for two minutes, stirring frequently and making sure they don't burn (you may need to add a touch more butter). Add the water, bring to a boil, and cook the oatmeal according to the package directions. Once the oatmeal is cooked, take it off the heat and allow the mixture to sit for a minute. Stir in the cheese and rosemary, season with salt and pepper to taste, and enjoy!

Pumpkin Bread

2009-12-27T11:30:00.008-05:00

I know that I have been a neglectful blogger lately, but with work and the holidays and all it's been a bit hard. But I'm not here to make excuses. I'm here to tell you, or at least to strongly suggest that you make this pumpkin bread. Why? Because the season for pumpkin bread is here, and with fall nothing more than a not-so-distant memory at this point, it won't be here for much longer. And because it's so easy that I feel like a fool for not having made it before. It's a great cold-weather alternative to banana bread, and takes arguably even less effort to make, considering the pumpkin is already pureed for you (if you choose to go the canned pumpkin route, which I did, and why not?).

This pumpkin bread is so quick to put together that you really don't need to plan ahead much at all for it. If you get a hankering for warm autumnal scents permeating your home, this bread can be whipped up in ten minutes flat. You'll be rewarded for your ten minutes effort with a moist, warm, deeply flavored bread that will make you feel at home, no matter where you are.

Sure, pumpkin bread (much like banana bread) is nothing more than cake-in-bread's-clothing, but on a chilly winter's morning, there's no need to justify thinly-veiled cake for breakfast. Faintly sweet, wonderfully, but not overwhelmingly spicy, it's the type of bread that vanishes faster than you'd ever think possible.

Pumpkin Bread
adapted from this recipe from King Arthur Flour

This recipe makes a couple of loaves, which is convenient for those times when you want to leave a loaf with your parents and take another loaf to a lovely holiday brunch.

I found the chocolate chips to be a little bit overwhelming in the amounts originally called for in the recipe, since their strong flavor overpowered the subtly spiced bread at times. I think a better move is to add more nuts than chocolate, which I've reflected in the recipe below. The bread would be great without any chocolate at all as well, since it's sweet enough and rich enough without it.

1 cup vegetable oil
2 2/3 cups sugar
4 large eggs
2 cups pumpkin (NOT pumpkin pie filling)
2/3 cup water
3 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 cup pecans (can substitute walnuts), toasted and cooled, chopped
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, cream together the oil and sugar. Beat in eggs, pureed pumpkin and water. In another large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and vanilla. Add the flour mixture to the oil and sugar, stirring to blend, then mix in the chocolate chips and nuts.

Spoon the batter evenly into two lightly greased 9 x 5-inch loaf pans. Bake the bread for 1 hour, or until a cake tester inserted in the center of loaf comes out clean. Remove the bread from the oven, and cool it in the pan on a wire rack for about 15 minutes, then remove the bread from the loaf pans and cool bread on wire rack. When it's completely cool, wrap it well in plastic wrap, and store it overnight before serving, which, difficult as it may be, really allows the flavors to deepen and is really worth it.

[Note: the recipe includes an optional glaze, but I don't really see any reason for it. Sure, for presentation's sake it gives it a bit of a 'wow' element, but the bread is sweet enough as is, and I just don't see the icing as a worthwhile addition. However, should you wish to drizzle some atop (just don't go overboard), whisk together a cup of confectioner's sugar, 2 tablespoons of melted butter and a tablespoon of milk, and drizzle atop the bread just before serving.]

Le Bernardin

2009-11-30T11:21:00.015-05:00

My friend Drew and I have a few things in common. We both enjoy a good football game. We share a love of Korean fried chicken. We like a good barbecue followed by a raging dance party. We enjoy delicious food. Our birthdays are a few days apart from one another. So when Drew invited me to celebrate the latter two in a celebratory meal at Le Bernardin, the venerable seafood mecca with the most adorable executive chef ever, who was I to refuse? And so, at the beginning of October (I cannot believe I've let this get so out of control, but this month has been really, really awful at work, so please forgive me...please), my friend Drew and I sat down to a delicious meal in one of New York's (and the country's) best restaurants.

I had been to Le Bernardin, one of New York's (now) five Michelin three-starred restaurants, for lunch before, but I had never dined there at night. The room, which is quite stark with an almost corporate feel during the day, when it is awash in generous amounts of sunlight flowing in through it's giant street-level windows, takes on a completely different character at night. The dimness of the room is offset only by the flickering candlelight emanating from each table. The room benefits from this, as its loftiness is diminished, and each table feels more secluded than it would during daylight hours. It still feels undeniably large, and therefore a bit impersonal, but less overwhelmingly so.

In lieu of the prix fixe, in which the diner chooses one dish from each category of the menu, which is organized by ascending levels of doneness, from "Almost Raw" to "Lightly Cooked," we decided to go for the Le Bernardin tasting menu with the optional wine pairing.

Since this was pretty much forever ago, I am a bit fuzzy on the details, but I remember my general impressions of each dish. Also, since I didn't want to disturb the dining room with constant flashes, the photos are, well, not awesome.

When the bread plate came around, I went first for the olive bread, which, when offered, I have hard time passing up. What can I say, I love that salt. I followed that up with the brioche, which was rich, buttery and delicious.

The meal started with an amuse of a crab salad with potato crisps and an herb oil, which was very mild but fresh-tasting, and definitely served its purpose of whetting the appetite.

The first course then descended upon us, a gorgeously plated kamptachi tartare with marinated japanese cucumber and aged citrus vinegar. The tartare was awesome, with a pleasant richness that was cut by the freshness of the cucumber and given a lovely bite by the citrus. I was liking where this was going. (Wine: Assyrtiko, Thalassistis, Gaia Estate, Santorini, Greece 2008.)

This crab-zucchini panna cotta was next. The silky panna cotty was wrapped in a paper-thin slice of raw zucchini and came resting in a "vandouvan spiced broth" punched up with an awesome curry oil. (Wine: Gelber Muskateller, "Steirische Klassik", Neumeister, Styria, Austria 2007.)

The Sourdough Crusted Red Snapper, served with marinated heirloom tomatoes in a basil - scented tomato consommé was among my favorite courses of the evening. The fish was cooked to absolute perfect; the sourdough crust was perfectly toasted and crunchy, but did not get in the way of the delicate flesh of the mild snapper. The heirloom tomatoes were awsome, and it took pretty much everything in me not to take the bowl to my mouth to slurp up the remaining broth. ( Wine: Jurançon, Domaine Cauhape "Chant de Vignes," SW France, 2007. I absolutley adored this wine - it was light and punchy, not overly sweet and an incredible companion to the dish.)

The crispy black bass with braised celery and parsnip custard, served with Iberico ham and a green peppercorn sauce was eminently enjoyable. While the braised celery conjures up bad memories of Top Chef's Jame, who not only oversalted the celery into oblivion while attempting to recreate this dish in an elimination challenge, but also said she was not inspired by the dish at all, I found the dish to be lovely. The bass was, expectedly, fantastically cooked, with the crispy skin giving way to supple, tender flesh. The celery didn't do much on its own to heighten my enjoyment of the dish, it was certainly inoffensive and, hell, I like celery.

The parsnip puree was awesome - I recall it being described as "parsnip three ways," as there was a custard, a foam and a crispy parsnip twirl atop the cup. The puree was awesome, the custard was incredibly light and creamy, with the subtle, slightly bitter undertones of parsnip coming through as each spoonful coated my tongue. I did my best to break up the parsnip chip to enjoy the contrast of textures in each bite, but I gave up after a little bit. And I didn't regret it. (Wine: Rioja, Reserve "Vina Ardanza", La Rioja Alta, Spain 2000.)

The final savory course was escolar (white tuna), which was poached in extra virgin olive oil , served with sea b eans and potato crisps and topped with a light red wine béarnaise, and it was phenomenal. The tuna was silky smooth, its texture absolutly perfect. The meatiness of the fish held up very well to the béarnaise, which would have overwhelmed anything more delicate. The crunch of the potatoes and the pop of the sea beans played well against the supple fish. All of the elements played very well with each other and created another masterpiece. (Wine: Malbec - Mendel - Mendoza/Argentina 2007.)

For a palate cleanser before the dessert courses, we were brought a small dish of "La Faisselle," which is an artisan fromage blanc , which the website touts as being produced exclusively for Le Bernardin by the Vermont Butter and Cheese company), served with a few slices of strawberries and a strawberry coulis. The fromage blanc was fresh and mild, and not really much more. Though it didn't have to be, since it performed its required duties. (Wine: Torrontez Sparkling-Deseado Familia Schroeder, Patagonia Argentina.)

We were then treated to an extra course, "The Egg," a milk chocolate pot de crème with caramel foam, maple syrup and maldon sea salt is a Le Bernardin signature created by pastry chef Michael Laiskonis, and for good reason. While certainly sweet, the sea salt offsets it perfectly, and since it's only a couple of bites worth the sweetness doesn't have an opportunity to overwhelm you. Since it's served in an egg, you can only finagle so much out of it at a time, which means that the bites are small, and there's a limited amount of them. But careful maneuvering with the spoon ensures that you get all the elements at once, and when they all come together, it's really unbelievable. The flavors are simple and familiar, but the varying textures and the crunchy element of surprise from the sea salt make it really fabulous.

Our next dessert course was a hazelnut gianduja parfait with Oregon hazelnuts, honey, caramelized banana and brown butter ice cream. The parfait was lovely, the banana crunchy and awesome, but what really stole the show for me was the brown butter ice cream. Really, I would have been happy with a bowl of that (though I would certainly not have minded if that bowl were topped with a couple of slices of that caramelized banana. (Wine: Muskat Ottonel, Trockenbeerenauslese No. 5, Alois Kracher, Neusiedlersee/Austria 2004.)

Our final course was also an exta course, sent to us with complements from Drew's friend who is a sous-chef at the restaurant during their lunch services. It was a passion fruit mousse with mango sorbet and white chocolate . Drew loved this. I was a bit too full to really enjoy much more, but it was light, faintly sweet, pleasantly tart and quite good.

And so my dinner at Le Bernardin drew to a close. I rolled out of there incredibly full, and perhaps a bit more than tipsy, but with a very happy belly. Once again, thanks to Drew for making it happen, and for sharing a birthday meal with me.

Le Bernardin
155 W 51st St (between 6th and 7th)
New York, NY 10019
(212) 554-1515

Honey Cake

2009-10-27T10:55:00.005-04:00

Tradition is an interesting thing. We perpetuate certain ideals, advocate certain processes, even propogate lies, all in the name of "tradition." It provides a basis for the continued existence of certain items, techniques or processes that might have otherwise fallen by the wayside as the underappreciated victims of social darwinism.

But we humans are emotional beings, a feature with which the rational actor model is still grappling. Certain traditions, yes, are rooted in fact or in religious circumstance, but some happenings take place time after time, year after year, just because that's the way it always was, or how it had always been done before.

Because of these emotional connections we often feel towards the traditional, we frequently tend to just accept tradition as is, and don't question at all the reasons why we do what we do or how we do it or why we've adopted a particular means of accomplishing the end result of whatever the tradition in question may be.

One such tradition is the consumption of honey around the Jewish New Year (yes, I HAVE waited that long to write this post - please forgive me). There is a definite reason why honey finds its way to the Rosh Hashanah table - it is meant as a symbol of the sweetness we hope to experience in the coming year. Honey makes its way to the table in various forms, though most typically in a shallow dish in which we dip slice after slice of apple, which is always delicious in its simplicity. The other most common vehicle for honey around the high holidays is the ubiquitous honey cake. Dense, deep...dense honey cake.

There are few redeeming features of a typical honey cake. Actually, I might take that back - there is one redeeming feature of most honey cakes - the very top crust. Soaked through and through with honey, the top layer is rich, sweet and oh so deliciously sticky. The rest of the cake, though, forget about it. Dry, dense, the rest of your standard rosh hashanah honey cake is a waste of time, really. But that top layer - the top layer of any honey cake around our house at the holidays is just ripe for the picking, my attempts at denial rendered futile by my sticky fingers. The rest of that cake, though, just sits there, and sits there, and sits there. The funny thing about honey cake is that it really takes forever to go stale - with all the honey and sugar and oil it stays just as moist as it was on day one (which is to say, not all that moist) for far longer than most other cakes. And so it can sit there, on the counter, no less, and taunt you, with it's deep, dark color, as if to say "I could be delicious, why don't you just grab another little bit," for upwards of a week.

Tradition dictates that we have honey cake on the table each and every year. We don't question it, don't second guess it. There has been honey cake on the table every year prior, why stop this year? But why can't we question the honey cake itself. If it has to be on the table, can't it at least be delicious? Anything based around something as sweet and pure an ingredient as honey should certainly have the potential to taste fabulous. So I set out on a search to find a delicious honey cake, one with certain ingredients that would add a depth of flavor and prevent the cake from being cloyingly sweet - one that would allow the honey to shine, rather than to overpower. And I found it, with a four-fork rating on epicurious. I figured, if any honey cake could be so universally approved, it had to be good. But there was still a part of me that thought legitimately good, or is it good for honey cake? The ingredient list looked like it would balance out the intense sweetness of the honey, with citrusy notes from the orange juice, aumtumnal spices and a deep richness from the coffee. And it did not disappoint.

This honey cake will change your mind about honey cake. A new tradition began at our house this high holiday season: a tradition of truly delicious honey cake, one that we will all look forward to on the dessert table at the holidays, and not just one that sits on the table because it should. A honey cake that is happily eaten, top to bottom.

Marcy Goldman's Majestic and Moist New Year's Honey Cake
from A Treasury of Jewish Holiday Baking, recipe also availabe here

Ingredients
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1 cup vegetable oil
1 cup honey
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup warm coffee or strong tea
1/2 cup fresh orange juice
1/4 cup rye or whisky (I subbed orange juice, as my whiskey was dreadfully close to empty, and well, I wanted it)
1/2 cup slivered or sliced almonds (I went without)

Method

I like this cake best baked in a 9-inch angel food cake pan, but you can also make it in a 10-inch tube or bundt cake pan, a 9 by 13-inch sheetpan, or three 8 by 4 1/2-inch loaf pans.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Lightly grease two loaf pan(s)*.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and spices. Make a well in the center and add the oil, honey, sugars, eggs, vanilla, coffee, orange juice, and rye or whisky.

Using a strong wire whisk or an electric mixer on slow speed, combine the ingredients well to make a thick batter, making sure that no ingredients are stuck to the bottom of the bowl.

Spoon the batter into the prepared pan(s) and sprinkle the top of the cake(s) evenly with the almonds. Place the cake pan(s) on 2 baking sheets stacked together and bake until the cake springs back when you touch it gently in the center. For angel and tube cake pans, bake for 60 to 70 minutes; loaf cakes, 45 to 55 minutes. For sheet-style cakes, the baking time is 40 to 45 minutes. This is a liquidy batter and, depending on your oven, it may need extra time. Cake should spring back when gently pressed.

Let the cake stand for 15 minutes before removing it from the pan. Then invert it onto a wire rack to cool completely.

* You can also use a tube or angel food pan for this cake.

NY Craft Beer Week

2009-09-11T11:30:00.003-04:00

Need something to do this weekend (or this week, or next weekend)? Of course you do! Has the rain gotten you down? Why not spend some time drowning your sorrows and sampling some delicious beers?!?

For the second year, my friend Josh has amassed a wonderful schedule of events and roped in an impressive group of people to help pull them off. Josh is no joke, he really knows his stuff, and has impressed me with his seemingly-inexhaustible wealth of beer knowledge time and time again.

There are a variety of events taking place over the next ten days, from bar crawls in a number of different neighborhoods, to lectures on home brewing, to multi-course menus with beer pairings at some very well known restaurants. Josh is supremely dedicated to making this event a success, and has partnered with some great breweries, restaurants, companies and people in organizing NYC Craft Beer Week.

Information about tickets, events and anything else you might want to know about NYC Craft Beer week can be found on the event website. Beer Passports are available for $35, which gets you $2 pints at participating bars and reduced ticketing to certain events, as well as other benefits that last beyond September 20th.

NY Craft Beer Week 2009
September 11-20
Various Locations around Manhattan and Brooklyn
Map of Participating Bars

Huevos Rancheros

2009-08-20T15:07:00.009-04:00

I've written here before about my tendency to become affixed on certain things for periods of time. Though sometimes protracted, these fixations are ultimately fleeting moments in my greater culinary life. However, from the period until the obsession starts until the craving is fulfilled, those fleeting moments can feel like far, far longer. Once a dish is in my head, I must have it, lest I never move on. Until that food passes through my lips, all other food is sub-par; yea, that foie gras brulee could be sublime, but if it was a cripsy, oozy grilled cheese I wanted, I will not be fully content.

Oftentimes, I can have a version of the dish and move on, but sometimes I need the idealized version of my obsession. Until I have that perfect dish, just as I've built it up in my compulsive, deranged mind, I will not - nay, I cannot move forward.

Lately, huevos rancheros have been the object of my desire. Why? I cannot tell you exactly, but the combination of toothsome, spicy black beans atop corn tortillas, covered with the liquid gold of a just-punctured over-easy egg, speckled with salsa fresca and a smokey, haunting salsa was something I just could not get out of my head.

Usually, huevos rancheros would be something I could very easily put together, in about twenty minutes flat. But popping open a can of beans was just not going to result in my perfect huevos rancheros. No, it couldn't just be any black beans, certainly none from a can would do. It had to be the fresh black beans I had purchased at the Union Square Greenmarket after the Times had touted their freshness and flavor.

What that meant is that my idealized version of the dish was not just something that could be thrown together willy-nilly after getting home from work one night. I couldn't just change out of my dress, grab a can opener, and have dinner ready in twenty minutes (at least the first time). Sure, the shortcut route was one I considered on various occasions when I got home late and tired and really, really wanted those huevos rancheros in my belly. But I never gave in; I just knew, deep down, that only huevos rancheros made with those beans would do. And dried beans, even when they're fresh and don't require overnight soaking, still need quite a while before they become tender enough to eat (at least enjoyably).

But when a cloudy summer Sunday sent me packing back from the Hamptons earlier than anticipated, I knew I had my chance. I had the time to both prepare my beans and turn them into the base for, well, for a lot of things, but immediately for my huevos. [And before I start hearing comments about "well, why didn't you just make the beans when you got home late one night, and then you would have had them ready to use later that week?" - there was no shot in hell that I was not making huevos rancheros as soon as I had spicy, salty, toothsome beans at my disposal, ready to go. That is all.]

And so I rinsed the beans, put them in a pot and added water so that the water level was about an inch over the beans, deciding to forego the "bring to a boil, let soak for one hour and rinse" step in lieu of just allowing them to cook a little bit longer.

Then I made my pico de gallo, chopping up some tomato (mercifully, finally in season, though blighted, tragically), onion, garlic and jalapeno and dousing it with some fresh lime juice as the beans boiled away on the stove.

And before long, I had my huevos rancheros, and they were everything I wanted them to be, and so, so much more. The months (literally, it had been two months spent with huevos on my mind) that I had waited seemed to wash away; all memories of my deprivation gone as I gleefully pricked the jiggly yolk with the tines of my fork, taking far too much pleasure in the destruction of one of nature's more perfect little packages. But I knew, as I watched that canary yellow liquid drizzle down over the beans, over the cheese, that I was going to be able to move on, and happily. I dragged forkful after forkful of those glorious beans through the unctuous cholesterol-laden goodness, relishing in not only the taste of my huevos rancheros, in the wonderful harmony of fresh ingredients, but also in my will power, in my devotion to my huevos ideal. I had not broken down and given in to something that I knew would not please me. I allowed myself to continue building it up, and it was totally, undoubtedly, worth it.

I want to talk about those beans - man, the Times knew what they were talking about. These were the best black beans I had ever eaten. Their texture and taste surpassed any that I had ever eaten from a can, and any that I had made from dry up to that point. While dried beans tend to have a better texture than canned (not to mention that you can control the sodium content and they are not suspended indefinitely in that filmy liquid), it is fully impossible to know just how many days, months, years those bags of Goya Frijoles Negros have spent on the supermarket shelves. I think it's safe to assume it's typically a very, very long while.

While I'd heard so many sing the praises of Rancho Gordo beans, I just could not validate the expense of having pricey beans shipped to me from across the country. But once I saw the Cayuga Organics stand at the Greenmarket, I had my chance to try some fresh beans at a far lower (albeit still higher than supermarket) price. Later in the week, I threw those beans into some tacos, and ok, just ate them out of the tupperware in the fridge. But the point is that the couple of hours it takes to make the beans the first night opens you up to their use in an infinite number of deicious ways later on.

And I can say now, with full conviction, that the freshness certainly makes a difference. The flavor and texture of these beans surpassed anything that I'd made in the past. They were wonderful, and are the new standard against which I will measure all black beans in the future. Sorry, Goya. [Still love ya, though, and I will undoubtedly return to you when tight for time].

Huevos Rancheros

In their simplest, most traditional form, huevos rancheros are just simply cooked eggs over tortillas with a smokey, red salsa, but those were not the huevos of my dreams. The dish is one that is open to interpretation, and can be made to suit your tastes and your whim. Add some guacamole (as I did later in the week), ditch the beans, add more cheese, fry the eggs right on the tortilla, keep them sunny side up, hell, go crazy and scramble them if you really want (not in my house, though). This dish is so easy to tailor to what you want and what you have that I find few times when I would not gladly call it my dinner. And it's healthy, too.

I prepared my beans from dried, boiling them in some water with a clove of garlic, which I'd crushed, about a quarter of an onion, a bay leaf, a few dashes of cumin and a pinch of red pepper. I added salt towards the end of the cooking process. There's a debate in the cooking world about whether salt should be added to beans as they cook. The antis say that the salt will break open the skins of the beans as they cook, and will destroy their shape and texture. Others say that the salt adds flavor, and with no discernable effect on their texture. As I love flavor, especially of the salty sort, I added salt, and my beans were none the worse for wear. I did add the salt as the beans were nearing doneness, though, to ward off any possibility that the skins would be torn to shreds.

I make a quick pico de gallo for one by cutting about a half a tomato and an equal volume of onion into small dice. I add to that a bit less than a clove of finely minced garlic and about a half a jalapeno, with a few of the seeds and the ribs added in for some extra heat. I roughly chop some cilantro and throw that in, add the juice of anywhere from a half to a whole lime, depending on how much juice each half yields, grind over it some salt and pepper, throw it in the fridge while the rest of the meal comes together to let the flavors mingle, and it's ready to go when I need it.

I feel a bit silly even posting a recipe for this, since it is open to endless variations and is so incredibly simple.

Serves 1

2 Corn tortillas
1/2 cup black beans, either prepared from fresh, or canned, rinsed and drained
1 ounce cheese of your choosing (I prefer cotija or a melty, sharp cheese)
Pico de gallo, as desired
Avocado or Guacamole, as desired
Cilantro, as desired
Sour cream, as desired

If not using freshly cooked beans, heat them up in a small pot.

Heat a skillet over medium heat. Add the corn tortillas, and, flipping frequently, allow them to heat through. Feel free to crisp them at the edges if desired. Remove the tortillas to a plate. Pile about 1/4 cup of black beans atop each tortilla.

In the same skillet, add some butter to lightly coat the bottom of the pan and crack in the eggs. Once the whites have set a bit, flip the eggs (or leave them sunny-side up) and allow to cook for about 30 seconds on the other side. Once the eggs are cooked to your liking, slide them out of the skillet onto the piles of black beans. Top with cheese as desired, and add some salsa (I love tomatillo salsa) and add whatever accoutrements you feel like. I love pice de gallo, some sour cream, cilantro, a few slices of avocado and some chopped radishes, which I think add a fresh, bright, peppery crunch to the dish.

Dig in, and enjoy.

Convivio

2009-08-06T17:56:00.016-04:00

Convivio has been on my radar from the moment it opened. It was highly anticipated, as it opened in the space that had previously housed L'Impero, and with renowned Italian Chef Michael White at the helm. The reviews it garnered soon after opening made it clear that this anticipation was warranted. Frank Bruni, the soon to be ex-restaurant critic of the New York Times, bestowed upon Convivio three stars, a rare "Excellent" amidst a sea of "goods."

It was only until recently that I had the good fortune of dining at Convivio. It's a bit out of the way for a weekend dinner, since I tend to dine before going out and don't often (read: ever) find myself out and about on a Friday night on the bumping streets of Midtown East. It's also expensive, and I've had little reason for celebratory meals lately. However, Restaurant Week solved both of these problems. Convivio is much closer to my office than to my apartment, and its restaurant week lunch special, at $24.07, was not going to break the bank.

We had 1:30 reservations, and the late afternoon sunshine flowed into the restaurant through the street-level windows. The light, however, didn't really do the space many favors. The décor was stark and the sun's rays did nothing but draw attention to the sharp edges and unadorned whiteness of much of the space. I would imagine the space does not seem as severe in the evening, as I feel the restaurant would benefit from a softer light and the glow of candlelight.

We ordered from the restaurant week menu, but decided to supplement our meals with a few items from the reasonably-priced sfizi menu. The sfizi are small snack-sized portions that are meant for sharing among the table. We went with the Carciofi (artichokes flavored with mint and pecorino), the Cozze (mediterranean mussels with chile, scallion, capers and topped with bread crumps) and the Funghi (grilled mushrooms cooked in vin cotto).

Of the three, the funghi were the clear favorite of the table. Even avowed mushroom-haters could not resist their amazing depth of flavor and the beguiling spice lent by unexpected red pepper. The wine provided a richness that made it seem as if we were eating something far more sinful than mushrooms.

The artichokes were flawlessly executed, though the taste of mint was not as pronounced as I was hoping. The nutty pecorino that draped the artichokes lent a salty complexity to the earthy artichokes.

The mussels were delicious as well. It was spicy, but the flavor of the chile was felt more than its heat, which did not overwhelm any other element of the dish, as if bringing your taste buds to attention in order to best enjoy the other flavors going on. The bread crumbs provided a wonderful textural element, countering the squishiness of the crustacean with a good deal of crunch. This sfizi was very generously portioned, particularly considering the price.

The entire table ordered the same appetizer, the stracciatella - creamy burrata cheese with zucchini and basil pesto. It was a good thing we all ordered the same dish, since any person who had made the mistake of ordering another dish would have been forced to listen to the rest of us repeat, about seven hundred and thirty two times before the dishes were removed from the table, that this was among the greatest things we'd ever eaten. And no, I don't think any of us would have shared. I should preface this by saying that I am borderline obsessive when it comes to burrata. I must be restrained, oftentimes physically, from ordering it every single time I see it on a menu. Not that there's anything wrong with ordering it every single time I see it on a menu, but I am seeing it more and more these days and such a habit is good for neither my wallet nor my waistline. If you're unfamiliar with burrata, it is essentially a thin skin of fresh mozzarella cheese that houses a bevy of rich, salty, thick, gooey, curdy deliciousness that toes the line between cream and cheese more delicately than anything else I've encountered. It has an incredibly short shelf life, since it takes only a day or so before the insides turn, and is therefore difficult to track down. Suffice it to say that if mozzarella is a Honda Civic Coupe, burrata is an Aston Martin V12 Vantage.

Convivio's rendition was no different. To this point, the best burrata I had encountered was at A16 in San Francisco, where it was topped with a wonderfully fruity olive oil and just enough sea salt to cut through the richness of the cheese. Convivio's version may just top that one. The basil pesto provided a fragrant, floral brightness, while the delicate strands of zucchini lent some more textrure and freshness to the dish. The crostini, an olive-oil soaked little number neatly perched alongside the glorious pool of milkfat, could have not done its job of transporting cheese to mouth any better.

For the mains, most of us ordered the grouper, which was served with a sweet pepper caponata and a roasted pepper crema. The grouper was perfectly cooked, but I found the flavors to be a bit lacking. The caponata was fresh and wonderful, and the roasted pepper crema had the smoky undertones of roasted peppers. It needed perhaps just a bit more acid, since the flavors felt a bit muted, and a touch more lemon might have allowed the rest of the elements to perk up.

I also had the chance to taste the orecchiette, which was handmade and served with crushed pomini tomatoes, basil and capped with a generous dollop of ricotta ala olio. The orrechiette were flawless - the little ears toothsome, but not gummy, cooked to a perfect al dente so that they retained the perfect amount of bite. The tomatoes were fresh and bright, and the cheese, oh that cheese, cut the acidity of the tomatoes with a salty, creamy richness that elevated the dish from pasta into pasta that dreams are made of. This is clearly Michael White's wheelhouse - the simplicity of the dish belied the obvious skill, care and talent that went into making it. It was seriously delicious.

For dessert, I had the affogato, which is essentially a grown-up ice cream float. Freshly brewed espresso, strong and delicious, is poured atop zabaglione gelato and topped with a vanilla bean whipped cream. It tastes exactly how it should, which is to say, rich, complex and delicious. And strong, of course.

The other dessert option was the cioccolato e caramelle, a valhrona chocolate ganache on a bed of salted caramel, both neatly contained in a perfect little pastry shell and accompanied by vanilla gelato. The girls who ordered this were both excessively pleased. It was a bit too rich for my tastes, but the caramel was wonderfully gooey, the chocolate expectedly sinful.

Restaurant week menus are not always indicative of a restaurant's quality, since many tend to take shortcuts or cut corners in an effort to make up in volume for what is lost in revenue. I was more than pleased with my restaurant week lunch at Convivio, and would return in a heartbeat for some more of the excellent sfizi or appetizers, and especially to try out some more of the pastas (the malloreddus - saffron-scented gnochetti with crab and sea urchin in particular is calling my name…). I consider a restaurant week menu successful if it makes me want to return to the restaurant to find out more, and to try some more dishes from the menu, to see what the chef can do. To this end, this was a remarkably successful restaurant week menu, as I am already looking for a reason to come back for the (admittedly not that expensive) $69 prix fixe dinner menu. And considering that this was the first meal after my half a loaf of challah incident, after which the mere thought of food was enough to make me want to hurl, I think that says a lot.

This meal took place a few weeks ago already, and I feared my tardiness would make much of this entirely irrelevant as Restaurant Week was slated to end on July 31. BUT now that Restaurant Week has been extended through Labor Day, you can still take advantage of some great deals!

Convivio
45 Tudor City Place (b/w 42nd and 43rd)
(212) 599-5045
info@convivionyc.com
Participating in Restaurant Week for lunch and Sunday dinner