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January 31, 2005

Phew!

Eighty percent of success is showing up.

                                                                - Woody Allen

And 90 percent of success is showing up with the food.  For last night's dinner-for-a-brother's-birthday, I cooked/prepped almost everything at home with lots of help from G and then we lugged it all up to my father's house (being elderly, he's somewhat housebound, and prefers us to come to him).   I'm going to say it with pictures, although we definitely have to get a digital camera.  The colors here are not really true; the rice was a luscious saffron yellow which contrasted beautifully with the coral shrimp and fresh green herbs.  Also we forgot to take pix of the apps and of the salad, which was a symphony of yellowy greens and darker greens, with romaine, avocado, mint, cilantro, scallions and green chilis...

Soup2



Asparagus-Leek Soup (the grated parm on top is the thing!)






Shrimp


                   

Saffron-scented Rice Pilaf with Shrimp






Cakenicecream



Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake; Mocha Ice Cream

January 30, 2005

A Vegetable Love

Since this weekend will have quite a bit of  feasting (the planned Sunday birthday dinner for my brother is already in play:  shopping done, Mocha Ice Cream in the freezer, Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake cooling on the rack, etc.), I thought it wise to put a low fat, purely healthy yet delicious dish on our Saturday dinner menu. 

I reached back in my memory to a time where I was constantly on a diet (thankfully in the distant past, she said with a shudder).  During that period (the major portion of my adolescent/young adult life), I was constantly searching for flavorful, filling dishes that were mainly composed of vegetables, since those were the foods that were "unlimited" on most diets at the time.  Ratatouille's always good, but you can only eat so much of it.  Vegetable soups are wonderful and filling, and I made many of them.  I do have a special love, however, for a vegetable dish which I invented to fill the hunger of the constant dieter  --  but which serves well for reformed dieters, vegans, and good eaters of any category. 

Moroccan-Style  Vegetable Stew

Makes at least 8 servings

Stew3

Nowadays I use olive oil in this dish, but if you wish, you can make do with no oil, by simply sweating the vegetables in a little water.  It will still form a nice thick stew.  It's delicious served with couscous, which is how we ate it, alongside a platter of roasted chicken in Meyer lemon-balsamic marinade.

1 large onion, diced
2 tbsp. olive oil
2 tsp. cumin
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. coriander
1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper (I like Turkish Aleppo), or more to taste
4 Tbsp. tomato paste
1/2 lb. of "baby-cut" carrots, or carrots cut into rounds or strips
1/2 lb  green beans, topped & tailed, halved or cut into approximately 2 inch lengths
1 yellow pepper, cut into small strips
1 red pepper, cut into small strips
2 medium zucchini, sliced into half-moons
1 15 oz. can of chick peas, drained
Salt and pepper to taste

In a pot large enough to eventually hold all the vegetables, heat the olive oil well and saute the onion until soft and translucent.  Add the spices and saute for a couple of minutes.  Stir in the tomato paste, and add enough water to form a thin sauce.  The method here is like that of a stir-fry -- add the long- cooking vegetables first, and the softer ones later on:  toss in the carrots, and let them cook for a few minutes, then the green beans and peppers, and at the end, when the harder veggies have become crisp-tender and you're almost ready to turn it off, add the zucchini and the chick peas.  I often turn it off at this point and just let the heat of the stew cook the zucchini.  You can also cook it in advance to this point, leaving everything just slightly undercooked, and then give it a last few minutes as you heat it to serve. 

January 28, 2005

Life Gives Me Lemons

Lemon2For the second time in less than two months, I've been gifted with something I absolutely adore.  Meyer lemons...you love them too, don't you?  If you don't, it's only because you haven't used them yet.  And if you haven't, you should.   No, really.  All right...well...perhaps I'm being just a tad opinionated, especially since some people really don't like lemons very much at all.  Or at least they think they don't.  One of those people actually lives with me.  We'll draw a tasteful veil over that particular discussion...the one about how I constantly use various ingredients that someone thinks he doesn't like, and he gobbles down all the food anyway...

But let's get back to our central theme here, which is the Meyer lemon.    This citrus, according to some definitions, is "not really a lemon at all", but a cross between a mandarin orange and a lemon.  It's somewhat sweeter than a regular lemon, and has a gorgeous, deep yellow-orange skin.  (The picture doesn't really do them justice; we don't have a good digital camera yet, so this is taken with a video camera and I don't think the color is really true.)  But what even the best picture couldn't give you is the Meyer's elusive perfume -- rather like a lemon, yet with a pervasively floral, something-slightly-orangey scent.  The juice of this citrus is a wondrous thing -- but the zest is even more bewitching. 

Several years ago, when I too was a neophyte with regard to this delectable fruit, I noticed its appearance as an ingredient in recipes and on menus -- mostly those of chefs and restaurants in California.  Meyer Lemon Tart; Farm-raised Chicken with Meyer Lemon and Chanterelles; Pan-Sauteed Sea Bass with Meyer Lemon Beurre Blanc; Meyer Lemon Mousse, Meyer Lemongrette Dressing...what was this phenomenon?  I explored, and finally found a few in a box on the floor at Fairway.  What a revelation!  Now that we can finally get them in New York, of course, they're practically passé.   By now the chefs have surely found new darlings to make much of on their menus and in their cookbooks.  But  I've found a passion that I'm confident will endure.

So, my recent good fortune:  first my friend Lea (who lives in Marin County and has a Meyer lemon tree in her yard) Fed-exed me a dozen gorgeous lemons for Christmas.  And this is a woman I've never even met!  She's a friend I made through an online culinary forum.  What a pal!  I made lemon curd, lemon cookies, lemon pasta, lemon dressings, lemon marinades.  Then I discovered that my colleague Joe was going to the Bay Area on a brief work-related trip, and I dropped a rather broad hint (something on the order of  "Joe, would you get me these special lemons that I know you've never heard of, but that I really really want?"  Subtle, no?).  Joe made a quick stop at a Farmers' Market in Oakland, and for a mere pittance (we won't talk about how much these little beauties cost in NYC) brought me back the golden orbs you see in the photo above, this very morning.  He also had the good sense to bring some back for Chris, his wife.

What fun I'm going to have.  Tonight's sauteed basa fillets benefited from a nice soak in some Meyer juice; tomorrow's chicken will receive a lovely marinade; and my brother's birthday dinner will include a lemon-scented pilaf and a lemon-dressed salad, as well as an asparagus soup brightened by the, umm, zestiness of the Meyer's zest.  Here's hoping that life (or good friends) will give you some lemons, too...and may they all be Meyer lemons.

January 26, 2005

Dinner at the Savoy

Adam over at The Amateur Gourmet is having a busy week, so he's exhorted all of his readers to "talk amongst themselves" by posting restaurant reviews.  I'll link to my comment on his site, but since this is long, I thought I'd post it here.

I’ve been wanting to try the Savoy for years.  And I really, really wanted to like it.  And I did like it.  I just didn’t love it, adore it, and feel as if I can’t wait to go back.   I’m still trying to figure out why. 

We went with friends on Christmas Eve, having made the reservation well in advance.  This, of course, was more than a month ago, so I may have forgotten a few things.  What surprised me upon entering was the fact that the space seemed so small.  New York is full of little restaurants that manage to seem cozy.  The Savoy just seems, well, small.  Cramped.  And somehow, not very welcoming.  What’s strange is I think they wanted to be – but something was missing.  Chef Peter Hoffman is famed for his support of small farmers, his use of fresh local produce, his belief in ethically raised food.  I suppose I thought that this kinder, gentler behavior would extend to customers as well.  And maybe it does on a night that’s not a holiday.  I may have gone at a time when the staff was overextended and perhaps not feeling a lot of holiday cheer themselves.  But my first impression of the restaurant was that it was cold.  And although our meal was for the most part excellent, the environment didn’t really grow any warmer. 

Certainly they were accommodating.   They were serving their regular winter menu, and in addition had a special prix-fixe chef’s menu for the holiday.  None of us wanted that menu, preferring to order a la carte, but my friend Bonnie and I both wanted the foie gras appetizer, which wasn’t on the regular menu.  We were told that it would be no problem. 

And it was great, truly great.  The foie gras was crisply seared without, and still quiveringly tender within.  It was served on a bed of sautéed cabbage, which at first sounded like an odd pairing to me.  All I can tell you is that it was wonderful.  Somehow the crisp-tender cabbage was infused with meaty flavors, while the foie gras had been sweetened with a fruit vinegar reduction, probably fig.  It was lovely, and made me feel as if I’d like to have a whole lot more foie gras in my life. 

Our table also had a very good roasted cauliflower appetizer, and a house-made sausage with a warm lentil potato salad.  These were hearty dishes, and although the menu descriptions make them sound fairly pedestrian, they were not.  I don’t know whether it’s the incomparable freshness of the ingredients, or the subtle use of almost undiscernable flavors, but almost every dish had a somewhat ethereal, out-of-the-ordinary quality.

For the main course, I had the salt-baked duck in a cider reduction.  Delightful, although slightly, umm, salty.  But that was to be expected, and the salt was fairly well balanced by the sweetness of the cider.  G had venison, which was tender and not at all gamy,  although very flavorful.  Unfortunately I can’t really remember the other entrees at the table.  We ordered a cheese plate for the table to share, and it was beautiful – a selection of 4 unusual cheeses with fruits, nuts and conserves. 

Honestly, I don’t remember a whole lot about the desserts.  And considering my almost-insatiable sweet tooth, that might imply that they simply weren’t memorable.  I do know that we had a plate with several different sorbets, none of which were identifiable.  They were all sort of sweet and mild.  I don’t really like that.  Sometimes that means that they’re made with such unusual ingredients that you simply don’t know what they are.  But I like sorbet to taste so intensely of fruit that you must of course immediately know of what fruit it is composed.  I know we also had a pear dessert, a tart or cake or something, which was good.  And knowing me, I probably ordered something chocolate.  My problem with long, multi-course meals is that I’m basically a cheap date. Despite my food infatuation, I have a limited capacity for food, and when in a restaurant, I often wish that I could have dessert a couple of hours after the meal – which is usually what I do at home. 

Throughout our meal, the service was adequate.  I just never really felt the warmth that I’ve come to associate with a luxurious meal.  I’m not looking for phony solicitousness, but rather people who actually seem to care when they inquire about your meal.  I may have been slightly spoiled by Danny Meyer’s  restaurants;  the staff members at Union Square Café, Gramercy Tavern, Tabla, and Eleven Madison Park are genuine, and somehow seem happy to be doing their jobs.  Nothing is too much or too difficult for them; they’re friendly and personal without being intrusive or obsequious.

The food was certainly delightful enough, however, that I’d be willing to give the Savoy another try on a non-holiday.  After all, I do have a birthday coming up…and it hasn’t been declared a national holiday yet, not as far as I know. 

January 25, 2005

The Delights of Anticipation

At times I feel as if I have a somewhat limited audience for my culinary efforts.  Don't get me wrong -- I love cooking for G, and he's extremely appreciative.  I mean extremely.  This is a guy who never complains -- even when I put mushrooms in his food.  He just leaves them in a neat little pile by the side of the plate.  And almost every evening, he tells me how good dinner is.  At the same time, he's pretty truthful, and will let me know that he's fonder of some things than of others.  But by and large, he loves just about everything I make, and considers himself lucky to have a partner who likes to cook.  Just as I consider myself lucky to have a partner who likes...well, no, he doesn't like to, but he does them.  Dishes, I mean.  So it all works out. 

But back to this "limited audience" dilemma.  We don't entertain a whole lot, for a variety of reasons, space being among the main ones.  So I really do love it when I have a chance to cook for a larger group -- larger being any number that exceeds us two.  I have two upcoming events:  one is a birthday dinner for my brother, to be held at my dad's apartment.  The other is a dinner to celebrate a couple we know who just got secretly, privately married. 

So I'm mulling over these two possible menus, and would welcome any and all feedback.  Of the various animal protein choices, my sister-in-law eats only fish, so that leaves me with the option of cooking separately for her, or having a seafood entree.  Right now, I'm thinking about shrimp, which always seems festive to me.  So here's the tentative menu for a brother's birthday dinner:

     Asparagus-Leek Soup
     Shrimp and Saffron Rice Pilaf
     Green Salad with Avocado & Meyer Lemon Dressing  (a version of Nigella's Green Fattoush Salad, for those of you who have Feast)
     Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake (again Nigella, How To Be A Domestic Goddess)
     Homemade Mocha Ice-Cream (the bro and SIL gave us an ice-cream maker for Christmas)

And here's the tentative menu for a celebratory dinner for just-married friends:

      Starter Salad: Roasted Beets, Watercress, Goat Cheese, Toasted Walnuts with a dressing of Blood Orange and Walnut Oil
      Roast Duck (I've never made duck at home, and I really want to try); Savory Cranberry/Orange Sauce
      Butternut or Delicata Squash Puree w/shallots, parsley & creme fraiche
      Broccoli Rabe (or some other bitter green) Sauteed with Garlic
      Pear-Cherry Crisp OR Almond Cake with Berry Sorbet

I love playing around with possibilities, especially when it comes to food.  I'm open to all suggestions...

January 24, 2005

Dessert, Anyway

Last night after a particularly lazy day (I was supposed to fly to Boston for a meeting which got cancelled because of the big snow here, so instead we lay around like bums all day), we went out for a snow walk to at least get outside for a bit, and to pick up a few things for dinner.  Which ended up falling into the "best laid plans" department.

We WERE going to have nice little sauteed filet steaks with shallots and herbs and what-have-you -- steaks which I had defrosted since I want to use them before they get freezer burn -- and I WAS going to make garlic mashed potatoes and broccoli.  WERE and WAS are the operative verbs here, as you can obviously see.  We got home from our brisk icy walk, stomped off on the mat and removed our respective boots, only to  find that our gas had mysteriously gone off and our stove simply had no fire.  No reason for this that we could possibly figure out, after multiple attempts to light the pilot.  So, the landlord's emergency number was called, Con Ed was called, various guys came to our apartment and found that SOMEONE (we still don't know who) had been in the basement and switched off our gas meter, deliberately, sometime between 1:00 (when I heated up some lunch) and 6:00 (when I tried to start cooking dinner).  The nice Con Ed fellows did turn the gas back on and tested everything to make sure we wouldn't blow ourselves up, but by this time I wasn't much in the mood to start cooking. 

So we started calling around for take-out...but our neighborhood sort of shuts down in the snow.  The Indian joint 12 blocks away refused to deliver -- apparently the delivery guys didn't want to ride the bikes in the snow, and were unwavering, despite shameless begging and pleading on my part.  Okay.  The Mexican joint two blocks away didn't answer the phone.  Ditto the Puerto Rican place next door.  In desperation we tried the Mexican-French Fusion restaurant that has just sounded too too strange to even try yet --  but they also had apparently called it a night on account of snow. 

CinnamontoastFinally I heated up leftover chili and cornbread for G, ate the chicken and avocado sandwich I was planning for my lunch tomorrow, and then recovered energy and sangfroid enough to make a perfect dessert for a snowy night:

Hot Chocolate with Marshmallows AND Whipped Cream
Crunchy Caramelized Cinnamon Toast

So tonight, thanks to the miracle of fire, I'll make that dinner I didn't make last night. 

January 23, 2005

The Weekly Shopping Oasis

Fairway_020332b

As I say in my little "About" blurb, I'm constantly on the lookout for decent places to go food shopping. I live in what's known in the real estate market as SpaHa. Never heard of it, I know. It's short for Spanish Harlem. These real estate dudes will nickname anyplace to make a buck. But seriously (as the stand-up comedians like to say), my neighborhood's fantastic for any Latino ingredients you want -- in the local supermarkets you can find special quesos and quesitos and quesillos and cremas from El Salvador and Honduras and Mexico. There are tomatillos and pipianes, fresh tortillas, and all the mojos and sofritos for Caribbean cooking as well. And our take-out places are great for pernil (Puerto-Rican style roast pork) and chicharrones (crunchy chunks of chicken), or enchiladas and chilaquiles. But it's very hard to find organic milk (or organic anything, for that matter -- I'm trying to be good about the dairy however). And honestly, sometimes the produce is less than spectacular at the local markets, which all seem to have the same astringent-cleanser-covering-decay smell as you walk in the door.

So my choices are limited. I can go 20 blocks downtown, where there's Eli's Vinegar Factory to the east and Dean and DeLuca to the west. G hates these places (which he likes to refer to as "Organic Gringo Unlimited"), mainly because we come out of there feeling as if we're going to have to go into hock in order to bring a few small bags of groceries home. Just for the record, however, I should say that G hates shopping in general, even at places where the prices are more reasonable.

But the East Side is an area where they're looking to soak you for your net worth (in our case, of course, they're not going to get much) whenever possible. So it's become my weekly routine to go to my favorite exercise/dance class on the West Side at noon on Saturdays, and after that to walk a few blocks downtown, do our big weekly shop at Fairway on 74th Street, and haul it all home in a cab, where G awaits me to schlep it all upstairs.

If you're visiting New York and you love food, get someone to take you to Fairway. If you're a New Yorker, and you don't yet know the wonders of Fairway, glory awaits you. Unfortunately, it often awaits you in the form of an elderly lady trying to ram her shopping cart up your achilles tendon so that you don't try to get ahead of her as you reach for your little paper deli number. That's why G hates Fairway, too, not just the yuppified East Side markets. Equal opportunity hatred of markets.  I, of course, love it.   Ahhh, Fairway.  My home away from home.  I can find almost anything I want for cooking there, and generally I can find it for less than elsewhere. 

So I go almost every week in solitary splendor (well, in exercise gear actually, since I'm coming from the gym) -- but by myself, is the point. That way I can wonder lonely as a cloud, and finger the nascent string beans. I can decide to buy the more expensive French rose garlic, meander through the aisles of fresh breads, olives, cheeses and a wealth of packaged goods from every place imaginable. I can try new artisanal chocolate from Spain without having to deal with sentences like "Did you make a list? How long is this going to take?" It's going to take as long as I want it to, and I can plan meals as I meander, based on whatever looks good. And then G's perfectly overjoyed to see me when I get home, laden with the basis of yummy meals for a week. I can stock up on the sorts of pasta and chicken stock and crushed tomatoes that I like, get a free-range chicken, replenish my supply of Maldon salt, and try those new preserved fruits from France.  And at home there's an un-stressed someone who's happy to haul the loot upstairs, and help unpack it. Works for me.

January 22, 2005

Beginning with a Finger in the Pudding...

Puddin5

This isn't so easy, finding a way of beginning here. But I suppose that like so many have done before me, I'll just have to start by, well, starting.

For the last couple of years I've been reading, enjoying and have sometimes been inspired to cook from a number of lovely food-related weblogs. I often hear a nagging voice in the back of my mind, "Gee, why don't I do that too..." The idea of having my own little baby blog itched at me, but has remained for a while, percolating inside my head rather than springing forth. Well, boys and girls, I've finally decided to let it out.

So today -- the day we finally got our first true winter snowfall of the season here in New York -- seems as good a day as any. Especially since I decided that a snow day necessitates a good dessert, and I made chocolate pudding. Not just any chocolate pudding, mind you, but the one that makes your heart go pit-a-pat -- partly because it makes you remember the puddings of childhood, but also because it has a totally artery-clogging cap of whipped heavy cream. And it's made of real chocolate, and sugar, and whole milk, although you could play around here with 1 or 2% milk if you wanted to, I suppose. And you can play with the degree of chocolatiness too. I use 70% or 85% cocoa solids chocolate -- either Scharffen Berger or Lindt or Valrhona. The bitterness provides such a wonderful counterpoint to the fluffy vanilla or boozily rummy whipped cream. But you might not like such a densely, darkly chocolate undertaking, preferring to go for something that recalls more of a Jello Pudding experience -- which is certainly what we had when we were kids, and a big treat we thought it, too. So in that case go for the semisweet...

Old Fashioned Chocolate Pudding

This recipe has evolved over a period of years from an attempt to turn a cornstarch-based vanilla blancmange into chocolate pudding. It took a while to get the proportions exactly right. I know the ingredients don't look like much, but somehow the result is greater than the sum of its parts.

What I've listed below makes quite a lot, so you can cut it in half if it sounds like too much. It's my favorite comfort dessert, so I tend to make an extra-large batch. The quantities below make about 8 servings.

6 oz. best bittersweet chocolate, chopped
4 cups organic whole milk
5 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 to 3/4 cup sugar
pinch salt
1 teaspoon vanilla (I love love love Nielsen-Massey Madagascar Pure Bourbon Vanilla)

1 1/2 cups organic heavy cream (we get this great stuff from Jersey cows that's thick and almost yellow)
1 teaspoon vanilla and/or 1 Tbsp. rum
2 tablespoons superfine/caster sugar

In a medium bowl, whisk together the cornstarch, sugar and salt. Slowly add 1/2 cup of cold milk, whisking until the mixture is smooth. Heat the remaining 3 1/2 cups of the milk to just below boiling in a large saucepan. Turn off heat, stir in chocolate, and let it melt thoroughly. Whisk the chocolate and milk together well. Stir about 1/2 cup of this hot mixture into the cornstarch paste, whisking to insure that it stays smooth. Pour it all back into the saucepan with the rest of the milk and chocolate, stirring constantly. Heat gently until the mixture is just boiling, stirring until it thickens to a custard consistency, and unctuously (don't you love that word?) coats your wooden spoon. Remove from heat, and stir in the vanilla.

Pour into a large serving dish, or into individual ramekins or bowls. Let cool to room temperature, and refrigerate until chilled. Whip the chilled cream until stiff, beating in the sugar and vanilla or rum. Top the large pudding with cream, or dollop it on top of individual servings, and enjoy.

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