Hi all, if you’re still getting alerts to new posts here I’d love for you to come over to my new joint, Things on Bread. After a long and fertile hiatus from blogging, I’ve moved the cooking journal slash food blog slash DIY culinary odyssey to Substack. I just started a couple of weeks ago, and it’s off to a promising start. Take a look, please subscribe, and stay tuned for what should be a fun ride.

This blog will remain up, but for the foreseeable future all the hot new content will be over at the new spot. There will be recipes, though in general I’m going to err on the side of instructions rather than teaspoons and such. I promise it will be useful, and will help you build a deeper and more confident connection to your cooking.

If you have the wherewithal and inclination, I would be most grateful for your paid subscription. This blog was a lot of things, but lucrative was not among those things. The new platform will allow me to earn from my writing, but in a way that does not involve shilling for products or pandering to trends or lowest-common-denominator clickbait devices. It’s a meritocracy! So I hope I merit your support.

Thanks in advance, and a special thank you to all the people who weighed in here over the years. Come hang in the new place—the vibes are excellent, and we also have snacks.

The post Hear Ye, Hear Ye appeared first on cookblog.

On September 6 from 2-3 pm I’ll be on WAMC radio talking about wine and food pairings with Christy Frank of Copake Wine Works and chef Joel Viehland of Swyft. You can listen live on their site, or listen to the archived recording later on.

On September 7 I’ll be teaching a fresh pasta class at Blue Cashew Kitchen in Kingston. A couple of kinds of dough, several shapes, and a few saucy accompaniments. SOLD OUT

From September 20-28, I’ll be leading a culinary tour of the Dordogne along with yoga teacher Linda Winnick. SOLD OUT (We’ll be doing more trips, so watch this space.)

October 5, come learn pickling with me at HGS Home Chef in Hillsdale, NY. We’ll cover quick pickles, plus vinegar and lacto-fermented examples. Everyone will get a jar to take home.

The next day, October 6, I’ll be back in Kingston at Blue Cashew teaching a fermented drinks class. You can read the article I wrote recently about this extremely fun and rewarding process here. I’ll have mature examples for tasting, and there will be take-home treats.

November 3 will find me once again at Blue Cashew for a class on sourdough baking. I’ll show you my one master dough that can make bread, rolls, pizza, even bagels and pita. Everyone will get a jar of sourdough starter to take home.

The post Upcoming events appeared first on cookblog.

Join Peter Barrett and Linda Winnick on our tour of this bountiful region. We’ll be based near Bergerac, Cyrano’s city, at a beautiful B&B with a large kitchen, a heated pool, and expansive grounds (photo up top). From there we’ll venture forth to farmers’ markets to buy ingredients which we’ll bring back and cook up into lavish meals, making both traditional dishes and Peter’s lighter, more vegetable-centered interpretations. Linda will lead yoga and meditation classes and hikes to keep us all feeling fantastic.

The Dordogne Valley, running east from Bordeaux, encompasses some of France’s richest culinary lands and traditions, from the great Right Bank wine appellations of Pomerol and Saint-Emilion to truffles and foie gras. Cognac is to the north, Armagnac to the south. The greatest sweet wines in the world are made in nearby Sauternes. Excursions will include visits to a truffle farm, world-class vineyards, an Armagnac distillery, cheese makers, charcutiers, and more; there are even museums dedicated to foie gras, truffles, and Armagnac in the area.

We’ll keep the pace active and fun, but there will be plenty of free time for lounging by the pool with a glass of rosé. Peter will give you an in-depth look at the culinary identity of this glorious region, along with hands-on cooking classes to help you reproduce the magic at home. And Linda will make sure you feel refreshed and rejuvenated as well as inspired.  

Double-occupancy rooms range from $2750 to $3500 per person, which includes all food and drink on site, all ticketed admissions, and all classes: cooking, yoga, and meditation. Transportation to and from Bordeaux is not included. A 50% deposit is required to secure each spot.

Email BrigidWalsh@me.com to book!

Space is extremely limited.

Peter Barrett is an author and photographer who has spent the last dozen years communicating his knowledge and love of cooking to people through words, pictures, classes, and tours like this one. He speaks fluent French, and studied charcuterie in nearby Gascony.

Linda Lalita Winnick is a certified yoga teacher, with an M.A. in Ayurvedic Medicine and Yoga Philosophy. Her teaching integrates three decades of experience as a yoga practitioner and teacher with the principles of exercise physiology and the energetics of Ayurveda. She owns three Shakti Yoga Studios in the Hudson Valley.

The post Dordogne Cooking and Yoga Retreat, September 20-28 appeared first on cookblog.

Email Molly@civitella.org today to reserve your spot!

Monday, March 18: Arrive in Rome where we’ll pick you up at the airport and drive the group up to Umbertide, stopping for a fortifying pasta lunch on the way. Peter will give a brief pancetta curing demonstration before we eat dinner at Civitella.

March 19: Breakfast at Civitella. Quick trip into Umbertide for breakfast groceries. Tour of the castle and facilities followed by lunch. Afternoon class on cakes and liquors with Romana. Barbecue dinner at Civitella.

March 20: The beautiful rolling landscape around Montefalco produces the best wine in Umbria. We’ll visit several winemakers, an artisan cheesemaker, and eat lunch, taking our time to enjoy this magic area before we head back to Civitella for dinner.

March 21: We’ll visit the Agrisolana caseficio (cheese maker) and eat lunch there. Before dinner, Diego will teach us about the history of Umbrian food.

March 22: Romana will teach us the secret to perfect handmade pasta, and then we’ll eat it for lunch. Free afternoon for hiking, wandering, or resting. Before dinner at the castle, historian Karima Moyer will tell us about “The History of Pasta and the Italian Identity.” After dinner, if the skies cooperate, we’ll do some stargazing.

March 23: We’ll begin with a visit to the farmers’ market in Umbertide, followed by Peter’s demonstration of some classic Roman and Umbrian vegetable dishes using fresh produce from the market and some foraged greens and herbs. After lunch will be free time, and then we’ll meet before dinner for an aperitivo and then Peter will lead a wine tasting during dinner.

March 24: Because it will be Lent, we’ll focus on fish today, visiting Lake Trasimeno and going out on the water with some fishermen. We’ll learn how to make tegamaccio, the fish stew traditionally eaten at this time of year, then return to Civitella for dinner.

March 25: We’ll head to Perugia in the morning, where Diego (a Perugia native) will lead us on a walk along the Tiber followed by a visit to an artisan chocolate maker. We’ll eat lunch in Pretola, and then head back to the castle for the Slow Food market at the castle followed by dinner there.

March 26: We’ll spend the morning making dough for bread and pizza, then have lunch. After, we’ll visit Archaeologia Arborea, where we’ll tour the estate and learn about all the heirloom fruit that Isabella is nurturing in her gorgeous orchard. We’ll visit the famous (and allegedly magical) Madonna del Parto and upon return to the castle we’ll use the morning’s dough to make pizza in the wood-fired oven, using the pancetta we cured on the first day as one of the toppings.

March 27: Drive back to the airport.

Remember, this is still tentative but provides a good sense of what you can expect. Apart from the few breakfast groceries we’ll buy on Tuesday (every room has a kitchenette), everything else is included. You can spend the rest of the trip without touching your wallet.

Here’s what some of our happy November guests had to say:

“We especially enjoyed the sessions in the kitchen with Peter, as he not only told us what and how, but why. Why so much salt on the meat and the vegetable, why a skim of oil on top of the artichoke water, why stretch the skin of the bread dough as you knead it… All useful, and lots of fun.”

“Stupendous.  It was varied, interesting, fresh, and tasty, every single day.”

“Peter is vastly knowledgeable and inspirational, kind, and thoughtful in his one-on-one interactions.  Fantastic. Ilaria, Molly, and Diego were SO wonderful.  The perfect combination of knowledgeable, problem-solving, and personable.  I miss them.”

We have a few spots left. Don’t miss out! You won’t find a comparable experience for anywhere near this price. Here’s that link with more information. You can see all my pictures from the November trip on my Instagram. Follow me for regular deliciousness and updates on future trips.

Email Molly@civitella.org today to reserve your spot!

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Last year, I began earnestly macerating fruit and herbs (separately or in select combinations) in grain alcohol. Tender green herbs only needed a few days to extract their flavor (after which it can get swampy), while denser things like foraged black walnuts and rose hips took longer. Most fruit, including rhubarb, was pretty great after a couple of weeks. (I would dilute the booze 50/50 with water to taste, since 90 percent alcohol is vile and burns horribly). Once these various decoctions were all ready, I strained them and began blending, diluting, and occasionally sweetening the mixtures until I was happy. I ended up with four different vermouths, each with distinct characteristics, and have been using them since either straight over ice or more frequently in cocktails or spritzers.

This endeavor pleased me, though the relatively high alcohol (even after dilution they all ended up around 20 percent) made me crave something more quenching. And my fermentation fetish really demanded to make the alcohol, not just soaking things in store-bought booze. So this year I’ve been fermenting a variety of meads, kombucha-type things (though there’s no tea involved), and sodas (where I pour the still fermenting liquid into swing-top bottles so it carbonates).

The first ones I made involved spring flavors; I was in Vermont and the spruce tips were perfect so I picked a big bowl full and then put them in a jar with water and maple syrup for a few days until it started to get fizzy. Spruce tips—along with pine tips, elderberry flowers, and pretty much all unsprayed fruit, whether wild or domestic—are covered in wild yeast so you don’t need to buy any brewer’s or champagne yeast to get fermentation going. The wild varieties will take a few days to get going, though, so be patient. I also filled a jar with a mixture of herbs: anise hyssop, a couple kinds of mint, ground ivy, dandelion, and more spruce, and I made one final jar with flowers: lilac, crabapple, and beach rose (rosa rugosa).

The last one I sweetened with raw local honey instead of maple, thinking it would match better with the flowers. (Raw honey is also an excellent source for yeast.) Because I love spruce vinegar, I added a big blob of mother to the spruce jar and let it sit open for a few days before straining it into another jar and putting it with the rest of my vinegars to do its thing for between six and twelve months. I set the other two up in half-gallon jars fitted with airlock tops and let them go until the bubbling subsided (airlocks provide a handy method for assessing the vigor of your fermentation, since you can see the bubbles escaping) at which point I racked them all into swing-top bottles so they’d end up fizzy. I left them on the counter to keep the fermentation going, then moved them into the fridge to slow it way down and prevent the bottles from (possibly) exploding from the pressure.

As I drank my way through these and a few others, to maintain carbonation I would sometimes pour off the remainder of one to top up another so that there wasn’t too much air space in the bottle. As a result, I ended up with a sort of solera situation, where one bottle had the spruce-herb mixture plus the flower blend plus a 100 percent rose batch I made because they were blooming so prolifically and they small and taste so damn good. This complex combination really worked, and serves as a good example of the many rewards that await keen and dedicated experimentation.

I’ve never been one for replicability in food and drink; the whole point of each meal or bottle of wine is that it represents a particular place at a particular time. So as far as recipes go, try a few versions based on what you grow, forage, or buy from a farmer and see what happens. If you have a sugar source, a yeast source, clean water and jars, and delicious plant parts, it’s likely to end up tasting pretty good. If you don’t love it, just leave it in a jar with some cheesecloth tied over the opening for a few months and it’ll make a grand vinegar. (This holds true for kombucha as well, and any other similarly fermented liquid). So there’s no downside.

The most recent finished drink I made was a red currant mead. Unlike their black cousins, red currants are a little insipid; they have great acidity and a nice bright berry flavor, but no middle palate. To remedy this deficiency, in addition to the fruit and the honey water I also added a tea I made from yarrow, mugwort, and foraged sassafras twigs and stalks. There might have also been a little mint, thyme, and bee balm in there as well. I figured that the drink would benefit from the added bitterness, tannins, and herbal complexity, and it did. This is one to work on in the coming years for sure.

A couple of days ago I juiced a big bowl of black currants and they’re starting to ferment into another mead. Because they have a unique and feral complexity, I didn’t add anything else to that jar. I’m going to steep the must left from juicing them in grain alcohol to make more crème de cassis, since last year’s batch is running out. To close, here’s a shot of the red currant mead (which carbonated really nicely) mixed with a little of that cassis to make an all-currant, all homegrown kir royale.

If you have any specific questions about any part of this, please let me know in the comments. I realize that I covered a lot of ground here. A good reference book for making your own unorthodox fermented beverages is Pascal Baudar’s The Wildcrafting Brewer.

Cheers!

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Also, the culinary tour of Umbria is filling up fast. Click that link for details, and don’t dawdle—space is limited.

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While Tuscany has enjoyed tourism’s bright spotlight for decades, neighboring Umbria remains largely unspoiled by crowds and high prices. Known as Italy’s cuore verde (“green heart”) for its central location and prolific agriculture, Umbria boasts some of the country’s most profound culinary traditions, especially charcuterie; the town of Norcia is legendary for producing Italy’s best salumi, including prosciutto, guanciale, pancetta, and a dizzying variety of salame. Umbrian cooking, known as cucina povera, is a frugal, resourceful cuisine born out of respect for every ingredient. Besides cured meat, this approach features lots of green vegetables and a serious reverence for lentils and beans, so there will be much to learn (and eat)!

This November 5-14, join me at Civitella Ranieri, a gorgeous fifteenth century castle (yes, that one up top!) overlooking Umbertide that’s been home to an artist’s residency program since 1995. The castle’s kitchen, run by native Umbrian Romana Ciubini, will be our workshop; under her tutelage we’ll learn the secrets of bread gnocchi, eggless pasta, torta al testo, and many other delicacies. I’ll show you some of my favorite dishes, including a couple of the Roman classics I learned when I lived there, and help you understand how these methods and recipes can work in your kitchens. We’ll eat outside under the pergola by the wood-fired pizza oven or in the large dining room next to the kitchen.

November is the peak of the Umbrian culinary year. In addition to the castle’s kitchen garden, local farmers’ markets will be overflowing with the harvest. We’ll also venture out for day trips to exceptional winemakers, olive orchards, porchetta masters, cheesemakers, and more. November also means olive harvests, and roasted chestnuts—traditionally eaten on November 11 during the tasting of the vino novello—and above all truffle season. We’ll hunt for the elusive fungus, and forage for other wild delights, and cook everything we find. Diego Mencaroni, Program Coordinator at Civitella, will introduce us to these farmers and artisans. He’ll also show us some of the art historical treasures in towns where we stop to eat or shop. For those of you who write, photograph, or draw, I can also give expert advice and feedback on your words and pictures.   

With VIP access to the best restaurants, farmers, and winemakers and expert staff guiding you every step of the way, this promises to be a gorgeous, immersive experience with an easy balance between learning and fun. Apart from the beauty of the castle and its grounds, the surrounding area’s incredible richness in food and culture, and the expertise of your hosts, above all this trip will change the way you cook. You will return home inspired, with a new perspective on food and the ways in which humble ingredients can be easily elevated to greatness. We’re very excited to share this beautiful place and its food with you. 

Details:

The trip is limited to twelve lucky people.The fee of $3,000 per person will cover everything, including accommodations in the castle and lunch and dinner every day. Air travel to Rome (and any connecting flights you require) will not be included.

To register and inquire about details and logistics, email molly@civitella.org. 

Join us!

You can read the New York Times profile of Romana and Civitella’s culinary program here.

Who we are:

Peter Barrett is a food writer, photographer, visual artist, and author of Project 258: Making Dinner at Fish & Game, a large-format book about the James Beard Award-winning restaurant in Hudson, New York. He’s spent the last dozen years growing, cooking, and preserving as much of his own food as possible, teaching others to do the same with his writing and in classes like this one.

Diego Mencaroni holds a Degree in Political Science and a Master’s Degree in Politics, Economy and Law of the EU. He has been the Program Coordinator at the Civitella Ranieri Center in Umbertide (PG) since 2006. He is member of the Steering Committee of the Ecomuseum of the Tiber where he carries out research on local traditions, especially folk music, food, and local language. He writes plays, short stories and poetry not only in Italian, but also in the Perugino dialect.

Romana Ciubini lives in Mercatale di Cortona on the border of Tuscany and Umbria. From 1992 to 1996 she owned and managed the restaurant Il Preludio in Cortona. Since 1998 she has worked as Head Chef at the Civitella Ranieri Center. Romana has studied at and visited food programs and conferences internationally, including Blue Hill restaurant in New York, Le Cordon Bleu, Slow Food conferences, Villa Le Balze in Florence, Tenuta Seliano in Paestum, the American Academy in Rome, and Terra Madre. She is the author of The Civitella Cookbook, published in 2015.

The post Come Cook With Me In Italy, November 5-14 appeared first on cookblog.

Sorrel and garlic chive pesto:

Approximately equal amounts of sorrel and garlic chives (greens only or greens and bulbs, trimmed of roots, if you want it more garlicky)

Good olive oil

Salt

Wash and coarsely chop the greens, then add them to the bowl of a food processor with a fat pinch of salt. Spin the machine, adding oil until the mixture grabs the blade and makes a vortex. Stop the machine, scrape the sides down with a spatula, and spin again. Do this a couple more times until it’s all nice and smooth, then taste it for seasoning and adjust if needed.

This is great on crusty grilled bread (how we ate it) or any way you’d use pesto: on pasta, on fish or chicken, or turned into a salad dressing by adding some vinegar, mustard, and/or other things you enjoy on your salad. Keep in mind that this works with just about any combination of herbs; your mileage may vary depending on where you live.

Details on the Italy trip to follow soon, I promise. Follow my Instagram for the most regular updates on everything I’m picking, cooking, eating, and teaching.

My book can be found here. I also mentioned Dina Falconi’s book; it’s a lovely and useful guide to the edible plants of our region.

Thanks to Jim, Ray, and the WAMC crew, and thanks to you for listening and reading. Audio of the show can be found here.

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We lost power in the storm last Friday, which normally is not a big deal because of the generator I had installed shortly after we moved in. But this time it didn’t work, even after a repair dude spent the better part of an hour messing with it that afternoon. So we fetched water from our neighbors (whose generator worked) and showered there too and generally made do, charging phones in the car and sitting in front of the fire a lot. I cooked a coil of merguez in the fireplace, which wasn’t elegant but did make for a decent dinner. Our fireplace was not designed for cooking; it’s super efficient at heating the room and house in general but is shallow and we lack the dope apparatus my grandfather designed for the big old fireplace in Vermont. Nonetheless: hot lamb sausage, sharp homemade mustard, and crusty bread served handsomely. And then we had to eat the ice cream in the freezer so it didn’t melt and go to waste.

All this is by way of saying that there was more merguez in the fridge, so when I headed over to Danny’s I threw it in the box with a bottle of wine, a jar of yogurt sauce made with pickled green tomatoes and more of that homegrown mustard, freshly made Sichuan chili oil enriched with mandarin orange peel, some leftover sautéed bok choy, skewers, a corkscrew, a knife, and some quick naan dough I whipped up with sourdough starter, yogurt, and scallions. The dough rose in the car, and then some more near the fire until I was too hungry to wait any longer.

Danny brought his iron skillet down from the house and I put it in front of the truly infernal conflagration that was madly boiling the pan of sap. The BTUs radiating from this fire were no joke; I had to rub snow on my hands before I reached in to place or adjust food so my skin wouldn’t burn. I formed some approximate rectangles with the shaggy dough, using a fork to scrape dough off my hands, and let them puff up before flipping them over to brown thoroughly on the other side. I love cooking flatbreads like this; the intense heat gives them fragrant black blisters while the insides stay puffy and soft. It’s perfection: just brush them with melted butter and you’re in business. In this case, though, the breads were mere vessels for spicy lamb sausage.

I set the skewered spiral of meat in the pan, flipping it a few times until the sizzle and smell said stop. Then lunch was a simple matter of bisecting bread, adding meat and greens, slathering yogurt, dribbling oil, and eating (standing up, facing the fire, moving when the breeze sent the smoke our way). These were serious sandwiches: smoky, meaty, gamy, sharp, spicy, bright, oily, dripping, salty, perfect. Hunger is the best condiment, no doubt, but set and setting and company and project all enhance a meal immeasurably.

We both love this late winter ritual because it gets us off our asses and outside where we belong, and because it’s a unique alloy of rugged rural toil and sweet refinement: mountain alchemy, boiling water into gold. This task insists on a full cycle of sunlight, and involves lots of standing and waiting and orbiting the fire to stay warm, swiping sips of sap for the jolt of sugar that reminds us why we’re spending all damn day watching a pot boil. But the focus, the presence, the work, the attention to the passage of a day in service of a reward—sugar, which we evolved to prize above all others—elevate a lunch like this to a level of pleasure that fancy cooking can never attain.

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I toasted cinnamon, star anise, fennel, mustard black pepper, Sichuan peppercorns, caraway, coriander, cardamom, clove, dried clementine peel, and Thai chili before grinding them all to powder. (The fennel, coriander, and mustard were homegrown.) I mixed this with salt and tossed the meat (cut from big chunks into thin slices) in it and then let it sit in the fridge for most of the day. Come mid-afternoon, I put the meat in a pot with a bunch of chopped fennel stalks and a whole head of garlic and let the whole thing roast for three hours, starting at 425˚ but then dropping the heat to 275˚ after about half an hour.

The house smelled absolutely amazing. It’s worth noting here that I had baked bread in the morning, and then dehydrated the citrus peel in the cooling oven, so by the time the spiced goat and garlic got going, there was a pretty profound base aroma permeating the old abode.

When I pulled the pot out, the meat had turned to little black nuggets, assertively spiced, and sweet from the caramelized fennel and garlic (which I squeezed out into the bowl where I assembled the sauce). Because I sliced it thin before roasting, it was well past shreddy tenderness and fully into chewy burnt ends territory, and definitely had the dry-cooked vibe I was going for. Honestly, the little bits were so spicy and so good I could have just eaten them all with a spoon at this point and called it dinner. But I did not, because I have a family.

In that sauce bowl, besides the garlic I added grated ginger, the bits of raw garlic from the tips of the cloves where I sliced the top off the head before roasting, more of the spice mixture, fish sauce, vinegar, sesame oil, and about a pint of the liquid produced from cooking a big turkey offal pâté sous vide for five hours a while back mixed with chicken stock from some tandoori drumstick bones I had left over from another meal. This was a good combination, rich and complex with a lot of information and a lovely wiggly texture when cold.

I shook a little corn starch into the goat pot and stirred it in to coat the meat and roux-ify the fat. Then I dumped in the sauce and let it thicken while I threw fennel, cabbage and onion into a very hot wok with a little lard. Once the vegetables were nicely charred and wilted, I dumped in the goat gravy and let it all commingle for a minute before removing it to a serving bowl full of just-boiled soba. The fennel fronds and a stray scallion made a nice green antidote to Brown Winter Food.

This hewed pretty closely to what I was hoping for: spicy, thick, intensely flavored, with al dente vegetables (fennel and Chinese cabbage both love this kind of quick cooking) contrasting with those dense little meat bites in a serious gravy. It had good heat, but I wanted more so I added lashings of Sichuan chili oil for that inimitable and addictive sweaty brain sensation. This one’s a keeper, and would be just as good on rice or naan or rolled up inside a crêpe. Or eaten standing in front of the stove when nobody else is home.

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