Category: Pasta

Rest in Peace, You Ladies of the Kitchen and Table: Bidding Farewell to Raffetto, Council, Kafka, and Brennan

It gives me solace that they each lived a long life, these woman whose cooking and writing and spirit gave happiness and nourishment to so many. Pasta, fried chicken livers, a recipe for shrimp and asparagus with sorrel, and eggs Sardou: these things are evocative entry points to, respectively, Romana Raffetto, Mildred Council, Barbara Kafka, and Ella Brennan, four women whose legacies won’t soon fade. Losing them all within the space of a few weeks is a tough blow, but let’s try to celebrate the exuberance and love of food they displayed.

One of my favorite things to do in New York is to walk the streets of the West Village and make the rounds of my shops, including Murray’s, Faicco’s, and Ottomanelli & Sons. For pasta, when I did not want to make my own, or lacked the time to do so, I would stop at Raffetto’s on West Houston Street, pasta whose quality never disappointed. Romana Raffetto, who passed away on May 25, was behind the counter on most days, talking to customers and extolling the virtues of her family’s products, which evolved over time to include all the shapes and types that are now ubiquitous in even the most pedestrian of grocery stores (think pumpkin ravioli and squid-ink tagliatelle). The store, officially known as M. Raffetto & Bros., opened in 1906, and there’s no telling how many meals have been composed with Raffeto’s pastas and sauces since then. I enjoyed talking with Raffetto, and her pride in the store, and what her family had created, was obvious. (If you want to try a few things intriguingly delicious, order the following from Raffetto’s: pink sauce made with cognac, gorgonzola and walnut jumbo ravioli, and black squid Tagliarini all Chitarra. Those are my favorites.)

Romana Raffeto stands at the counter of her family’s store in 1978. (Photo courtesy Gino Raffeto)

Stores like Raffetto’s are national treasures, and in many cities are extinct, if they ever existed at all. As I write this, the aromas of that wondrous space in the West Village are all around me, and I know what one of my first stops will be the next time I am in New York. In the meantime, mail order will have to suffice.

Here’s a look at the place and the people behind it:

Mama Dip. What can you say about Mama Dip, otherwise known as Mildred Council? What about her Community Dinners? Or the courage and bravery she exhibited in choosing to end her marriage after 29 years, in 1976, having endured emotional and physical abuse? “The biggest turning point in my life was when I left my husband,” she told an interviewer in 1994. A cookbook that has so far sold 250,000 copies (“Mama Dip’s Kitchen”)? Fried chicken livers adored by Craig Claiborne (and thousands of other individuals)? How about the fact that she opened her first restaurant in 1976 and had but $40 to make breakfast, and at the end of that first day went home with $135? Her food was honest and filling and delicious and spoke of the lessons she learned cooking for her poor family, which she began to do at the age of 9, when her mother passed away. She was tall — 6 foot 2 — and she was loving and gracious, and Chapel Hill will never be the same.

“I’m not a chef. And I don’t like people to call me a chef because a chef is more like—I call them the artists,” Council told the Southern Foodways Alliance’s Amy C. Evans in a 2007 interview. “They have so much artist in them, artistic, ever what you call it. Artist, I guess, because they can just make things so pretty, you know. And I try to make things good.” Did she ever.

Mildred Council left countless fans and admirers, who will forever miss her cooking. (Image courtesy Mama Dip’s)

Barbara Kafka’s books sold millions of copies, and her advocacy of using a microwave to prepare food — she even used the appliance to deep-fry, alarming many and disgusting others — earned the disdain of many chefs, but the indefatigable author didn’t let the criticism bother her. She pushed on with her testing and writing and consulting, and in 2007 was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award from the James Beard Foundation.

“I do try to write in English, I don’t write ‘kitchen’ and I don’t write French,” Kafka told an interviewer in 2005. “What’s wrong with saying matchsticks instead of julienne?” Clearly, her straightforward — many would say brash — approach spoke to legions of home cooks, who devoured her writing and learned their skills from her books and articles. She supported Citymeals on Wheels early on, spent thousands of hours testing recipes, and maintained a passion for the transformative power of food and cooking. If you like cookbooks with a definitive voice and point of view, Kafka’s are for you. And you know what? Though I do not use the microwave to deep-fry my chicken livers or cook artichokes, I do start my roast chickens at 500 Fahrenheit.

New Orleans is one of my favorite destinations for food and eating. I can still recall the first time my family visited the city; I could not have been more than 10, but the flavor and sights and smells are still vivid in my senses. Strong black coffee, beignets covered in powdered sugar, shrimp and gumbo and everywhere, it seemed, the sounds of jazz.

Ella Brennan and the Crescent City were made for one another, both colorful and romantic and stubborn. “Hurricane” Ella was definitely a force of nature, and her love of restaurants and the people who made them work is worthy of much admiration. Here is all she said at the podium at the 1993 James Beard Awards (Commander’s Palace picked up the Outstanding Service award that year): “I accept this award for every damn captain and waiter in the country.” Classy lady was she.

If you want to read a lively autobiography, get a copy of “Miss Ella of Commander’s Palace: I Don’t Want a Restaurant Where a Jazz Band Can’t Come Marching Through“. Then set aside a part of your evening and watch “Ella Brennan: Commanding the Table.”

The experience will be all the more pleasurable with Miss Ella’s Old Fashioned in hand, a fine drink with which to toast the memories of these four amazing and strong women.

Miss Ella’s Old Fashioned

Ingredients
2 ounces Bourbon
2-3 dashes Peychaud’s bitters
one half-cube sugar
lemon peel for garnish

Fill a rocks glass with ice and a touch of water. In a second rocks glass, muddle the sugar cube with Peychaud’s bitters , then add Bourbon. Swirl the ice in the first glass to chill it, then discard the ice and water. Pour the drink into the now-chilled glass. Run the lemon peel around the rim of the glass, then toss the peel into to the drink for garnish.

Gnocchi Can Be A Beautiful Thing, And So Can Redfish

Want to know what you should do if you live in Houston (or find yourself there soon)? If you like gnocchi, you should head to Coltivare, a Heights restaurant worthy of many visits, and order the ricotta gnocchi that’s on the menu now. I did that very thing recently, and I’ll soon do it again. Every component of this dish is done well … the Parmesan, the greens, and, the star ingredient, the gnocchi. It is one of the best things I’ve eaten in Houston this year (and perhaps since I landed there), and I’ll urge you to visit Coltivare and have a glass of wine in the garden before your dinner, then sit at a table inside and love the gnocchi. Click here for more on this great dish, a piece I wrote for PaperCity.

A few nights later, perhaps on a Sunday, late in the afternoon, wander to River Oaks, and sit at the bar at State of Grace and ask the bartender for a glass of Albariño. Take a few sips, then order the Basmati “Fried Rice” (quote marks from the menu). You perhaps are not ready for dinner, but you’re wanting something to go with the wine. That’s what you should do. Order this. Sit. Taste the rice and the pepper and the curry and peanuts and the jalapeño. Read more about this very good plate here.

This goes well with redfish, and peanuts.

Nantucket Eats: Pork Belly, Duck, and Lamb at Oran Mor Bistro

The wedding is over, the guests have all left the island. Angela and I remain, enjoying the warm breezes blowing on Nantucket from the Atlantic (the temperature reached 69 Fahrenheit yesterday). Abundant sun, cool evenings, walks on cobblestone streets. The season is over, many shops are in the process of closing, and quiet calmness is everywhere.

We have devoted a portion of our evenings to restaurants, with mixed results. Several nights ago we went to Oran Mor Bistro & Bar, a small place on the second floor of a building a short walk from the house in which we are staying. I’d read a review of Oran Mar in The New York Times, and a few people who had dined there told me they had enjoyed the food. (I phoned the restaurant during the day to ask about its corkage policy. A woman’s voice on the other end of the line replied: “We do not have a corkage fee because we have a wine list. I hope you will be able to find something you like on our extensive list.”)

We did find something on the list, a 2012 Laetitia Estate Pinot Noir, which we ordered after being led past a small bar to our table in the corner of restaurant’s front dining room. The interior space is warm, earth tones on the wall, low ceiling. (I could imagine Thomas Jefferson sitting at the table next to us, wine glass at the ready.)

A wine we drank with pork belly, duck, mushroom ravioli, and lamb.

A wine we drank with pork belly, duck, mushroom ravioli, and lamb.

Our waitress, whose voice I recognized as belonging to the woman who informed me of Oran Mor’s (non)-corkage policy on the phone earlier that day, displayed a perfunctory manner throughout the evening, smiling in what seemed a forced manner whenever she approached our table and declining to reply “You are welcome” when I thanked her for pouring the wine. All of which would have been fine if we had ended the meal after our very good first courses.

Shiitake mushroom ravioli, with squash and parmesan broth

Shiitake mushroom ravioli, with squash and parmesan broth

Smoked pork belly, radish, egg

Smoked pork belly, radish, egg

The smoked pork belly was some of the best I have had, at least since moving to Houston in 2013. The meat was cooked well, and retained a moistness that is often lacking in pork belly. The fatty parts were excellent, as well: they melted in my mouth with a pleasing flavor. The broth was a touch too sweet for me, but the radishes were crisp and a welcome addition to the plate. The ravioli was easily the best thing of the evening. Fresh, strong-tasting mushrooms, rich parmesan broth, and delicate fennel. The pasta was thin yet firm, and each flavor component of the dish melded agreeably.

We were in no hurry on that evening – unless it is absolutely necessary I firmly believe that one should never rush while dining – and several times had to tell a server that, no, we were not finished “working on” our plates. Oran Mor is not an inexpensive place – our bill before tip was $182 – and the service should better represent the niche the restaurant occupies.

While we waited for our main courses we talked about the wedding and the weather on Nantucket and the utilitarian beauty of the Cape Cod architectural style. Our experience at Oran Mor soon took an unfortunate turn.

Hard potatoes, passable duck (save the lackluster confit).

Hard potatoes, passable duck (save the lackluster confit).

I ordered the Pekin duck – breast and confit, sweet potato purée, Brussels sprouts, huckleberry compote – and Angela decided on the lamb. (She was attracted to the Kalamata olives and tomatoes, but, we later discovered, there was perhaps all of one olive in the dish, minced.) Again, if our meal had ended after the first course we would have been incredibly happy. Instead, I was served hard potatoes, bland Brussels sprouts, and dry confit. Yes, dry confit. Angela’s lamb was satisfactory, medium-rare, lacking salt. And those olives were nowhere to be found. I must state that my duck breast was good, but it was not enough to salvage the overall lack of attention to technique and flavor.

Dessert was Elvis’ Doughnuts, and if they had all been at least warm, we would have loved them. Banana cream, chocolate, and fried dough, but two of the doughnuts were warm.

Oran Mor is attractive, and, judging by our ravioli and pork belly, can put out good food. I will reserve a final verdict until after my next visit.

Drum and Crab and Empanadas at Roost

A great little place that puts out some very good food.

A great little place that puts out some very good food. (photo by Angela Shah)

I wrote about Roost earlier this year after my first visit to the little restaurant in Montrose. Angela and I shared a great meal, a small experience that was nearly perfect. I have been back several times since then, most recently yesterday. We were meeting friends from Dallas for dinner, and thought they would enjoy the food at Roost, and they, and we, did.

If you are not aware, the restaurant has a great happy hour – form 4 p.m. until 6:30 all bottles of wine are discounted 50 percent. Knowing that, Angela and I arrived early and shared a bottle of Grüner Veltliner (Domäne Wachau), $19. We also spent some time at the picnic table out front with Charlie, a friendly cat.

Meet Charlie, Roost's resident feline.

Meet Charlie, Roost’s resident feline. (photo by Angela Shah)

Around 7, when the mosquitoes became too much for Angela, the woman who might just be the best FOH person in Houston, if not Texas, told us that our table was ready, so we sat and waited on Peter and Catalina, who arrived about 10 minutes later.

Roost does its business in a small building, and space is a bit tight, but the atmosphere is always pleasant, lively, and the service is seamless and understated. (Much of that is the result of the professionalism exhibited by the woman I mentioned earlier.)

To the food. Since Peter and Catalina had never been to Roost, we began with the cauliflower. This is how it is described on the menu: “The famous frIed caUliFlower, boNito, miso dreSsing, pine nuts, scallion 9.” If you have not tried it, you need to. You must. The pine nuts are toasted, the bonito flakes exhibit good umami, and the dressing is something I would drink from a tall glass.

We decided to share everything, and from the cauliflower went on to: yell0w corn cakes, jumbo crab mEat, artichoke ragOut, paragon cheese 14; h0use made sPanakopita empanadas, garlicky tzatZiki, fennel & pine nUts 11; roasted gUlf fish, sweet n’ sour toMato broth, bok choy, coconut rice 24; ALL-crab-cakes, Thai curry sauce, cabbage & chayOte squash slaw, pEa shoots 29; and paulie’s pasta, r0asted peaches, goat’s cheese, rosEmary lemon butter 19.

Peter, who has a threshold for dill, found the sauces to be excellent, and I agreed with him, From the cauliflower to the Thai curry on the crab cake dish to the artichoke ragout, every taste was as it should have been. The drum was firm, the pasta was al dente (though I found the rosemary a bit much), and the crab in the cakes was as good as any I have ever had.

We ended the meal with C0ffee n’ donut hOles, crushed pistAchios, salted carAmel, coFfee ice cream 7. Like the cauliflower dish, this dessert is always on the menu at Roost, and for good reason. Not overly sweet, crisp and warm and moist doughnut holes, and really good coffee ice cream.

If Roost is new to you, you can do much much worse in Houston, and often you cannot do better. It really is a place approaching perfection.

Crab, with crisp slaw and a very good sauce.

Crab, with crisp slaw and a flavorful sauce.

Drum, grilled in a very effective manner.

Drum, grilled in a very effective manner.

UPDATE: Make Your Own Pasta (Thank You, Lidia and Marcella)

(Editor’s note: A few readers have chastised me for neglecting to include a recipe in this post. That oversight has now been rectified. Please let me know how you make pasta, and if you have never made fresh pasta at home, I hope this post inspires you to do so.)

“I still think that one of the pleasantest of all emotions is to know that I, with my brain and my hands, have nourished my beloved few, that I have concocted a stew or a story, a rarity or a plain dish, to sustain them truly against the hunger of the world.”

– M.F.K. Fisher, The Gastronomical Me

It is simple, and the payoff is extremely satisfying.

It is simple, and the payoff is extremely satisfying.

Pasta from a box is fine. I use it, mostly penne and farfalle. But there is nothing better than fresh pasta, and I am always happy when I can show people how easy it is to make their own. I taught my 8-year-old nephew how to make pasta, and I’ve guided Angela through the process – she is now expert at it.

I have a stand mixer and pasta attachments, and love it, but that has not prevented me from making hundreds of batches of linguine and ravioli and other varieties of pasta by hand. And there is a bonus: It is a meditative process. The action of mixing and kneading and rolling and cutting calms one’s mind.

There are plenty of recipes and methods for making pasta. I use two eggs (sometimes three), some olive oil, and, of course, flour and water. Over the years I have discovered my own technique and method. (You will, too.) Here is mine, and I give all thanks to Lidia Bastianich, whose pasta I encountered firsthand at Felidia years ago. I followed her methods and have revised them as time has passed. (Marcella Hazan is another inspiration, for pasta and many other things. Get to know her.)

First, relax. Do not get uptight about the process. It is a simple thing, depending on the shape of pasta you wish to make. Put on some good music, open a bottle of wine. Choose a smooth and large working surface; if you have a work island, use it. (I use a large wooden butcher’s block.) Make sure the surface is clean and dry. Sift two cups all purpose flour onto the surface and form it into a mound. Make an indentation in the middle of the mound. In a small bowl, mix two eggs, 1/4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, and 3 tablespoons of water. (I often add a pinch of salt. You can as well.) Gently pour the liquid mixture into the flour’s crater, and, using a fork, combine the liquid and the solid. Then, with lightly floured hands, mix and knead the dough until it is soft and smooth. (You will get the hang of it after a few attempts. Again, it is not difficult. In all, it should take you about 8 minutes or so to make the dough.) If the dough is too moist, add a little flour. If too dry, add a touch of olive oil. As you make more and more pasta, your hands and eyes will guide you. You will know when it is correct.

Form the dough into a ball and wrap tightly in plastic wrap. If you are going to use it that evening, let it sit at room temperature for 30 minutes before rolling it out. (Wrapped tightly and well, you can freeze the dough; I have frozen it for as long as a month, but I rarely do this.)

DSC_9137

Ian's pasta

He did this: Ian’s pasta.

When you are ready to roll, clean your work surface, get a rolling pin, and divide your ball into three pieces; lightly flour the surface – a dusting – and roll until the dough is as thin as you can make it. (In the photo below is a modified fettuccine, and we should have produced thinner noodles – they always expand in the water. But again, do not fret … on this evening we made basil pesto, and the meal was delicious, thick noodles and all.)

To make this simple ribbon pasta, use a sharp knife and cut the dough in straight lines, lightly arranging the ribbons into three bird’s nest clumps. Bring some salted water to a vigorous boil and, one bird’s nest at a time, cook the noodles until they float to the top of the water. (One important thing: Many home cooks err by not using a sufficient amount of water. Get your largest pot, and do not skimp on the water; the noodles need room in which to move and evenly cook.)

Have a sauté pan ready (with your desired sauce in it: oil and onions, tomatoes, pesto … your imagination is the limit). Lift the pasta from the water and add it to the pan, coating the ribbons thoroughly. (I also like to cook the pasta a bit longer in the pan, a minute or so; it makes everything taste better.)

That’s it. After you do this a few times, you’ll be ready for ravioli and orecchiette.

Flour and eggs and water and oil, plus you.

Flour and eggs and water and oil, plus you.

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