Serious Eats: Recipes

French in a Flash: Sliced Steak with Chunky Two-Olive Tapenade

2009-07-09T22:00:00Z

The Missing Ingredient

Sometimes, at the end of the day, when you look at a recipe, you realize, too late and too tired, that you don’t have all of the ingredients. And that delightful pesto pasta you were planning will just have to go without pine nuts. It will look like pesto pasta, but you’ll know, even if no one else does, that there’s something missing.

It’s the same with life.

You try to balance it out, follow the recommended doses of sweet pleasure and brittle work, to serve to yourself, in the end, the perfect plate, the life you expected, to savor and to enjoy. But sometimes, as with dinner, you have to forgo one of the ingredients. I have found, over the last couple of years, that my recipe for life may have contained one part too many European haute cuisine expatriate existence, and many parts too few of the friends and family that are to my heart what Maman’s pot au feu is to my stomach.

I met Lauren when we were both freshmen at Princeton in September 2001. In two days time, she is marrying Jason halfway across the world from Paris in San Diego, and I can’t be there. So as a gift to them, to go along with the Waterford, I thought I’d tell you about where we Princetonians learned to eat, and to share a recipe with you that I created for them.

Cottage Club

I was a member of the Cottage Club, in my opinion the most lovely and stately of all the mansions on the street, and which was, not surprisingly, the club of my literary hero, F. Scott Fitzgerald. The heavy wooden door swung open into a bright half-wooden and half-glass paneled foyer, carpeted in thick burgundy rugs that gave meaning to the phrase “snug as a bug,” on which perched great medieval banquet tables. In the winter, a fire would roar in the great brass hearth, and we would pull couches up, and roast splitting too-hot chestnuts in pans on the flames. Then the double staircase, which curled like a moustache to the second floor, where we had the white-paneled billiards room, and a library which is a reconstruction of the famed 14th century Merton College library, down the street from where I live in England. Then out onto the balustrade, held up by Grecian columns, overlooking the fountained courtyard to one side, and the gazeboed lawns to the other. And finally, back down to the dining room, long with two rows of round tables that welcomed like the curves of open arms. And above the fireplace, in Latin as permanent as the stone itself, read: “Where there are friends, there are riches.”

That hearth was never lit, but there was fire, full of light and heat, which blazed from it. There are many things that are criticized about the eating clubs, and looking back, though I loved Cottage like my home, it is supernatural that a group of twenty year- olds should have a full staff. People may sense its hauteur as being cold, and debilitating to an already privileged youth, but standing next to Cottage when I was young, and alone, and cold, and confused, was like standing back under the Florida sun. I used to stamp in from the cold, shaking the snow off that had accumulated on the odyssey from the bowels of the library. I would toss my coat to the side, and march into the dining room, with its somehow stately tiger-print curtains. I would take my burgundy cloth napkin from my little member’s cubby hole like the red badge of courage that it was, and go to the buffet for my dinner. With a plate of steaming, oozing “Cottage potatoes” (the best gratin Dauphinois you could ever hang your hat on), I would wander towards Ephraïm, who would seat us religiously in the order in which we arrived, around the great, wide, round tables.

Food for Thought

The eating clubs provided food for thought. I shared those tables with some of the brightest minds of my generation, and while the talk would inevitably begin with a recent trip to New York to visit a Theory sample sale, it would undoubtedly after a few hours meander down the unexplored alleyways of string theory. No two of us did the same thing, and by the time we had plunged into our theses, dinner conversation usually oscillated as regularly as the pendulum of the old grandfather clock between the New York Yankees, and Civil War Yankees; between BMW mechanics, and quantum mechanics; between Henry David Thoreau, and a thorough recapitulation of last Saturday night’s escapades. We would stay seated long past the departure of our quickly-emptied plates, with the snowflakes stopping to peak in from the outside and our bright little party, the reluctance palpable when we knew we could not press another minute out of this already drained night. Then, it was home, to slip between the sheets of a bed with the one you loved, or the sheets of a book if you had to.

Our clubs cost many thousands of dollars, and many of us were fortunate enough to have known many worldly riches. But we also knew that our time there was fleeting. There is a tangible tragedy to Princeton; its nighttime air seems to ring with the generations who still parade down the ghostly knolls of Old Nassau. It is finite. And we knew that the riches extolled above the Cottage fireplace had no value that could be bought. Those friends, like Lauren, with whom I sat, chewing the fat, are by far my greatest wealth. Those hours that I spent there with them, eating, and speaking, and listening, felt like they took place at the center of the Earth, where the world stopped spinning, and the pendulum on that old great grandfather clock would finally rest from its grueling repetition. Time stood still, and we clutched at our youth with such a thankful and ferocious tenacity. Those hours, this side of Paradise, though they seemed to unfold at the very center of the Earth, were as close to heaven as I knew how to get.

But the pendulum never did go still, and the world never did stop from turning. Time passed, and at the end of four years, like all Princetonians before us, we were released, like hopeful bright doves from a lovely, cushy cage. We flew in every direction: some of us up to rest in the real Paradise far too young, others confined to a fiery hell of a disappointing Wall Street, feeling far too old. Me, I flew off to Europe. Lauren, back to California. Rarely now do the paths, which once led to the same door every night, cross—but she reads my column every week. Though we cannot savor each other, we must relish the successes that keep us apart. And so, as a celebration of the years gone past, of the steady, sure march of time, whose pace we have now grown to know, and that has led Lauren, the first of my Princeton friends, to marry a man who is worthy of her, I offer the things I love most: a few chosen words, and a few bites of food, the things that originally brought us together around those round tables years ago now, handmade just for her.

I believe I quote Fitzgerald when I write that “This is wisdom: to love, and to live.” Princeton taught me the first; my life since has taught me the other. To Lauren and Jason: I hope you’ll do both.

Très Bien Ensemble

The soon-to-be newlyweds both love steak and olives; I ate a lot of both at Cottage, though I rarely ate them together. For this recipe, I tried them in a pas de deux, and its success is a testament to the coupling of two seemingly different, but ultimately complementary forces. I blend a chunky, briny, tapenade Provençale from both black and green olives, and spoon it onto a seared, sliced strip steak. The meat, with its crisp, tender, mellow bite is brightened by the piquancy of the bubbling, herbaceous tapenade. Lauren and Jason, I’m not sure which of you is the steak and which is the olives, but I hope you’ll agree that the two go very well together—that they are très bien ensemble.

About the author: Kerry Saretsky is the creator of French Revolution Food, where she reinvents her family's classic French recipes in a fresh, chic, modern way. She also writes the The Secret Ingredient series for Serious Eats.

Sliced Steak with Chunky Two-Olive Tapenade

-serves 2 to 4-

Steak Ingredients

2 12-ounce New York strip steaks
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper
Herbes de Provence

Steak Procedure

1. Season the steaks with the olive oil, and a liberal amount of salt, pepper, and herbes de Provence.

2. Heat a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium to medium-high heat. Sear the steaks 6-7 minutes per side, then allow to rest for 10 minutes.

3. Slice, and serve with the two-olive tapenade (recipe follows).

Chunky Two-Olive Tapenade Ingredients

1 clove garlic
2 cups mixed pitted nicoise and picholine olives (or any black and green olives you like)
Leaves from 5 stems of fresh thyme
1/2 tablespoon anchovy paste
1 tablespoon fresh flat leaf parsley
1 1/2 tablespoons capers
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup olive oil
Salt and pepper

Chunky Two-Olive Tapenade Procedure

1. Demolish the garlic clove in the food processor. Then add in all the rest of the ingredients and pulse until you are left with an olive rubble.

2. Spoon over the hot sliced steak, and serve extra on the side with baguette. If you have extra tapenade, you can serve it with anything: baguette sandwiches, crudités, chicken, fish. You may want to double the recipe, just to have it on hand.

Serious Salsa: (Not Exactly) My Uncle's Salsa

2009-07-09T21:00:00Z

Note: You may know Lisa Fain as the Homesick Texan. We (along with many other people) have been fans of her work for quite some time now. She'll be joining us each week this summer with a refreshing salsa recipe for you to try. Take a gander. And now, andale, Lisa, andale!

“I must have done something right because the bowl was soon empty.”

I can’t remember a time when there wasn’t a salsa within my reach. From the stone bowls of fiery red and green salsas on the table at my favorite Mexican restaurants to the slender bottles of pepper vinegar used to liven up fried catfish, salsas are my condiment of choice.

Of course, I’m not alone in this love. It’s been widely reported that Mexican-style salsas now outsell ketchup in this country. And while there are many fine bottled salsas on the market, you haven’t really had salsa until you’ve made it yourself.

You can make salsas year-round, but I think the summer months are the best time for salsas, as most of the ingredients needed are in season and fresh. Everything from raspberries to radishes, peaches to corn—all are an excellent foundation for a vibrant, piquant salsa.

The first homemade salsa I ever made was my uncle’s—a simple tomato-based affair, made with tomatoes, jalapeños, onions, and cilantro. He also throws in a generous dose of chili powder, his secret ingredient that gives it a Tex-Mex kick.

It’s an old family favorite that we slather on everything—from turkey leftovers at Thanksgiving to hamburgers on the Fourth of July. And naturally, it’s a fine dipping sauce for tortilla chips, too.

When I first moved to New York, I was missing this salsa something fierce. I asked my uncle for the recipe, but he admitted that he didn’t have one; if I wanted to figure out how to make it, I’d just have to watch and learn.

I took diligent notes, but when I presented him with my interpretation he took a bite, shook his head, and said, “This is nothing like my salsa! What have you done?”

But I chose to ignore him—he’s prone to exaggeration, after all. And I must have done something right because the bowl was soon empty.

So even though this salsa may not be exactly like my uncle’s, it’s still bright, spicy, and refreshing. And that’s the beauty of salsa—it’s flexible enough that when you make it you can make it your own.

(Not Exactly) My Uncle’s Salsa

Ingredients

1 can tomatoes (28-ounce; or about a pound of fresh Roma tomatoes, peeled and chopped)
2 Serrano peppers, diced (or you can substitute 2 jalapeños, which are milder.) Be sure and either wear gloves or wash your hands immediately after chopping the peppers so you don’t burn other parts of yourself.
1 cup of cilantro leaves
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1/4 cup diced onion
2 tablespoons of chili powder (add more to taste, if you like)
Salt to taste
A dash of sugar
Juice from 1/2 lime

Procedure

Put all ingredients in the blender and blend until smooth. Taste and adjust spices if needed.

About the author: Lisa Fain is a seventh-generation Texan who now hangs her hat in New York City. To keep in touch with her roots, she writes and photographs the food blog Homesick Texan.

Dinner Tonight: Smoked Trout "Pâté"

2009-07-09T20:00:00Z

Smoked trout is a criminally underreported ingredient in my book. Smoked salmon gets all kinds of attention, in its cold-smoked form as the centerpiece of bagels, but the humble trout has no one to sing its praises. It's always found in hot-smoked form, meaning it's fully cooked and flaky. Healthy and relatively inexpensive, you can add it to any number of dishes—soups, spreads, and pastas. I still think about the smoked trout patties I made while back, which were wonderfully flavorful.

I came across this recipe in a Times Online article, which lists five unique ways to use smoked trout. I went with their first suggestion, a dip which they've fancifully called a "pâté." Whatever you want to call it, I took this appetizer and turned it into a light summer meal with a big salad of lightly dressed mesclun greens alongside. Finn Crisp crackers, available in many grocery stores, were the perfect vehicle for the creamy, smoky concoction balanced with lemon juice and spiked with a pinch of cayenne.

Smoked Trout "Pâté"

-serves 2-

Adapted from TimesOnline

Ingredients

10 ounces smoked trout fillet, skin and bones removed
3.5 ounces cream cheese
Juice of half a lemon
Cayenne pepper, to taste
Rye crackers or toast

Procedure

1. Mash the fillets with the cream cheese and lemon juice. Season to taste (the trout will already be somewhat salty).

2. Add a pinch of cayenne, if desired and to taste. Serve on crackers or toast.

Cook the Book: Crepas Salguero

2009-07-09T17:15:00Z

I've alway thought of making dulce le leche at home as a bit of molecular gastonomy. It's pretty easy, just simmer a can of sweetened condensed milk on your stove top for a few hours and the contents of the can transforms itself from sticky insipid condensed milk into sweet and caramelly delicious dulce de leche. Latin American home cooks have been doing this for years, but every time I accomplish this feat at home, I feel as though there was a bit of magic or at least some complicated science involved. (I must warn you that making dulce de leche at home requires a bit of attention. Monitoring the water level over the cans is imperative, they must be completely covered by at least 1 inch of water at all times throughout the cooking process.)

These Crepas Salguero from Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer's The Barcelona Cookbook are a take on the pancakes de dulce de leche that are served all over Uruguay. The traditional preparation is French-style crepes filled with whipped cream and dulce de leche. Sounds pretty amazing, right? These are embellished with a bittersweet chocolate sauce infused with coffee and served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. The recipe sounds incredible as it is, but I wonder what would happen if I replaced the vanilla with dulce de leche ice cream, or even better salted caramel ice cream...

Win 'The Barcelona Cookbook'

As always with our Cook the Book feature, we have five (5) copies of The Barcelona Cookbook to give away this week. Enter to win here »

Crepas Salguero

- serves 4 -

Adapted from The Barcelona Cookbook by Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer.

Ingredients

Crepes

Two 12-ounce cans condensed milk
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup milk
1/2 cup water
1 large egg
1 tablespoons butter, melted
2 tablespoons sugar

Chocolate Sauce

1 pound semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped, or 1 pound semisweet or bittersweet chocolate chips
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
1/2 cup brewed coffee
2 cups whipped cream, sweetened if desired, for serving
2 pints vanilla ice cream, for serving

Procedure

1. To make the dulce de leche: Remove the labels from the cans of condensed milk and submerge them in a large pot filled with water. Bring to a boil over high heat, reduce to a rapid simmer for about 4 hours. Add water as needed. Check often to make sure that the can are always covered with water by at least 1 inch; otherwise they could explode. Remove the cans from the water and let them cool.

2. In a large mixing bowl, mix together the flour, milk, ware, egg, and melted butter. Whisk by hand for about 2 minutes. Add the sugar and whisk for 2 minutes longer. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl and let the crepe batter rest for about 20 minutes.

3. To make the chocolate sauce: Put the chocolate in a microwave-safe bowl and microwave for 2 1/2 to 3 minutes, or until softened and shiny. The chocolate will not melt completely. Add the cream and coffee and stir until smooth. Set aside at room temperature.

4. Heat 2 9-inch nonstick pans over low heat. If you have seasoned 9-inch crepe pans, use them. Spray lightly with vegetable oil spray and ladle 3 tablespoons of crepe batter into the pans. Tip and roll the pans to spread the batter evenly over the bottom of the pans and cook for about 2 minutes. Using a spatula, flip the crepes and cook for 2 minutes longer, or until lightly browned. Lift the crepes from the pans and stack on a plate. These crepes do not stick to one another. Continue cooking the crepes until you have 16. Expect to throw out the first crepe in each pan; this is typical, as anyone who has made crepes knows. The first one never works, and after it has flopped, the pan is seasoned appropriately so that the rest are prefect.

5. Open the cans of boiled condensed milk. The milk will be caramel brown and thick.

6. Lay the crepes out on a work surface. Spread a thick stripe - about 2 tablespoons - of the dulce de leche (the boiled condensed milk) down the center of each crepe. Top the dulce de leche with an equal-sized stripe of whipped cream. Roll the crepes like a cigar and put 2 crepes on each plate.

7. Ladle about 3 tablespoons of the chocolate sauce over the crepes and serve with ice cream.

Seriously Italian: Breadcrumb-Stuffed Vegetables

2009-07-09T13:00:00Z

"Besides being cheap and accessible, breadcrumbs are truly a blank canvas for individual creativity."

Verdure Ripieni, or stuffed vegetables, are popular in many of Italy’s regions, with varying nods to local ingredients and traditions. Through the ages Italians have always relied on breadcrumbs as an economical and easy way to stretch a few ingredients into something tasty and belly-filling. Although these beauties make a terrific side dish for grilled or roasted meats, they’re hearty enough to be a meal on their own.

Besides being cheap and accessible, breadcrumbs are truly a blank canvas for individual creativity. Remember this golden rule for seemingly simple dishes: when working with only a few ingredients, make sure they are top notch, and treat them with the utmost care. There is far less room for error when a dish has only two or three elements.

Homemade breadcrumbs are best, and most Italians insist on making their own. I picked up a small sourdough boule at the farmer’s market last weekend for mine. I trimmed the crust just a tiny bit and cut the bread into even-sized cubes, leaving them uncovered for about a day to dry them out, then toasted the cubes until they were slightly brown. After a few batches in the food processor, I had a huge pile of tasty crumbs of variegated gold. If you can’t make your own, breadcrumbs from the local bakery are the next best bet. I don't trust supermarket breadcrumbs. Where did they come from, and when were they made?

I could have used full-sized vegetables, but I found some miniature tomatoes and sweet peppers at the farmers' market that inspired a diminutive theme. I cut zucchini into thick rounds, and wedged some sweet Vidalia onions. With a small paring knife, I cut the core out of the onions to create a crater to hold the crumbs. I cut the peppers in half and removed the ribs and seeds, cored the halved tomatoes, and made little cavities in the center of the zucchini rounds.

To finish the vegetable prep, generously grease a baking dish that will snugly hold all the vegetables with extra-virgin olive oil, then arrange the vegetables inside, brushing them with more of the oil and seasoning with salt and pepper. Preheat the oven to 375°F.

To season 3/4 of a cup of breadcrumbs, I heated three tablespoons of olive oil in a pan. I had some 'nduja from Boccalone in the refrigerator, so I melted about an ounce of that into the oil; you can infuse the oil with minced garlic, or a squirt of anchovy paste, or render some finely chopped pancetta, prosciutto or guanciale in the oil to enrich the crumbs.

I mixed the crumbs with oil, and added a handful of minced, chopped herbs: I used parsley, marjoram, basil and mint from our garden. I also added three minced scallions and a few spoonfuls of grated Pecorino Romano; grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Grana Padano works too. A few squirts of fresh lemon juice ties all the flavors together.

Cram the crumbs into all the nooks and crannies of the vegetables, and create little mounds on top. It isn't necessary to be neat and fussy since the crumbs that fall between are going to make a delicious “sauce” when it is all done. Store any leftover crumbs in an airtight container in the refrigerator for the next use; they are delicious tossed with al dente pasta and olive oil.

Drizzle over more olive oil over the top, and pour a splash of white wine and enough water into the bottom of the pan to come up about one-third of the depth of the vegetables. Cover the pan with tin foil and bake the vegetables for about 25 to 30 minutes. Remove the foil and add a little more water if necessary, and bake for an additional 15 to 20 minutes, or until the vegetables are tender and the breadcrumbs are toasty on top.

We decided to make a meal out of our verdure ripieni, serving them with herbed rice and a simple salad—a colorful, economical and nutrition-packed meal.

About the author: Gina DePalma is the pastry chef at Mario Batali's Babbo restaurant in New York City and the author of Dolce Italiano: Desserts from the Babbo Kitchen. She is currently in Rome researching her next book and further exploring her passions for Italian food.

Dinner Tonight: Kale and White Bean Pasta

2009-07-08T20:00:30Z

The holiday weekend meant a round full of cookouts, resulting in eating more than my fair share of meat: steak, grilled chicken, and a hamburger or two. Luckily, my mom sent me back to Chicago with a bag full of kale from her own garden. I wanted a good vegetarian recipe to utilize the bounty and hopefully atone for what I ate previously. I found this recipe for Tuscan kale and white bean pasta from Care2 and figured it would be a good first step.

The kale becomes incredibly tender, and the beans add some much needed heft to each bite. The slight kick of red pepper flakes is balanced by the acidity of the tomatoes. If you happen to have everything around, it's an easy and remarkably healthy dinner—the recipe's author suggests using a whole wheat pasta to make things even healthier. I felt awfully good about myself after this. That said, there is something definitely missing from this recipe and I'd bet a hundred dollars that bacon would make everything right.

About the author: Nick Kindelsperger is a freelance writer in Chicago and the co-founder of The Paupered Chef.

Kale and White Bean Pasta

- serves 2-3 -

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 cup diced onion
1 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 1/4 pounds kale, chopped into 1-inch pieces
1 cup canned tomatoes, chopped
3/4 cup vegetable broth
Salt and black pepper
1 cup canned white cannellini beans, rinsed
1/2 pound pasta
Parmesan cheese (optional)

Procedure

1. Pour the oil into a skillet set over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft. Then add the garlic, pepper flakes, and half of the kale. Cook for an additional 2 minutes.

2. Dump in the tomatoes and the rest of the kale. Season with a pinch of salt. Cover the skillet and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium, and cook for 15 minutes.

3. Add the beans and cook until warmed.

4. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook for one minute less than the directions on the packaging. When done, drain the pasta and toss it into the pan with the kale. Turn the heat to high and cook for an additional minute.

5. Season with salt and pepper to taste, sprinkle with Parmesan if using, and serve.

Fire-Roasted Peppers with Boquerones

2009-07-08T20:00:00Z

The following recipe is from the July 8 edition of our weekly recipe newsletter. To receive this newsletter in your inbox, sign up here!

Are there certain items that you see on a menu and just cannot resist ordering? For me one of those ingredients is white anchovies, they are one of my most favorite things to eat and I don't think I have ever passed them up if they are being served. White anchovies have absolutely nothing to do with those hairy brown canned filets that so many people are horrified by. Known as boquerones in Spain, they are delicately preserved in a mix of vinegar, olive oil, and salt. They are fleshy and fresh tasting and a perfect partner for a cocktail or a glass of wine.

This recipe for Fire-Roasted Peppers with Boquerones from The Barcelona Cookbook by Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer incorporates another of my must order items, crostini. Give me a toasty slice of baguette with any type of topping and I'm happy; top that slice of bread with a white anchovy or two and I'm in heaven.

You can find white anchovies in jars or Cryovac packages in most fancy food shops. To ensure that they stay tasty for a few weeks, simply drain them and repack them in a jar with some good olive oil and fresh parsley.

Fire-Roasted Peppers with Boquerones

- serves 4 -

Adapted from The Barcelona Cookbook by Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer.

Ingredients

48 pieces drained boquerones
1 3/4 cups extra virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, very thinly sliced (preferably using a mandoline)
2 red bell peppers
4 scallions, both white and green parts, thinly sliced on the diagonal
1/4 teaspoon sweet smoked paprika (pimentón de la vera dulce)
Kosher salt
Twelve 1/2-inch-thick baguette slices

Procedure

1. In a medium glass or ceramic bowl, mix together the boquerones, 1 cup of olive oil, and the garlic slices. Toss well, cover, and refrigerate for at least 2 hours and up to 2 days.

2. Preheat the oven to 450°F.

3. Rub the peppers with 1 tablespoon of the remaining olive oil. Lay the peppers on a baking sheet and roast for 12 to 15 minutes, or until the side of the peppers resting on the baking sheet is wrinkled and almost black. Turn the peppers over and continue roasting for 7 to 8 minutes longer or until the peppers are nicely charred on all sides.

4. Transfer the peppers to a medium bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let the peppers steam as they cool in the bowl for about 10 minutes.

5. Pull the charred skin from the peppers and cut each one in half. Remove the membranes and scrape out the seeds. Slice the peppers into strips about 1/8 inch wide and transfer to the bowl with the boquerones.

6. In another small bowl, combine the scallions with about 3 tablespoons of the remaining olive oil. Season with the paprika and a pinch of salt. Set aside until needed or cover and refrigerate for up to 24 hours.

7. Preheat the oven to 425°F.

8. Drizzle the remaining 1/2 cup of olive oil on both sides of the baguette slices and lay the slices on a baking sheet. Toast for 5 to 6 minutes, or until lightly browned. Rotate the baking sheet and turn the bread slices over. Toast for about 5 minutes longer, or until crispy and honey brown.

9. Let the bread slices cool and then top each with about 2 tablespoons of the pepper mixture and scallions. Lay 3 boquerones on top of the peppers and serve.

Cook the Book: Almejas con Chorizo

2009-07-08T16:45:00Z

I'm going to let you in on a little secret: Sautéed clams are one of easiest and most rewarding quick meals that you can make. I think that lots of people are under the assumption that clams, mussels, and oysters are best left to the experts. I am certainly not going to ask any of you to start shucking dozens of oysters at home, but clams and mussels are another story. They are inexpensive and infinitely versatile—simply heat up a pan with some sort of fat (olive oil or butter seem to work the best), add some aromatics such as onions, garlic, leeks, scallions, and fresh herbs, and steam with a flavorful liquid, white wine, stock, beer, or vermouth. Serve with a loaf of crusty bread, maybe a salad, and you are finished. Between rinsing and scrubbing, and chopping a few herbs, you are looking at less than 10 or 15 minutes to the table, and impressive to boot.

This recipe for almejas con chorizo from The Barcelona Cookbook by Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer is a classically Spanish version of steamed clams. It's a wonderful summer dinner, especially if you are feeling a bit too warm to turn on the stove. Chop and sear the chorizo, add the garlic, thyme, wine, and clams. The best part about cooking with shellfish is that come equipped with their own timer—when the shells open, they're done.

Win 'The Barcelona Cookbook'

As always with our Cook the Book feature, we have five (5) copies of The Barcelona Cookbook to give away this week. Enter to win here »

Almejas con Chorizo

- serves 4 -

Adapted from The Barcelona Cookbook by Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer.

Ingredients

24 littleneck or Manilla clams
Two 4-inch-long links smoked Spanish chorizo sausage
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 cloves garlic, very thinly sliced (preferably with a madoline)
2 cups dry white wine
Leaves from 5 sprigs fresh thyme, coarsely chopped

Procedure

1. Scrub the clams under cold running water. Drain and dry the clams.

2. Slice the sausage links lengthwise into 3 pieces and then slice across the sausage pieces into strips about 1/2 inch wide.

3. Heat a large saute pan over medium-high heat and, when hot, add the olive oil. Add the chorizo slices and sear for about 3 minutes, or until nicely browned. Add the garlic and cook for about 2 minutes, or until browned.

4. Add the clams, wine, and thyme, shake the pan carefully, and cover with a lid, aluminum foil, or a plate and cook for 7 to 8 minutes, or until the clams have opened. (Discard any do not open.) Using tongs or a slotted spoon, remove the clams from the pan and divide evenly among 4 shallow serving bowls or put in one large bowl.

5. Turn the heat to high and cook the sauce for 4 to 5 minutes, or until slightly reduced and thickened. Pour the sauce and the sausage slices over the clams and serve.

Dinner Tonight: Egg Salad with Fennel

2009-07-07T20:30:00Z

While I always appreciate the straightforwardness of a classic recipe, new ideas are welcome, too. I'll admit, though, that it wasn't easy to convince myself that egg salad needed to be messed with. The recipe I posted some months ago has always done me well. And since I don't crave egg salad all that often, why change when that time comes? Well. Curiosity.

Even though that post garnered a storm of comments of personal recipes (relish, capers, mustard, and Old Bay seasoning all made appearances), none of them mentioned the key ingredient in this recipe, which is fennel. Every egg salad needs that crucial crunch, a role often played by celery; fennel makes a nice alternative with its unique flavor. A little lemon zest is next, since it pairs so well with fennel, and minced garlic adds a savory note.

It make lack the sublime simplicity of my go-to recipe, but it's definitely going in my picnic repertoire.

Egg Salad with Fennel

-serves 4-

Adapted from Gourmet magazine

Ingredients

8 large eggs
1 garlic clove
1/2 cup mayonnaise, preferably homemade
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 fennel bulb, finely chopped, plus 1 Tbsp finely chopped fronds

1. Place eggs in a medium pan and cover with cold water. Bring to a gentle boil and simmer, uncovered, for 10 minutes. Drain water and run eggs under cold water until no longer hot. Peel and chop the eggs.

2. Mince garlic clove and smash with a pinch of salt into a paste. Whisk into the mayonnaise along with the lemon juice, zest, mustard, and fresh black pepper. Season to taste.

3. Stir chopped fennel into the dressing, then gently stir in the eggs. Serve on toast with the fennel fronds sprinkled over the top.

Zucchini, Black Bean and Chicken Burritos on the Grill

2009-07-07T19:00:00Z

Editor's note: Philadelphia food writers Joy Manning and Tara Mataraza Desmond drop by each week with Meat Lite, which celebrates meat in moderation. Meat Lite was inspired by their book, Almost Meatless.

There’s plenty of real estate on those grill grates for more than just burgers and giant slabs of meat. In the summer, the grill comes in handy for direct open-flame cooking, for simulating roasting, and for reheating or gently heating all kinds of ingredients. This recipe is fast and cooked completely on the grill, keeping things cool in the kitchen and clean up easy. One 1-pound chicken breast fills out the marinated zucchini and black bean mixture that becomes the filling for the burrito.

Grilling chicken with the skin on and bone in helps keep the meat tender and juicy. You can peel the skin away before serving if you prefer, and you’ll cut the meat from the bone to serve. It takes a little longer to cook chicken through when the bone is in, but it will prevent the stiff, flavorless results so commonly endured with grilled boneless, skinless chicken breasts.

If you’re eating with vegetarian family or friends, don’t mix the chicken in with the veggies and beans before serving, and make this a meat-optional meal.

Zucchini, Black Bean and Chicken Burritos

-Serves 4-

Ingredients

2 medium zucchini (about 2 pounds), cut into 1/4-inch pieces
1 1/2 cups cooked black beans (or 1 15-ounce can)
1 small red onion, sliced thin
2 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced thin
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teasppon freshly ground black pepper
1 pound bone in, skin on chicken breast (1 split chicken breast)
Fresh cilantro leaves for garnish
4 burrito size flour tortillas
Sour cream (optional)
Shredded cheese (optional)

1. Combine the zucchini, black beans, red onion, garlic, vinegar, olive oil, cumin, salt and pepper in a large mixing bowl. Cover and let marinate for about 30 minutes.

2. Preheat the grill to medium-high.

3. Season the chicken breast with salt and pepper, and baste with about 1 teaspoon of oil.

4. Put the marinated veggies and beans on a sizeable piece of foil (about 24 inches long) and arrange the mixture in a long thin pile. Pull the long sides of the foil up over the pile and tuck the edges together to enclose the mixture. Fold the ends in to seal the foil vessel.

5. Put the veggie package and the chicken breast on the hot grill grates and grill 15-20 minutes, until the chicken is done and the vegetables are hot and just tender. Turn the chicken once while it cooks.

6. Let the chicken rest about 5 minutes before slicing into thin strips. While the chicken rests, put the tortillas directly on the hot grill grates and grill about 1 minute per side, until hot and slightly scorched.

7. Toss the grilled chicken strips with the veggies and beans. Put several heaping spoonfuls of the mixture in the middle of each tortilla, top with cilantro, sour cream and cheese and fold into a burrito.

About the author:Tara Mataraza Desmond writes about, cooks, and eats food for a living. She blogs about food and life through words and pictures at Crumbs On My Keyboard.

Cook the Book: Catalan Potatoes Bravas

2009-07-07T17:00:00Z

Whenever I see patatas bravas on the menu of a tapas place, I smile. My rudimentary knowledge of Spanish immediately translates this dish to "brave potatoes," and images of heroic, life-saving potatoes come to mind—handsome firefighting russets and dashing life guarding Yukon Golds. I guess it's a little silly.

According to Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer, authors of The Barcelona Cookbook, this classic tapa is more fierce than brave. The potatoes are made fierce by the addition of a slightly spicy and tangy tomato sauce that accompanies them, and a garlicky aioli is usually served as well. While mealy potatoes such as russets are used to make the fries that we are familiar with, waxy potatoes work best in this recipe.

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Catalan Potatoes Bravas

- serves 4 -

Adapted from The Barcelona Cookbook by Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer.

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds waxy potatoes, such as Yukon Gold, red-skin, or fingerling potatoes
Kosher salt
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 large Spanish onions, thinly sliced
6 cloves garlic, chopped
2 teaspoons sweet smoked paprika (pimentón de la vera dulce)
1 teaspoon hot smoked paprika (pimentón de la vera picante)
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
Freshly ground black pepper
One 35-ounce can plum tomatoes
1 1/2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
1 cup olive oil
Sea salt, for garnish
Barcelona Aioli (recipe follows), for serving

Procedure

1. Preheat the oven to 450° F.

2. Put the potatoes in a large pot and add enough cold water to cover by an inch. Add 4 tablespoons of salt and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat slightly and simmer for about 20 minutes, or until just fork tender. Drain the potatoes and set aside to cool. When cool, cut the potatoes into wedges or, if using fingerling potatoes, cut them in half lengthwise.

3. Meanwhile, in a large saucepan, heat the extra virgin olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions and cook for about 10 minutes, or until they soften but have not colored. Add the garlic and cook gently for 6 to 8 minutes, or until the garlic is tender and aromatic. Stir in both paprikas, the cumin, and the cayenne. Season to taste with pepper.

4. Put the tomatoes and their juice in a bowl, and using your hands, crush the tomatoes slightly. Add the tomatoes, their juice, and the vinegar to the saucepan and season to taste with salt and pepper. Bring to a simmer over medium heat and cook for about 20 minutes, or until the sauce is heated through.

5. Let the tomato sauce cool a little and then, working in batches, puree it in a blender until smooth. As one batch is pureed, transfer it to a bowl or a container with a tight-fitting lid. Use the tomato sauce right away or refrigerate for up to 3 days.

6. In a large bowl, toss the cooled potatoes with the 1 cup of olive oil and season to taste with salt and pepper. Spread the potatoes and the oil in a shallow baking pan and roast for 12 to 15 minutes, or until the potatoes are nicely browned on one side. Rotate the pan and turn the potatoes over. Roast for 8 to 10 minutes longer, or until browned and crisp on the other side.

7. Spoon a liberal amount of cooled tomato sauce in the center of each of 4 serving plates. Mound the potatoes on top of the sauce and garnish with sea salt. Serve with the aioli on the side.

Note: If you prefer fried potatoes, heat about 10 cups of canola or another vegetable oil in a deep, heavy pot until it registers 375° F on a deep-fat thermometer. If you don't have a thermometer, drop a small piece of potato into the oil, and if it bubbles around the edges of the potato, it's hot enough.

Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 250° F and line a baking sheet with several layers of paper towels.

Fry the potatoes in batches so that you don't crowd the pan. Carefully submerge them in the hot oil and let them cook for 4 to 6 minutes, or until crispy and browned. Lift the potatoes from the oil with a slotted spoon and let them drain on the paper towels. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and keep warm in the oven while you fry the remaining potatoes.

Barcelona Aioli

- makes about 1 1/4 cups -

Ingredients

6 cloves garlic
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 cup mayonnaise
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Procedure

1. In a small saucepan, combine the garlic cloves and 1/2 cup of the olive oil and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Cook for 5 to 7 minutes, or until the garlic is tender and honey gold. Watch the garlic carefully so that it does not overcook. Lift the garlic cloves from the oil with a slotted spoon and set aside on paper towels to cool. Discard the oil.

2. In a food processor fitted with the metal blade, puree the garlic cloves, mayonnaise, lemon juice, and remaining tablespoon of olive oil until smooth. Taste, season with salt and pepper, and pulse to mix.

3. Scrape the aioli into a lidded storage container and chill for up to 3 days.

The Nasty Bits: Tongue Tied

2009-07-07T15:00:00Z

As a Nasty Bits lover, I’m willing to argue that those who dislike offal simply haven’t had it prepared correctly. It's a large contention, I admit, and I’m sure my opponents will insist that it’s not a matter of preparation, but rather, an honest aversion to the essential nature of innards. Still, people say that it is the mark of a skilled and knowledgeable cook to take a humble cut and transform it into something spectacular, and I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment. We could have an entire discussion on the topic of taste and whether or not it can be objective in any sense, and we will, at some point.

But what I want to talk about this week is another theory I have about offal. I want to propose this point: that the aversion to offal is actually just a visceral reaction that stems from our visual capacity. That we can see what we eat before we eat it, in its natural or raw form, contributes very much to our judgment about its taste.

A nice, juicy steak looks delicious when it’s still raw—that intricate marbling of fat with meat, like snowy branches in a field of red, is beautiful even before we slap it on the grill. Similarly, fruits and vegetables are the beauties of the culinary world: Is there anything more attractive than a deeply purple and curvaceous eggplant, or a vine laden with sun-ripened tomatoes? These are the foods that beg to be handled and eaten, whereas the nasty bits are thusly named for a reason, because they look, well, kind of gross.

When we see blood, guts, and bone, what we're really viewing are the remnants of a form of life, and we may cringe in recognition of the death that occurred for those bits to be there. But in addition to the cognitive element of what it means to eat meat, there is the visceral reaction, which is in a way the more powerful of the two. Some innards, like honeycomb tripe, have a symmetrical appeal, but most kinds of offal are arrestingly nasty to the eyes of the beholder.

There is a reason why popular medical dramas use parts of animals in filming, or why medical students practice by operating on pigs. When we look down at that slab of calves liver, it looks eerily like our own liver, and in that moment of recognition, we get the feeling that there is something not quite right about eating that which so closely approximates our own.

No part of the animal illustrates this point more cogently than the tongue. When I set my cow’s tongue down on the chopping board, I took one look at it and was instantly struck by its remarkable resemblance to my own. The tongue, which is really more muscle meat than inner organ, possesses that signature, tell-tale curvature regardless of whether it comes from a calf, a cow, or a human.

Running my hand over the length of the cow’s tongue, I scrutinized the bumpy projections on its surface. Later, I learned that these projections, called papillae, contain the taste buds. Like rows of sea anemone or a neatly organized pin-cushion, the papillae uncannily resembled my own, only on a much larger scale. Wiggling my tongue in an absentminded manner, I felt the layers of muscles on the base of the cow's, and imagined the way it must have moved in the mouth of the ruminating beast. The tongue was large and weighed a few pounds; holding it in my hands, I could fathom, just for a moment, the deep aversion to offal that many eaters have. And then, I grew hungry.

The tongue is delicious. Like other tough cuts, it must be cooked for a lengthy period of time to become palatable, but when given the proper treatment, the tongue is tender yet beefy, with a pleasantly chewy texture resembling that of a well stewed gizzard or heart. If you haven’t had either, think of the richness and creaminess of beef short ribs.

I've been craving tongue for a few weeks now. My go-to Mexican place, the kind of mom and pop shop where the food is carefully cooked and served with love, makes a stellar Lengua en Salsa Verde. The father is always in the kitchen manning the sizzling hot griddle; the mother serves the tables and picks up the slack. Their precocious daughter, a tiny teenager who can give you impeccably good recommendations from their menu, runs the counter when she is not in school or doing her homework at a table nearby. It is the kind of place where you can sit down and rest assured that the dish you order is cooked just for you, by someone who knows what he is doing.

Braised and served in a pleasantly sour Salsa Verde, the tongue is tender and very rich, yet tempered by the piquancy of the sauce. Even a brief simmer will allow the tongue to absorb some of the Salsa Verde, which is easy enough to make once you track down the tomatillos. You can finish all the preparations for the tongue in advance; once simmered, it may be kept in the refrigerator for several days, or frozen, until you are ready to make the Salsa Verde. This recipe for Salsa Verde will make enough to accompany about half of the tongue.

Lengua en Salsa Verde

Salsa Verde adapted from Authentic Mexican, by Rick Bayless with Deann Groen Bayless.

Ingredients

1 cow’s tongue
1 pound (11 medium) fresh tomatillos, husked and washed
Fresh hot green chiles to taste (2 jalapenos or 3 serranos)
6 sprigs cilantro, roughly chopped
1 small onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
A few tablespoons lard
Beef or chicken broth, as needed
Salt

Procedure

1. To prepare the tongue: Bring a large pot of water to boil; salt the water somewhat heavily, as you would for pasta. Wash the tongue, and place it in the boiling water. Put a bowl, or a weight of some sort, on top of the tongue to ensure that it will be entirely submerged in the water during cooking. Simmer for 2.5 to 3 hours.

2. Remove the tongue from the water and let it cool down for a bit. Peel away the white casing surrounding much of the meat. The white layer is edible, but not very tasty. Depending on how much tongue you would like, slice it into segments about 1 inch long. One tongue will yield many servings.

3. In the meantime, prepare the tomatillo sauce: Wash and dehusk the tomatillos. If you prefer the sauce to be milder, remove the seeds from the chiles. Boil the tomatillos and chiles in salted water until tender, approximately 10 to 15 minutes. Drain.

4. Place the tomatillos and chiles in a blender or food processor, along with the cilantro, onion and garlic. Process until smooth, but still retaining a bit of texture.

5. Heat a tablespoon of the lard in a skillet over medium heat. When the skillet is hot enough to make a drop of the sauce sizzle, pour all of it in and stir constantly for about 5 minutes, until it becomes darker and thicker. Add the broth, return to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer until thick enough to coat a spoon, about 10 minutes. Season with salt, and set aside.

6. Heat a few more tablespoons of lard in a skillet, and add the pieces of tongue. Brown lightly on all sides. Taste a piece and season with more salt if needed.

7. Add the tomatillo sauce to the tongue, and simmer for a few minutes. Add a bit of stock if you see that the mixture is becoming too dry. The dish will be ready when the tongue has absorbed some of the flavor and spiciness of the sauce. Serve immediately, with tortillas on the side.

Dinner Tonight: Green Peas and Sugar Snap Peas in Sesame Dressing

2009-07-06T20:30:00Z

As I mentioned last Wednesday, I'm between apartments at the moment and am basically subsisting on Asian condiments and bags of frozen vegetables. This recipe, adapted from Epicurious, fits exactly into that framework. The sauce is made from standard Asian condiments I have in the fridge, and the peas come straight from the freezer. All I had to buy was some fresh sugar snap peas. Altogether, it's a perfect side for the soy-poached chicken I had earlier this week.

The original recipe was meant to celebrate fresh peas in all their spring glory. I'm sure they taste better fresh from the farm. But for a straight-from-the-freezer side, it's hard to get much simpler. Just toss both of these in boiling water for 30 seconds or so, dunk in an ice bath, and then dry and mix with the dressing. Obviously, the dressing pulls a lot of weight here. And it's a delicious combination of sesame oil, soy sauce, rice vinegar, and brown sugar.

Green Peas and Sugar Snap Peas in Sesame Dressing

- serves 3 to 4 -

Ingredients

3 cups green peas (freshly shelled or frozen)
12 ounces sugar snap peas, trimmed
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper

Procedure

1. Bring a pot of water to a boil. If you are using fresh peas, toss them in and cook them for 1 1/2 minutes. Add the sugar snap peas and cook for 30 seconds more. If you are using frozen peas, then add both to the pot and cook for 30 seconds. Remove them and drain in a colander. Run cold water over them to stop the cooking. Let drain in a colander and then dry with some paper towels.

2. Whisk together the vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, sugar, salt, and pepper.

3. Toss the peas with the dressing and serve at room temperature.

About the author: Nick Kindelsperger is a Chicago-based freelance writer and a cofounder of The Paupered Chef.

Cook the Book: Gazpacho Borracho

2009-07-06T18:00:00Z

Aside from a year of Spanish classes in high school, all of my knowledge of the Spanish language has come from working in restaurants. I can't carry on a basic conversation, but I can dissect a menu like a champ. The guys who I have worked with over the years taught me the name of every cut of meat and every fruit and vegetable out there, and along the way I learned a few other words, too. There are a few terms that came up over and over again, borracho is a common one.

While thumbing through the cocktail section of Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer's The Barcelona Cookbook, I came across this recipe for gazpacho borracho. Borracho translates to "drunk" in Spanish and gazpacho doesn't really need too much explanation. This cocktail is a bloody Mary taken to the next level—fresh, peppery, tomatoey, with a slight vinegar tang and the coolness of cucumbers. This recipe is for all the savory cocktail enthusiasts out there.

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Gazpacho Boracho

- serves 1 -

Adapted from The Barcelona Cookbook by Sasa Mahr-Batuz and Andy Pforzheimer.

Ingredients

Freshly ground black pepper
6 tablespoons Barcelona Gazpacho (recipe follows) or other tomato-based gazpacho
2 ounces Tito's handmade vodka or other high-quality vodka
Dash of Tabasco sauce
1 rib celery or 1 slice cucumber for garnish

Procedure

1. Fill an 8-ounce highball glass with ice and sprinkle with pepper.

2. Pour the gazpacho and vodka into a shaker filled with ice. Add the Tabasco and shake 10 to 12 times. Strain into the glass, garnish with celery or cucumber, and serve.

Barcelona Gazpacho

- serves 4 to 6 -

Ingredients

For the soup:
3 pounds very ripe tomatoes, cored and chopped
2 red bell peppers, seeded, cored, and coarsely chopped
1 English cucumber, peeled, seeded and coarsely chopped
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
6 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
1/2 day-old round loaf Italian bread, crust removed and bread cut into 1-inch cubes (about 4 cups)
1/4 cup sherry vinegar, or more to taste
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon ground cayenne
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, or more to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
4 cups tomato juice

For the garnish:
1/4 day-old round loaf Italian bread, crust removed and bread cut into 1-inch cubes (about 2 cups)
3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus about 2 tablespoons for drizzling
4 scallions, both white and green parts, thinly sliced
1 red bell pepper, seeded, cored, and cut into 1/2-inch dice
1 green bell pepper, seeded, cored, and cut into 1/2-inch dice
1/2 English cucumber, seeded, and cut into 1/2-inch dice

Procedure

1. To make the soup: In a large mixing bowl, combine the tomatoes, peppers, and cucumber.

2. In a saute pan, heat the olive oil and garlic over medium heat and bring to a simmer. Simmer very gently for about 15 minutes, or until the garlic is browned and tender. Transfer to the mixing bowl and add the bread cubes.

3. Stir the ingredients together and then add the vinegar, cumin, cayenne, and salt. Season with black pepper and set aside for about 1 hour to marinate.

4. Working in batches, blend the marinated vegetable and bread mixture in a blender or a food processor fitted with the metal blade until pureed. Transfer the puree to a large bowl and continue until it is all pureed. If it is too dry, add a few tablespoons of tomato juice to thin it out to suit your taste.

5. Strain into another bowl and then stir in the tomato juice. Taste the soup and adjust the seasonings with salt and vinegar if needed. Cover and refrigerate in a container with a thigh-fitting lid for up to three days.

6. For the garnish: Preheat the oven to 425° F.

7. Put the bread cubes in a medium bowl and pour the olive oil over them. Toss to mix so that the bread absorbs the olive oil and spread the bread cubes in a single layer on a jelly-roll or similar baking pan and bake for about 4 minutes. Rotate the pan, turn the croutons over, and continue baking for about 4 minutes longer, or until they are golden brown and crisp. When done, let the croutons cool on a baking sheet. These will keep in a tightly lidded container for up to 2 days.

8. Ladle 1 1/2 to 2 cups of the soup into each chilled soup bowl. Garnish each with about 1 1/2 tablespoons of the scallions, peppers, and cucumber. Top with about 2 tablespoons of croutons and a drizzle of olive oil. Serve immediately.

Healthy & Delicious: Squid in Red Wine Sauce

2009-07-06T15:00:00Z

Note: On Mondays, Kristen Swensson of Cheap, Healthy, Good swings by these parts to share healthy and delicious recipes with us. Take it away, Kristen!

Photograph from FotoosVanRobin on Flickr

When it comes to seafood, eating healthy, inexpensively, and sustainably is, to put it bluntly, really freaking hard. Fish that’s good for the environment isn’t easy on the wallet, and generally, cheap fish tastes little better than the mold lining Davy Jones’ locker. So, in tough times, when I want briny goodness from seven leagues deep, I turn to crustaceans (crab), bivalves (mussels), and cephalopods (squid).

Low in fat and generally delicious, these scale-less wonders are solid options for those with little in the way of fundage. Squid in particular is one of my favorites, whether it’s in a pasta dish or sautéed with a little lemon. Alas, I haven’t prepared it much at home, due to roommate issues with the smell. I understand this. If 70% of my day was spent in a 10x12 space adjacent to the kitchen, I wouldn’t want it reeking of mollusks, either.

As luck would have it, the roommates were out this week. So, I picked up a pound of cleaned squid ($6 at the farmer’s market) and brought it home for a round of Mark Bittman’s Squid in Red Wine Sauce. Squid is notoriously difficult to cook correctly over high heat, but Bittman’s recipe avoids that whole boondoggle by employing a 45-minute braising time. The result is perfectly textured seafood with a deep, wine-infused flavor. I loved this stuff, and The Husband-Elect, generally ambivalent about eating marine life, scarfed it down like Homer Simpson incarnate. (“Tentacles … mmm.”)

Two quick notes if you should endeavor to persevere: first, while I’m usually an advocate of fresh herbs, dried thyme goes beautifully here. Second, the recipe asks for a fruity wine. I used Yellowtail Shiraz, which isn’t exactly high-end stuff, and it worked really well. Plus, we drank the rest of the bottle the next day. Bonus.

So, next time you’re searching for affordable fish, look beyond the fins. You might be pleasantly surprised. Of course, make sure the roommates are out first.

Squid in Red Wine Sauce

serves 2 to 3
Adapted from Mark Bittman.

Ingredients

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
3 cloves garlic, crushed
1 pound cleaned squid, the bodies cut up if large
1/2 cup fruity red wine, like Côtes-du-Rhône
Several sprigs fresh thyme, or 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Chopped fresh parsley for garnish, optional

Procedure

1. Put 1/2 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet with a lid, and turn the heat to medium-high. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, until lightly browned. Add the squid and stir, then lower the heat, and add the wine. Stir, add the thyme, and cover.

2.Cook at a slow simmer until the squid is tender, about 45 minutes. Uncover, season with salt and pepper to taste, raise the heat, and cook until most but not all of the liquid is evaporated. Stir in the remaining olive oil, garnish with parsley, and serve.