Mise en Place

Page 27 of 28

Go to Saturne

August 25, 2012 / / 0 Comments

Angela and I recently tried Saturne, a restaurant that was recommended to me by a French chef working in Abu Dhabi. If you are in Paris, book a table here.

It is near the Bourse, close to a Metro station, on a quiet street, Rue Notre-Dame des Victoires. Open, airy, light wood and white walls. A wall of wine behind sliding glass doors catches the eye, as does the open kitchen. (A word about the wines: an abundance of “natural” selections, and many value-priced bottles. We started our meal with a glass of Crémant de Loire, proceeded to a bottle of Loire white, then finished with glasses of pinot noir.)

A wall of wines

A wall of wines

This is a dégustation menu, and for 60 euros you get seven courses. We began with a soup of tomato, black olive tapenade, and olive oil, upon which floated a paper-thin piece of fried bread. The taste: go out to your garden and pick a ripe tomato, slice it in half, drizzle olive oil on it, and add a few black olives and some garlic. Bite. Then, break a tomato stem and inhale.

Tomato, olive, bread, olive oil

Tomato, olive, bread, olive oil

Next came bonito, ceviche style. Five or six pieces of pink fish, raspberries and basil and onions on top. Tomato water was poured atop this all. There was a light sprinkling of cayenne pepper. The fish was of a perfect texture, not chewy, tasting slightly of the sea. The other ingredients? Well, you know how it is when you put a mix of ingredients in your mouth and smile when all of the flavors combine? That’s what this dish made me do.

Bonita, raspberries, tomato water, onions

Bonito, raspberries, tomato water, onions

Monkfish was the next plate, served with small discs of yellow squash and nasturtiums, all of which immersed in a slightly mustardy sauce flavored with mussel stock. Monkfish, which is one of my favorite types of fish, was slightly grilled, and meaty. The squash was cooked for a very short period of time, so the discs were firm, full of flavor.

Edible flowers and monkfish, plus squash

Edible flowers and monkfish, plus squash

And then came the lobster, a large piece of lobster tail, from the wonderful waters of Brittany. The meat was as it should be served: when done this way you taste the sea, and the meat is firm, not stringy. The coral of the lobster was used in a sauce, and baby radishes, slightly pickled, accompanied. On top of this all was a foam made of lobster stock.

From the waters of Brittany

From the waters of Brittany

We next were greeted by a beautiful plate of pigeon, two pieces: the breast, pink and juicy, with grilled, crisp skin, and the leg and thigh. A grilled wedge of eggplant was the only other thing on the plate, which I would not have missed. Pigeon is at the top of my desirables list, and this was some of the best I have had.

Leg and breast

Leg and breast

We were entering the final stage of the meal, and our desserts – two courses – were light and tart and sweet, and a bit savory, and not too sweet. The first plate consisted of strawberries, sorrel sorbet, and a cream of goat cheese, sprinkled with freeze-dried parsley. I loved it, and it was a perfect ending … except for the second dessert plate: hay-infused cream, blackberries, and a chocolate spread that had a consistency akin to a light cake frosting.

Fitting close: Chocolate, blackberries, cream

Fitting close: Chocolate, blackberries, cream

You can do a lot with strawberries and goat cheese

You can do a lot with strawberries and goat cheese

My favorite plate in Paris

August 11, 2012 / / 0 Comments

It was on the menu, to my relief. Great relief. I first sat down to dine at Le Comptoir du Relais two years ago. It was a warm summer day, and the tables on the sidewalk were full of families and solo diners and couples. I was solo, and so had to share with no one one of the best plates I have ever had, anywhere: Carpaccio de Tête de veau. The chef, Yves Camdeborde, has long been a favorite of Parisian diners, and his kitchen is still producing great food.

Yves Camdeborde’s tête de veau: It will have you coming back for more.

Simply put, the meat that comes on this plate is sublimely flavorful, and when it first touches your tongue the sensuality of it melting in your mouth will make you want to close your eyes and forever stay in that moment. That feeling, and taste, will be the reason you, like I, will visit that sidewalk as long as the restaurant’s ovens are hot.

I decided to return to Paris this year, to spend days and nights with Angela, who is here for most of August. I have on more than one occasion told Angela about the dish at Le Comptoir, the Carpaccio de Tête de veau, that dish I love and adore and can by merely thinking about eating it grow desirous. I told Angela we had to go to Le Comptoir du Relais.

(A few nights before I made my way back to that sidewalk near Metro Odeon, Angela and I ate at a place in the 7th, and I had potatoes stuffed with the meat from pig’s feet. It was good, but it was nothing compared to my Carpaccio de Tête de veau. So, when you are in Paris, and wanting a great dish, take my advice and do nothing until you visit Le Comptoir.)

On the joyous night, Angela and I met a former colleague, Nick Stout, who has lived in Paris for 30-plus years, and he had never been to my sidewalk table.

Nick Stout, Paris veteran

Nick Stout, Paris veteran

He loved the food, and the place. We sat at a table outside, and I became lost in the wine  list. Interrupting my jaunt through the Loire Valley, Angela showed me that the calf’s head carpaccio was indeed available. I was happy. I ordered that plate as my first course, and it was a good as ever. The sauce is warm and slightly tangy, and the lettuce hearts on top are perfect companions for the meat slices. (See first photo above.)

My main course, Pied de Cochon, is composed of a rectangle of porcine greatness, served with creamed potatoes on the side. Imagine a crisp outside and an interior full of unctuous, moist, slow-cooked pork. I grew happier.

From the feet of pigs ...

From the feet of pigs …

Angela started with a salad of Burrata and heirloom tomatoes, with a nice basil pesto. It was acidic and excellent. She then enjoyed a great sashimi of tuna belly, topped with wasabi foam.

Sashimi with a French twist

Sashimi with a French twist

Nick chose gazpacho, followed by squid stuffed with risotto; its squid-ink sauce was pungent and perfect.

Big squid, big taste

Big squid, big taste

When I was in Paris in 2010 Le Comptoir was the only restaurant I dined at more than once. For good reason. And before I leave Paris this time I will once again find myself at that sidewalk table, a bottle of white chilling in the Ice Bag.

Chilling at the table

Chilling at the table

I do not have to tell you what I will order.

Light in August

August 7, 2012 / / 0 Comments

The light. There’s something about the light in Paris that always gets to me, makes my eyes feel good. When I lived here in 2005 I loved the summer evenings, sitting outside with a carafe of wine under a slowly darkening sky. It seemed that it would never grow completely dark, and as my companions and I drank and ate and planned our next meal I silently gave thanks for the city’s geographical location and for the way the sun worshipped the streets and buildings and people.

That very same light makes, to my eye, the food and produce for sale in markets look better, brighter, tastier. The tomatoes are shiny and firm, and don’t look waxy. The flesh of a duck looks as it should, not violently compressed under a layer of cellophane. Radishes, berries, green beans, lettuces … they all benefit from the light in August.

And I benefit, because that light makes me want to cook and eat and wander the streets of this beautiful place. And that’s what I’m doing now.

Home from buying groceries, and headed to the kitchen

Home from buying groceries, and headed to the kitchen

In the bags above there are two pork chops, some lettuce, radishes, cheeses, wine, beer, Nutella, butter, shallots, eggs and a few other foodstuffs. Angela and I made a simple salad, but a salad whose lettuce had a crisp bite and actual flavor, so unlike most of the lettuces I was forced to eat while living in the desert. The radishes were also crisp, and had a heat that was pleasant and invigorating. I cooked the chops simply, in butter, and made a sauce from the shallots, garlic and some Crémant de Bourgogne “Egrade” brut.

We’ll always have Paris.

By the skin of a chicken

August 1, 2012 / / 1 Comment

If you like fried chicken, or a good roast chicken, and if you share my tastes, I bet you love eating the skin. Its crispness is a sublime mouth sensation, and depending on what type of oil you use when frying, or what you add to the butter or olive oil you use to baste the bird while it is roasting, the flavors of the skin can range widely. (Duck fat? Olive oil/butter mixture? Garlic, shallots, basil, sage, chili powder? The sky is the limit.)

One of the things I learned to do at Restaurant Amador is use the skin alone to make chicken-skin wafers, or chips. (You can ask your butcher to order chicken skins for you, or learn how to skin your own chicken, as it’s really not that difficult. And the skins freeze well, so there is no excuse for not having any on hand.)

What you’ll need: A Silpat or two, a large metal baking sheet, two baking dishes of similar size, some heavy stones, and parchment paper.

Baking stones

Baking stones

To begin, take a chicken skin and spread it on a cutting board, skin-side down. Then, using a flat, flexible plastic scraper – you can buy these at a cooking-supply store, or make your own – scrape as much of the fat away from the skin as you can. (Have a container near you to scrape the fat into.) You’ll find it impossible to scrape away all of the fat, but get as much as possible without stressing over it. (The less fat, the lighter the taste.) Then, one piece at a time, spread the de-fatted skins, skin side down, on a Silpat, stretching them as much as possible. Repeat this until you have the Silpat covered, making sure to not overlap the skins too much; you want the layer to be as thin as is possible.

Chicken skins, spread on a Silpat

Chicken skins, spread on a Silpat

Repeat the scraping procedure with another set of skins – and don’t worry, this is a fast procedure … once you get going you can de-fat one piece in less than a minute – and, one at a time, spread a skin over the pieces already on the Silpat. Only this time, make sure to put the pieces skin side up. Making sure that the layers are uniform, cover the first layer completely.

The next step is easy: take your other Silpat and place it on top of the chicken skins, then put the assemblage on a baking sheet. Put the baking sheet on the bottom of one of the containers, (the space created by the inverted container helps crisp the skins). Place a piece of parchment paper on top of the Silpat, and on top of the paper put your other baking dish. (The dish needs to be large enough to cover the entire surface of the Silpat sheets.) Into this dish go the stones, which serve to exert pressure on the skins.

A double batch of chicken skins

A double batch of chicken skins

(Do not fret if you don’t have metal pans like the ones in the photo above; improvise with what you have. But do invest, if you have not already, in Silpats; you’ll find yourself using them often.)

With the oven set at 330 Fahrenheit (165 Celsius), put the entire stack on a rack and cook for two hours. Your kitchen will develop a lovely scent.

Next, take the tray containing the stones out of the oven and put it in a safe place, as the stones will retain their heat for a long time. Remove the remaining trays from the oven and put the Silpat sheets on a counter. Slowly peel back the top Silpat and behold your creation: you will discover a crisp, flat layer of chicken skin, with uneven edges. (If you have a food dehydrator, now is the time to dry out your skin. If you don’t, put the skin on a piece of parchment paper and bake it in your oven at a very low temperature, say, 70 degrees Fahrenheit. This step helps give the skin a lighter taste and feel. Leave it in the oven for 30 minutes or so.)

A tasty wafer

A tasty wafer

Finally, it’s time to cut the skin into individual pieces; feel free to use your imagination here, depending on how you plan to use the pieces.

Rectangles of crispy goodness

Rectangles of crispy goodness

At Amador, the skin is cut into rectangles and served as an early course, adorned with purées, creams and herbs. They are delicious. Just take the skins from the oven and place them on a cutting board. Using a sharp knife – of course, you should have nothing but sharp knives – cut the pieces into your desired shape. As a final step, sprinkle with Maldon salt, or your preferred sea salt. You could serve them in many ways, and I know they would be good as a garnish on a bowl of shrimp and grits, perhaps sprinkled with dried shrimp.

Arrival at Amador: long days, great food, and a Spanish triumph

July 19, 2012 / / 3 Comments

I’m here, in Mannheim, working at Restaurant Amador. I arrived shortly before Spain played Italy in the Euro 2012 final. I was hoping Germany was going to be in that final, and I planned my flight so that it would fall on a day of no Euro matches. That Sunday, the 2nd of July, the restaurant held an “open house” event, and about 300 people attended. We roasted a pig, and the guests enjoyed some fine pork, among many other things.

The star of the show

The star of the show

My first day in the kitchen was Saturday, July 1. I worked hard – everyone in this kitchen works hard – and long. Harder and longer than I have in a while. I’m not complaining, just remarking that 15-hour days are long days.

Everything in its place

Everything in its place

Days that long contain plenty of time to peel parsnips for stock, to chop garlic and shallots, to shell and clean beautiful crabs, removing all of the yellow and reddish tissue and leaving behind nothing but briny white meat. Plenty of time to clean and scrub floors and counters and walls and ovens. Enough time to get to know the cooks in the kitchen, from whom I am learning a lot.

On the evening of the open house, after all the guests had gone, we set up a projector and watched Spain decimate Italy, watched the Spaniards show the rest of the world how to play football. We sat in the restaurant, eating beautiful steak, drinking some good wine, tired from the day’s work but happy. (Except for the Italian supporters; they were upset.)

Spanish flags aplenty in the Amador dining room

Spanish flags aplenty in the Amador dining room

As I watched the match and sipped a dry Spanish white, I thought to myself: I am in a three-star restaurant, watching the final match of the European Championships. I just finished a long day working in a great kitchen, a kitchen full of great equipment and ingredients. Some of my colleagues had just dried off from swimming in the pool on the restaurant’s grounds after their long days and were sitting near me, eating and watching the match.

A restaurant with a view

A restaurant with a view

I was tired, and I was just a little jet-lagged. But I was where I wanted to be.

It has only just begun, and I am loving it.

Straining Details, or, the Craft of Thomas Keller

April 30, 2012 / / 2 Comments
Shiitake mushrooms, coddled in cream, can be transformed into a soup worthy of a place at your table.

Shiitake mushrooms, coddled in cream, can be transformed into a soup worthy of a place at your table.

One thing I like about cooking is the power of being able to transform disparate ingredients into an organic whole, something that has all of the nuance and integrity of each of its constituent parts but ends up as something greater than any of them alone, something that satisfies you as a cook and pleases the people for whom you created it.

With that power of transformation comes the responsibility of respecting what you’re cooking with and the techniques necessary to create the organic whole. If you don’t have that, forget it. Details matter; you can assemble ingredients of the highest quality, but if you don’t treat them right, you will be less than happy with the outcome.

I’ve lately been going back to “The French Laundry Cookbook,” which a friend gave me a few years ago. It is one of my favorite cookbooks, but I have never read it from beginning to end – I am doing so now, and cooking from it. This week, after rereading the section in Michael Ruhlman‘s great book “The Soul of a Chef” on Thomas Keller, titled “Journey Toward Perfection,” a passage about soups stuck in my mind:

Mr. Keller loves soup, and he might begin a meal with a dazzling quartet of contrasting flavors that arrive in espresso cups. Fresh slightly bitter sorrel soup, the essence of green, is quickly followed by tomato consommé that is crystal clear but tastes bright red. Two thick soups look similar, but one is an ineffably rich lobster bisque, the other a clean smooth puree of cranberry bean.

In “The French Laundry Cookbook” is a recipe for Cream of Walnut Soup. I did not have walnuts, but I had some shiitakes, so I made a soup using Chef Keller’s recipe as a guide, with mushrooms instead of walnuts. And I made a few changes, not to make improvements, but because my ingredients called for them.

And that takes me back to detail and technique. One thing that all great cooks and chefs have in common is paying attention to both. No shortcuts, no half measures. The ingredients, and you and whoever is going to eat your food, deserve nothing less. You will need at least one strainer or chinois for this recipe, and if you have more than one you will be the better for it. If you have only one, make sure you clean it thoroughly each time before using it.

What a mélange: A shallot, some shiitakes, a bit of butter and two cups of cream

What a mélange: A shallot, some shiitakes, a bit of butter and two cups of cream

Take about 20 or so shiitakes and brush them clean, then chop coarsely and set them aside. Next, mince a shallot and sweat it in some butter in a medium sauce pan until soft. Add two cups of heavy cream to the pan and about 1/4 cup of milk. Next, split a vanilla bean and scrape the seeds into the mixture. Finally, add the mushrooms and bring all to a simmer, then turn down to just below simmer – you’ll let the flavors meld for about 45 minutes or so.

In his Cream of Walnut Soup, Chef Keller uses pear purée, and I thought it would go well with the mushrooms, so while the cream mixture is gaining strength peel and core one pear and cut it into eight wedges. In a medium saucepan, bring to boil one-half bottle of dry white wine and skim any foam that rises to the top. To this add 1.5 cups of water and 1/2 cup of sugar. Return to the boil and stir. When the sugar is dissolved add the juice of one half of a lemon and to this mixture add the pear pieces; cover with parchment lid (or loosely cover with lid if you don’t have parchment paper) and bring to a simmer. Cook for about 15 minutes, until pear wedges are soft to the tip of a knife. Remove the poached pears from the heat and return your attention to the cream and mushroom mixture.

No shortcuts: Straining liquids is key to this soup.

It’s coming together now, and if it has been about 45 minutes since the cream-mushroom mixture has been on the flavors will be wonderful; it’s amazing how the shiitakes impart their earthiness to the cream, and underneath it all is the essence of shallot. Pour this mixture through a strainer into a clean pan and discard the mushrooms. You’ll end up with about 1.5 cups of liquid. Taste it now for seasoning; I added a pinch of salt at this point.

Going back to the pears, transfer the wedges to a blender; pour about 1/3 cup of the poaching liquid through a clean strainer into the blender, then purée. If your mushroom cream has cooled reheat it, gently; then, with your blender motor running, pour the hot cream into the blender.

A first taste: a soup this rich is the perfect way to begin a meal.

A first taste: A soup this rich is the perfect way to begin a meal.

Finally, using a clean strainer, strain the soup into a clean saucepan and reheat gently. As Chef Keller does at the French Laundry, I like to serve the soup in warm demitasse cups as the first thing diners taste at the table, other than Champagne or wine. It is rich, the poached pear brings the slightest touch of sweetness, and the umami factor will have your guests thinking, “I can’t wait until the next course.” (It’s best to serve this soup immediately, but you can cool and store in the refrigerator for one day. Reheat gently.)

To end, I’ll touch one more time on detail and technique; you will notice that I strain the pear purée and the cream mixtures more than once. What you are after is a smooth, almost whispering touch on the tongue, so any specks or particles will ruin the effect. You must strain the liquids, through a clean strainer or chinois, showing your respect for the mushrooms, your guests, and your craft.

Thinking of France and Chickens

April 13, 2012 / / 0 Comments

I lived in Paris for about seven months in 2005, and I miss that city, and France, especially when I am shopping for food. For most of my time there during that year I lived in the 10th, near the fine old Marché Saint-Quentin. It was built in 1866, and is a lovely covered market with lots of glass and iron. And it is full of great produce and fish and cheese and meat and poultry of all sorts.

A good place to shop: Le marché Saint-Quentin, in Paris' 10th.

A good place to shop: Le marché Saint-Quentin, in Paris’ 10th.

I shopped there three or four times a week, and most weeks bought a chicken, usually from the same woman, because hers seemed the freshest. Indeed, some of them had been killed the night before I cooked them. I bought them with the feet and heads still on, and appreciated their organic wholeness.

Most of the time I roasted them, which I am confident is the best way to cook a chicken, though fried chicken is a close second. Every now and then, though, I liked to poach a bird in cream, lots of cream. Two quarts, to be exact. Two quarts of fresh light cream, cream that tasted better than any milkshake I have ever had, and I imagined it coming from the most perfect dairy cow in France.

I’ve forgotten where I first saw a recipe for this dish, but it is an age-old technique, and many of you have undoubtedly poached chicken breasts before. One recipe I used recently as a foundation comes from Daniel Young’s “The Bistros, Brasseries, and Wine Bars of Paris.” I brined the bird when I made it this week, eight hours in a water/salt/sugar/black peppercorn solution.

Chicken brining in a plastic bag.

Chicken brining in a plastic bag.

Here’s how you do it:

Rinse the chicken inside and out with cool water and pat dry. Let stand at room temperature for 20 minutes, then season liberally inside and out with salt and pepper. While the chicken is waiting, heat two cups of chicken stock (you can use bouillon cubes) and heat the oven to 325 Fahrenheit. 

Carrots, onions, and celery, and a chicken

Carrots, onions, and celery, and a chicken

Peel two carrots and cut them in half; do the same to two onions and two turnips. To these, add the white part of one leek. I also like to use two stalks of celery, cut in half. (You can peel the celery if you want.) Put the chicken in a Dutch oven and then pour in the stock and the cream and add the vegetables to the mix. Heat on the stovetop over moderately high heat until just below boil. Put the lid on the mixture and put it in the oven for about two hours.

It's a bird surrounded by cream and vegetables – what's not to like?

It’s a bird surrounded by cream and vegetables – what’s not to like?

Remove the chicken and vegetables from the Dutch oven and keep warm; pour two to three cups of the cream mixture through a fine sieve into a saucepan and cook over medium heat, whisking the sauce until it thickens, for five minutes or so. 

Arrange the chicken and vegetable on a platter and pour as much of the sauce over them as you wish. I like to get a leg and breast on my plate, and the carrots and onions take on a flavor that will make you want to double the quantity of them next time you make this. (A final note: it is best to use a large chicken here, say, five pounds, but a bird of that size is difficult to find in many places, so if you use a smaller bird, just reduce the amount of cream.)

It really is very simple, and what results is chicken reminiscent of what you get when you make Chicken and Dumplings – moist and rich. And the sauce will have you thinking of milkshakes. I drank a Côtes de Duras blanc with the dish this week.

Common Grounds

April 11, 2012 / / 0 Comments

A kitchen without tools would not produce much, no matter how willing or talented its inhabitants. While most home cooks do just fine without every single accoutrement found in a restaurant kitchen, anyone wanting to put more than the basics on the table will over the course of a lifetime accumulate a sizable collection of spoons and knives and food processors and pots and pans, not to mention a chinois or two.

The drawers and cabinets in my kitchen are fairly well stocked, and I’ve come to have strong relationships with a good number of the tools I use on a regular basis, including a Japanese mandoline and a Dutch oven that is now perfectly conditioned. But my feelings about most of my kitchen stuff are purely utilitarian; I love them because they work and allow me to do what I do easily and efficiently.

A workhorse: I've had this Tre Spade pepper mill since about 1987, and every time I use it I think fondly of Grant and Kathy Heath, who gave it to me as a Christmas gift. There’s a bit of rust on it, and its lid requires tape to stay closed, but I’ll never replace it.

A workhorse: I've had this Tre Spade pepper mill since about 1987, and every time I use it I think fondly of Grant and Kathy Heath, who gave it to me as a Christmas gift. There’s a bit of rust on it, and its lid requires tape to stay closed, but I’ll never replace it.

There is, however, one thing that I use all the time that means more to me than merely “utility,” and that is my Tre Spade pepper mill. I use it every day, and along with my knives it is integral to my cooking. But what makes it really special are the man and woman who gave it to me and they way they did so.

The best roasted coffee beans in the world have been coming out of this place since November 1977.

The best roasted coffee beans in the world have been coming out of this place since November 1977.

Grant and Kathy Heath are their names, and they roast and sell the best coffee in the world. I mean that. They own a small shop, The Kaffeeklatsch, in Huntsville, Alabama, and I used to work for them. And though I left Huntsville long ago, in 1994, I still order coffee from “The Klatsch” as often as possible. As I said, it is the best in the world – wherever I travel, be it Umbria or Munich or Beirut – I search for the perfect beans, and so far I have found nothing that can compare. I doubt I ever will. Order some and see what I mean.

Kathy and Grant always took time out from their workday to eat lunch; there was a small table in the center of the shop, and that is where they had their meals, usually simple but delicious things they had cooked, like barley soup with kale. They made me do the same, insisted that I take a break to sit down and have my lunch every day. I did.

One day while eating I admired a pepper mill that we used in the shop, and I asked Kathy if I could order one from the supplier; Christmas was coming and I thought it would be a good gift to give myself. She said she would place the order and we went back to work.

About a week later our regular delivery arrived, and as I was unpacking the boxes I looked forward to finding the pepper mill. But it wasn’t there. Kathy came upstairs from the office and told me that it was on backorder and would probably be in stock early in the new year. C’est la vie. I would live to grind another day.

The focal point of The Kaffeeklatsch: The 1929 Jabez Burns roaster, a work of art.

The focal point of The Kaffeeklatsch: The 1929 Jabez Burns roaster, a work of art.

The holiday season was upon us, and we got busier; customers came in for their supply of coffee, and beans by the many pounds flew out the door and were picked up by the UPS man for delivery across the nation. Grant was constantly at his Jabez Burns gas roaster, turning the small batches of green beans into something magical. (Not to go off on a tangent, but that roaster, which was born in 1929, is a beauty. I’ll write more about it, and Grant, later.)

On the evening before we closed for the holidays we were sitting at the table, enjoying beers and talking about dinner plans and which of our relatives were coming for Christmas and what we would be cooking. I had presents for Kathy and Grant, and they gave me a few pounds of coffee. Then Kathy reached behind her, picked up a box wrapped in festive paper, and handed it to me. It was the Tre Spade pepper mill. And, as I wrote, I have used it nearly every day since then. Thanks again, Kathy and Grant.

Pork on ice

March 24, 2012 / / 0 Comments

Most people I know love bacon, and most people I know have a strong affection for ice cream. Two years ago I was invited to a Thanksgiving dinner in Dubai – about 40 people were going to be attending. I was asked to bring something for dessert, because the turkeys and hams and gumbo were already taken care of. The hosts were from Texas, and I was happy to accept the invitation, because I had already been fortunate enough to taste D.B.’s slow-cooked pork and beef brisket.

I then got to thinking about what I would make; the year before, A.S. and I had put on a Thanksgiving dinner for about 15 friends and colleagues, and it was a great success. It would be good for a change to not have to brine and cook a turkey and make Scooter’s Southwestern Dressing and struggle to find room in the refrigerator for a 20-pound bird.

However, I knew I would miss working with poultry and pork and giblets and set out to come up with something both savory and sweet for my dessert. After a bit of thought I recalled a pine nut semifreddo recipe I had run across in The Silver Spoon; it is a great dish with which to end a meal – not too sweet, but sweet enough to satisfy, especially if served with a small chocolate cake. So, thinking of pork, and one of my favorite pork products, bacon, I decided to make Pine Nut and Bacon Semifreddo.

Goodness: Bacon and brown sugar

Goodness: Bacon and brown sugar

I do not want to mislead you into thinking that this dish sprung from my head with no precursor; by now, there is nothing original to do with bacon, and we have enjoyed it in brownies and cocktails and cheese and panna cotta, to name but a few. I also recall, with pleasure, a fine dish I had at a restaurant in Brooklyn that included avocado and bacon ice cream.

That said, my Bacon Semifreddo was a hit that Thanksgiving, so much so that the amount I made fell short of demand, the empty bowl in the middle of the dessert table looking bereft, yet satisfied, as the containers of strawberry and vanilla ice creams around it sat full and forlorn. More than several people asked me if there was more bacon “ice cream” and told me it was the best thing they had tasted that Thanksgiving evening. (I recall fondly, however, a giant pot of gumbo that included homemade andouille that had been brought over from Louisiana … it was as good as the semifreddo, and I am glad it was there.)

Have you ever pulverized bacon? You should.

Have you ever pulverized bacon? You should.

So, here’s how I make the semifreddo; I use the recipe found in The Silver Spoon (and if you don’t have this book, get it) as a foundation, and add the candied bacon:

Preheat oven to 400F; on a baking sheet lined with aluminum foil or a Silpat, arrange five slices of bacon. Sprinkle 2-3 tablespoons of brown sugar evenly on the slices and cook for 15 minutes or so (until brown), turning the slices midway through the cooking time. Cool bacon on a wire rack. When cool, cut slices and put in food processor with blade inserted; pulse until the bacon is nearly pulverized. Set aside in a bowl.

Next, spread 1 1/4 cups of pine nuts on a baking sheet and roast at 350F for 8 minutes or so, until the nuts are golden; do not overcook. While the pine nuts are roasting, put 1 cup of sugar and 4 tablespoons of water in a heavy pan over medium-high heat. The mixture will bubble and then become a clear syrup. Stir, and wait until the syrup begins to turn a golden brown. Carefully add the roasted pine nuts to the syrup and stir carefully. Coat the nuts evenly, then spread on an oiled cookie sheet. Let cool, then break up the praline and put half in your food processor, reserving the other half. Pulse until very fine. Then, pulse the rest of the praline until crushed, but do not turn it to powder.

Dessert is served.

Dessert is served.

Now, you proceed to the semifreddo in earnest. You need 1 vanilla bean, 4 eggs, separated, 4 tablespoons of sugar, 1 1/4 cups of heavy cream, and a pinch of salt. Slice the vanilla bean lengthwise and scrape the seeds into a bowl. Add the egg yolks and sugar and whisk until pale. In another bowl (use glass or other nonreactive bowls for this recipe) whisk the cream until you form peaks. (Always use a clean whisk; grease or fats interfere with the process; if you have only one, wash and dry it for each step.) In a third bowl, whisk the egg whites and pinch of salt until thick – I always do the whites last so as to have stiffer peaks.

Now, fold the cream into the yolk mixture, then fold the whites into that. Finally – and if all of this seems laborious, it isn’t – fold in your delicious bacon and the crushed praline. Pour the mixture into an airtight container and freeze until firm. You can make this the day before.

I like to serve the semifreddo with a flourless chocolate cake, but have been known to take the container from the freezer and, using my favorite silver spoon, enjoy as is.

Offal is good

March 20, 2012 / / 0 Comments

Sweetbreads. When I hear that word I salivate. I love them, and whenever I see them on a menu I order. Two recent meals in which they played a part I remember especially well: at Babbo, and at Le Pigeon, in Portland. (More on those meals, and restaurants, later.)

OFFAL: The Fifth Quarter, by Anissa Helou. Fully revised hardback edition, 192 pages, published by Absolute Press

OFFAL: The Fifth Quarter, by Anissa Helou. Fully revised hardback edition, 192 pages, published by Absolute Press

While I don’t need an excuse to think of sweetbreads, what brought them to my mind today was a book that I recently added to my collection: “Offal: The Fifth Quarter,” by Anissa Helou. (“The Fifth Quarter” refers to the parts of an animal – the head, feet, tail and innards –that do not belong to the four quarters of the carcass.)

Here is one reason I like this book; it is a quote found in its opening section – “An A-Z of Offal”– that introduces the entry on kidneys:

“Mr. Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liver slices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods’ roes. Most of all he like grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.”
Ulysses, James Joyce

You see, Anissa Helou not only knows her food, but she also appreciates literature. And food and literature are two of the passions of my life, so any work that combines them interests me.

But back to sweetbreads, and her wonderful book. I was glad to see “An A-Z of Offal,” because I am always encouraging people to venture beyond and try hearts and kidneys and brains … and, yes, yes, yes, sweetbreads.  In “An A-Z” Ms. Helou tells us, among other things, that “calf’s sweetbreads are finer than those from sheep,” an opinion with which, after much testing and tasting, I agree. You will also learn that a love of pig’s feet just might have been the undoing of Louis XIV.

If you buy this book, you will have at the ready a handy and informative lexicon of all things offal, and if you read it and cook from it, you and your guests will be the better for it. Above all, it allows one to understand that eating chittlerings or ears is not a macho, daring act, but one of taste, tradition and respect, and that is a valuable and important message indeed.

Calf's Sweetbreads with Capers (photo by Mike Cooper)

Calf's Sweetbreads with Capers (photo by Mike Cooper)

Full of clear and concise recipes – including Chicken Liver Tartlets, Mexican Pig’s Trotter Salad, and, a favorite of mine, A Head Dinner for Two: (Poached Brain and Eyes with Fleur de Sel, followed by Lamb’s Tongue with Vinaigrette Sauce, ending with Lamb’s Cheek with Blanquette Sauce) – Ms. Helou has stocked “Offal” with wonderful stories from her life and recounts the days and nights she spent in Paris, Barcelona, Marrakesh and other locales getting to know the items and recipes that make up the book. (Mike Cooper’s photography is an effective addition; take a look at his photo of frying pig’s trotters on page 101 and you’ll see what I mean.)

Personal and informative – “I am not one for eating feet stew for breakfast. Raw liver perhaps, but not feet stew.” – this volume belongs in the collection of anyone who embraces head-to-tail cookery. And I urge anyone who now turns up their nose at sheep’s brain and bone marrow to get “Offal: The Fifth Quarter” and explore a new route on their gastronomic journey.

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