Seafood Cassoulet

  

   

When I think of cassoulet, I think of heavy, hearty, hearthy - as in cooked in a large iron pot over the fire in an ancient kitchen fireplace.  Cassoulet is made for surviving the winter, the cold, dark, damp winter.  Most recipes for cassoulet call for duck leg, sausage, and pork.  Its white beans become a fourth fat delivery device, just the kind of thing you would want in the ruins of a medieval castle, still smoldering from the most recent sectarian strife.  

    

Rural southwestern France gave us traditional cassoulet, but their rustic tendencies do not always translate to our modern needs for time, convenience and lighter fare.  This seafood cassoulet from Le Cordon Bleu at Home is a take on the traditional dish, but is far less heavy and time consuming.  The biggest surprise is how a simple list of ingredients can provide so much more flavor in combination.  The trout, scallops and shrimp are lighter and healthier than the fat-filled pork and duck leg of cassoulet.  You will thank yourself for preparing this comfort food, and doing so without completely filling your arteries.  Serves 4.

    

Ingredients:

2 cups chicken stock

1 can white beans, such as Great Northern, drained and rinsed  

1 large onion, chopped

1 bouquet garni

2 carrots, diced

4 tbsp vegetable oil

6 tbsp butter

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 can diced tomatoes

2 trout filets

1/2 lb shrimp, peeled and cut into 1/2 inch pieces

1 cup scallops, in 1/2 inch chunks

1/2 cup bread crumbs

    

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.  In a sauce pan over medium high heat add the chicken stock, beans, 1/2 the onions, carrot and bouquet garni.  Bring to a boil and simmer.  Meanwhile, in a large sautee pan over medium high heat, warm 2 tbsp of butter and 2 tbsp oil.  When bubbling, add the trout and brown on both sides, seasoning with salt and pepper to taste.  Remove and cut into 1/2 inch pieces.  Brown the shrimp and scallops and set aside.  Add the remaining butter and oil and the remaining onions.  Soften the onions until just starting to turn golden then add the garlic.  Cook for 30 seconds and then add the tomato.  Season with salt and pepper and simmer for 15 minutes, reducing the heat if necessary.  Drain the bean mixture and add to the tomato mixture.  Stir in the cooked seafood and adjust the seasoning as needed.  Pour the combined cassoulet into an oven proof dish.  Spread the bread crumbs on top and dot with small pieces of the remaining 2 tbsp of butter.  Bake until the bread crumbs are golden brown, about 10 minutes.

    

Coconut Poached Cod

   

  
When is it important to be delicate?  The male instinct is to avoid such a characterization.   Our male heroes are not delicate.  There are no delicate football players, no delicate warriors, no delicate orators.  Our role models may possess finesse and agility, but that is in applying strength and power.  At home, we may act gently, with our infants or our lovers, but never delicately.  Even delicate questions are never posed, they are either avoided or answered without asking.
   

In today's kitchen, many of our tastes are robust, fiery and forward.  Southwestern spices are prominent, rustic dishes appreciated, basic colors and flavors asked to pop.  Still, there is a cuisine and technique where delicate is the key.  Flavors are hinted at, layered, perfumed.  For me, that is Asian cooking, especially the preparations of Jean-Georges Vongerichten.  His dishes reflect not the bold, loud flavors of a market or ethnic dance, but the gentle, soft textures of a water garden.  His ingredients bubble, waft and scent.  His dishes don't make you stand up and salsa, they make you close your eyes and tune into your senses.  Lemongrass, kaffir lime, cilantro, basil, garlic, Thai chile, shallots, coconut, all applied softly, modestly, allowing each flavor to remain delicately, available, alluring.  

   

Want to feel that way on a Tuesday night?  All you need to do is prepare a dish like this.  It includes a bed of eggplant for balance and color, and an herb crust for texture.  Best of all, this isn't some sort of French veal sauce that must be cooked for a day and strained 20 times.  This recipe from from Vongerichten's Asian Flavors cookbook is an easy, relatively short, and certainly straightforward preparation and presentation.  It also makes it ok to be delicate.  Serves 2.

     

Ingredients:

1 eggplant, cut into 1/2 cubes

salt

5 tbsp butter

1 red Thai chile, seeded and finely chopped

1/2 lemon grass stalk, trimmed and finely chopped

1 garlic clove, minced

1/2 cup panko bread crumbs

1 tbsp minced mint leaves

1 tbsp minced cilantro leaves

1 tbsp minced basil leaves

2 shallots, sliced

2 kaffir lime leaves, sliced

2 cod fillets

pinch of cayenne pepper

1/2 cup dry white wine

1/2 cup coconut milk

1 tsp lime juice

1/2 tsp fish sauce

     

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.  Start a pot of water over high heat to boil for steaming the eggplant.  In a colander, rinse and drain the eggplants.  Generously sprinkle with salt, stir, and allow to sit for 20 minutes.  Meanwhile, make a crust mix by heating 2 tbsp of butter in a skillet over medium heat.  To the melted butter add half the chiles, 1/2 the lemon grass and the garlic and cook for 30 seconds to open the flavors.  Add the bread crumbs and saute, stirring frequently until the breadcrumbs are lightly browned.  Remove the bread crumbs to a bowl and allow to cool.  Stir in the mint, cilantro and basil.

    

Rinse and drain the eggplants and then steam until tender, about 7 minutes.  Set aside and keep warm.  

    

Add 2 tbsp of butter to a large skillet over medium heat.  Add the shallots, remaining chile and lemon grass, lime leaves and salt to taste.  When the shallots are softened, season the cod with salt and cayenne and add to the pan.  Add the wine and bring to a boil.  Cover the skillet and transfer to the oven.  Poach the fish, depending on thickness for 6 to 10 minutes.  Test by piercing with a meat thermometer, holding in the fish for a few seconds, and then placing on your tongue.  If it is warm, the fish is done.  Turn the oven to broil and remove the fish.  Transfer the fish to a baking sheet and return the skillet with the shallot mixture to the stove top over medium high heat.  Add the coconut milk and cook until the sauce is reduced and thickened.  About 5 minutes.  Meanwhile, top each piece of fish with a layer of the crust mix.  Add small pieces of the remaining butter on top and place under the broiler for a minute or two to heat the crust and brown a little more.  To serve, put the eggplants on the plate first and place the fish on top.  Stir into the pan sauce the lime juice and fish sauce to taste.  Spoon around the fish and serve.

    

Portugese Not-Tripe Stew

     

It is said that the people of Oporto, Portugal don't even like Port wine, even though it is named after their town. They prefer red table wine instead.  That makes sense since Port actually comes from the Douro Valley, about 40 miles upriver from the seaside Oporto.  Port is also a foreign creation for foreign markets.  British entrepreneurs created Port because the red wine they were importing was going bad before it reached England.  That led them to fortify the wine with a neutral grape spirit, which stopped fermentation and preserved it for its journey abroad.

What is locally associated with Oporto is tripe stew.  Portuguese are historically referred to as "tripeiros" or tripe eaters.  In their glory days of sea exploration, Portuguese ship crews received the best meats for their journeys, leaving only the unwanted leftover cuts for the locals.  Tripe became a part of Portuguese culinary history.  You can't blame the local tourism board for highlighting Port wine over tripe stew.  Can you imagine?  "Come to our country and eat our historic cow stomach lining recipes!"
     
In no way am I encouraging you to eat tripe.  It may be good, but neither of us will discover that tonight.  Instead, this journey of discovery is another way to turn the ordinary into something interesting and tasty.  You can imagine the need to turn tripe into something engaging.  They threw everything at it, different additional cuts of meat, mainly pork, spices, wine, garlic.  The result is a stew that is quite tasty and quintessentially Iberian.  In Oporto, where they use white beans mixed in with the stew, it is called simply Tripas.  In the south where they substitute chickpeas it is called Dobrada.  My recipe leaves out the tripe and puts back in the beef.  This Portuguese preparation makes this beef stew something more than the flour, carrots and potatoes that I am trying to avoid.  It includes the paprika and cumin, onions and tomato, wine and garlic of Iberian cooking.  The Portuguese will also add chorizo.  I find that overpowering, and left it out.  Try this version, it is just as authentic as Port wine.  Serves 4.

Ingredients:
2 tbsp olive oil
1 lb beef stew cubes
2 small or 1 large yellow onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tbsp paprika
1 tsp cumin
1 cup dry red wine
1 can diced tomatoes
1 bay leaf
1 can garbanzo beans
2 cups cooked rice

Preparation:
Heat the olive oil in a dutch oven over medium-high heat.  When the oil is smoking, add the beef and season with salt and pepper.  Brown the beef on all sides, and then add the onions and garlic.  Soften the onions for several minutes and then add the paprika and cumin.  Allow the spices to release their flavors for a couple of minutes and then add the wine.  Scrape up the browned bits on the bottom of the pot and add the diced tomatoes, with their juices, and the bay leaf.  Bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes.  Stir in the garbanzo beans and simmer the stew for 30 more minutes.  Serve over rice.
   

Peas with Lettuce, Chervil and Onions

    

 
"Eat your peas!" you can imagine someone saying that, a parent, or more stereotypically an evil boarding school headmaster.  I don't like peas.  It's a basic preference.  I just don't like the taste.  Although, I do cook with peas from time to time.  I included them tonight in a gnocchi dish I make with a vodka sauce, bacon and onions.  The peas add color, and a little crunch, but you can't taste them.  That is the key.  Peas for me are one of those things that are fine if I can't taste them.  Mushrooms are like that for many people.  They think they don't like them (although I do), but will eat dishes that include them because they blend into the background.  I also make a pea puree that I serve with scallops.  But there, the pea taste is reduced significantly in the puree with chicken stock and sauteed onion.

So, why am I suggesting a recipe for a side of peas?  Because this recipe for peas is a metaphor for life.  Part of it is "if life gives you lemons, make lemonade."  Part is turning beef stew into Beef Bourguignon.  There are many things we can do to make the best out of what life gives us, and to make life more interesting.  The French connection is also relevant here.  From time to time, I am working my way through the Le Cordon Bleu at Home cookbook.  It offers a series of meals, which are lessons in French cooking.  It starts from the beginning, roast chicken, and builds from there, through the basic sauces to all of the classics of French cooking.  Is their recipe for peas a French classic?  I have no idea.  But it is a wonderful example of how with simple ingredients and thoughtful preparation, we can make even peas more than edible, we can make them wonderful.
    
This is a lesson for every meal.  Don't just prepare a tomato sauce for your pasta, combine your tomato sauce with wine, and perhaps the liquid from reconstituted mushrooms.  In this case, don't just boil your peas, saute them with onions and butter, add an herb such as chervil.  And in a truly special, yet simple twist, cook with a chiffonade of lettuce.  That and a little sugar will give you the peas of your life.  Who knew little peas could take on such character?  They have taken on the character of you, the interesting you, the one who has cooked from a recipe, cooked in the French way, added flavor, no, added perfume to your dish.  The one who has given beauty even to peas.

That said, should you ever serve this dish to your family or friends?  No, of course not.  No one likes peas.  But make this for yourself, on that cold day when you roast a chicken, and you want to take care of yourself, and show yourself that you are special.  You will enjoy these peas, and you will enjoy yourself even more because you made them.  Remember that feeling, and transport these techniques, cooking with pearl onions, adding an infrequently used, delicate herb, maybe even sauteeing with lettuce.  Remember how you have the power to turn the ordinary into the sublime. 
    
Ingredients:
Several leafs of green lettuce
3 tbsp butter
1 cup peas
8 pearl onions, peeled
1/2 tsp chervil
1 tsp sugar
1/4 tsp salt

Directions:
Cut the lettuce into thin chiffonade strips.  In a heavy sauce pan over medium heat, melt the butter and add the lettuce, peas, onions and chervil.  Stir until the lettuce wilts.  Add 1/3 cup of water, the sugar and salt.  Bring to a simmer, cover and cook gently until the peas are tender, about 15 minutes.  Serve.
   

Lamb Ragu with Mint Tagliatelle

 

    

Having lived through an earthquake last week, the question I asked myself wasn't much different than every day before.  What should I make for dinner?  Natural disasters can wreck havoc on daily routines such as cooking, usually in a bad way.  There is an article in the paper today describing how federal emergency management officials actually measure the intensity of a disaster by how many Waffle Houses are closed.  Known for reopening quickly after a natural disaster, the fate and health of Waffle Houses will reflect the conditions in that area.  The feds even have a color ranking for severity.  Green means the restaurant is serving a full meal, reflecting little loss of power or damage.  Yellow means that restaurants are offering only a limited menu under the strain of lost power or low food supplies.  Red means that the restaurant is closed, a sure sign after a day or two of extensive damage.  "If you get there and the Waffle House is closed, that's really bad," according to FEMA Administrator Craig Fugate.

    

One good thing about an earthquake is that it is relatively fast, and you have a good chance of emerging unscathed, both literally and logistically.  If you're power didn't go out or your gas line break, you're free and clear.  Like a snowstorm, you may have extra time at home while you wait for everyone else to decide things are safe to go out (or back in).  Whether being sent home for work because a blizzard is coming or big office buildings must be checked for damage, these are unique times to try something different, using the extra time to explore cooking techniques requiring time, care or practice.  So it was after an earthquake hit the East Coast that I had the afternoon off.  With this gift of time (and life I suppose), I decided to make the mint tagliatelle with lamb ragu from Mario Battali's The Babbo Cookbook.  The ragu could simmer all afternoon, I could roll out fresh pasta with the leisure of a weekend day, it would be just like being there.  

    

I also had enough time to dislike just about everything that resulted from this recipe and do it over, from scratch, completely.   One thing some people don't realize is that recipes from restaurant cookbooks are not the recipes they use in the kitchen or the way they would prepare the meal for a customer.  The necessity of proportions and timing dictate that restaurants prepare many menu components hours before they are served.  Finishing touches just before service are both required, and even enhance the flavor and appearance of the dish.  Likewise, the home cook will make ragu for 4, while restaurants must feed a crowd.  Certain techniques are just glossed over or taken for granted by professional cooks.  

    

Take for example the tagliatelle.  The Babbo recipe includes just the ingredients and preparation of the dough.  "Shaping as desired" is left to the reader's imagination, which in my case failed the first time by not rolling out the dough thin enough.  A thick, unsightly and chewy tagliatelle resulted.  A few settings thinner on the pasta rolling machine did the trick.  Another example was the ragu, which after simmering 2 hours and sitting some more was now not saucy or silky.  The ragu had soaked up all of the good juices and verged on being dry.  Not mentioned in the recipe is the technique of the restaurant cook, who instead of draining the pasta in a colander like a home chef might, instead transfers the dripping pasta and pasta water along with directly to the sauce pan.  They then add butter and more pasta water as needed to produce a silky, glistening sauce.  Whether it was surviving an earthquake or perfecting cooking techniques, eating this dish for dinner sure made me feel alive.  Serves 4.

    

Ingredients:

1/4 cup olive oil

1 lb lamb shoulder, cut into chunks

salt/pepper

1 carrot, peeled and diced

1 onion, diced

1 celery stalk, diced

4 garlic cloves, minced

1/2 bunch time, leaves left on stem

2 cups dry red wine

1 16-oz can of crushed tomatoes

1/4 lb olives, pitted (if desired)

1/2 cup mint leaves

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 large eggs

1/2 tsp extra virgin olive oil

1-2 tbsp butter

parmigiano-reggiano

2 tbsp basil, sliced

   

Directions:

In a large casserole, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat until smoking.  Season the lamb with salt and pepper and brown in the oil, cooking in batches if necessary to avoid overcrowding.  Remove the browned meat and set aside.  Add the carrot, onion, celery, garlic and thyme and cook, stirring until softened and lightly browned, about 5 minutes.  Stir in the red wine and tomatoes.  Scrape the bottom of the pan to loosen up the bits and bring to a boil.  Return the meat, lower the heat, cover and simmer for 1 1/2 hours.  Remove the meat again, shred with a fork, and return both the meat and add the olives (if using) to the casserole.  Simmer for another 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the pasta by blanching the mint leaves in boiling water for 45 seconds.  Transfer immediately to an ice bath.  When cool, drain the mint leaves and puree in a blender.  Mound the flour on a cutting board or countertop, forming a well in the middle.  Add the eggs to the middle of the well and beat them lightly.  Add the oil and mint puree to the eggs, mix and begin folding in the flour from the edges of the well.  Incorporate more and more of the flour until it starts to form a dough.  Knead in the remaining flour and then knead the entire mixture for 6 minutes.  The result should be a slightly sticky, elastic ball.  Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and allow to rest for 30 minutes.  Separate the dough into 4 balls and send each through a pasta rolling machine, lightly dusting with flour if necessary to prevent sticking, several times on the thickest setting, folding back on itself to send through again, and then on increasingly thinner settings one time each until just below the thinnest setting.  Lay the dough sheets on a lightly floured table and cut tagliatelle strips with a pizza roller.  Hang strips on a pasta dryer or just pile on a plate until ready to cook.

Bring a well seasoned pot of water to boil.  Meanwhile, heat a large saute pan over high heat.  Add the ragu to the saute pan and the pasta to the boiling water.  Cook the pasta in the boiling water until al dente, as quick as a minute or maybe a little longer (the pasta will finish cooking with the sauce).  Remove the pasta to saute pan with the ragu.  Add the butter and mix with the ragu and pasta.  Add additional cooking water if needed to further loosen the sauce.  Allow the ragu and pasta to simmer a minute.  Plate and top with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and basil.  Serve.

    

Arugula Salad with Duck Egg, Prosciutto and Truffle Vinaigrette

 

     

"Tonight, I will kill you."  Those were the words I remembered when I first tasted this dish.  On a recent trip, I had brought Tony Bourdain along to keep me company.  And no, that wasn't what he said when he realized that he would be spending summer vacation with me and my six and nine year-old boys at our family cabin.  While I was flying to Colorado, Tony was visiting Quebec in season 2 of No Reservations.  The restaurant was Au Pied de Cochon in Montreal, and even though pigs feet were on the door, foie gras was on the menu.  Not just an appetizer or a main course dish, but nine different preparations of everything from duck terrine to a foie gras tart, foie gras poutine, foie gras hamburger, foie gras stuffed rabbit, foie gras on a buckwheat pancake with bacon and syrup, even a foie gras hot dog.  Chef Martin Picard gave the order to kill his friend and fellow foie gras lover with his entire foie gras menu, instructing his kitchen to "give him, give him, give him, and when he dies, stop." 

     

Tony very nearly died that night and that experience was in my mind when I tried this appetizer from Mario Batali's Babbo Cookbook.  The prosciutto, the duck egg, the truffle oil all conjures the "rich, outrageously over the top" experience of Tony's foie gras fantasia.  Mario's dish is these things, but it's even more.  The rustic bread gives a crunch contrast in texture absent from Montreal's hometown cheese, gravy and french fries poutine dish.  More importantly, Mario always remembers the acid necessary to brighten and balance a dish.  In this case, while there is a truffle vinaigrette drizzled over the top, the greens are prepared with a lemon vinaigrette.  The result is a trip through ecstasy with a return to readiness for the next course.  No flushed cheeks and bloated belly, although Tony can be forgiven, he did have 15 courses that evening in Montreal.  

   

An ingredients note, Mario suggests guanciale, pancetta or bacon.  I had prosciutto in the fridge and used that.  I liked the flavor without the thick slices of the other options.  Also, I am not a frisee person, so I substituted arugula for Mario's suggestion.  Similarly, I made no effort to procure real truffles, instead using truffle oil.  These are all choices we make in adopting restaurant menus to our home.  But don't substitute the duck egg, and never forget that heaven is somewhere between pork fat and sauteed duck liver.  Serves 2.

    

Ingredients:

5 tsp extra virgin olive oil

1 tsp lemon juice

salt/pepper

2 handfuls arugula

1 tsp truffle oil

1 tsp sherry vinegar

4 strips prosciutto

2 tbsp butter

2 duck eggs

2 slices of baguette, cut thick and grilled or toasted

    

Directions:

Whisk 3 tsp of olive oil with the lemon juice, salt and pepper.  Combine with the arugula and set aside.  Mix the other 2 tsp of olive oil with the truffle oil and sherry vinegar.  Whisk and set aside.  In a non-stick saute pan over medium heat, cook the prosciutto slices until browned.  Remove to a paper towel.  Discard the fat and wipe the pan.  Turn up the heat under the pan to medium-high and add the butter.  When the butter is heated and the foam subsides, add each egg and cook without flipping for 4 to 5 minutes.  When the egg is nearly done, tilt the pan and spoon some of the hot butter over the egg to finish the cooking.  Season with salt and pepper and remove from the pan.  Assemble each plate with some arugula on the bottom, an  egg, a piece of baguette and finally the prosciutto on top.  Drizzle with the truffle vinaigrette and serve.

    

Cambodian Chicken Curry

 

 

I am surrounded by bad Thai restaurants.  That is a very sad thing, because I love Thai food.  For some reason, here in the Virginia suburbs of Washington DC we have many Thai restaurants.  New York may have its pizzerias and Chinese food, Philly its cheesesteaks, other cities what they have, but we have Thai restaurants.  This is especially notable because we have no Thai neighborhoods and no Thai communities to speak of.  Even our Chinatown has largely disbanded.  But, we must love Thai food because they are ubiquitous. 
    
Three blocks from my apartment there is a Thai restaurant.  Not terrible, but not good.  It’s the kind of place you try and are disappointed, and six months later hoping it is better are disappointed again, and a year later having forgotten your prior disappointment are reminded again after another meal, disliking yourself as much as your meal because you allow your hope to be punished.  Eight blocks in the opposite direction there is another one.  It isn’t terrible either, but it’s not good and the menu is limited.  Six blocks further on the same street is another.  I ate there years ago and don’t remember it being bad, but have had no urge to return, which must mean that my body is telling me something.  Four blocks beyond that are two more Thai restaurants.  One is in a location that has changed cuisines frequently.  It is decorated in a modern way that would be wonderful if the food were good, which it isn’t.  One more block further is another.  Not good. It is a long trail of misery that like the street ends at the river, which I wish I could throw myself into, or at least all of these not so good restaurants.
    
Along this chain of pain is a pan-Asian restaurant that is wonderful.  It was my first introduction to southern Thai food, including Curry Laksa (if you consider this Singaporean dish related).  I love this yellow curry dish and I order it virtually every visit.  It comes with cellophane noodles, shrimp (it's not on the menu, but I order it this way and they make it for me), fried tofu, sprouts, cilantro, celery and little fried onions.  The curry is the kind of thing you want to slurp out what remains at the bottom of the bowl, and then spread it on your lips, behind your ears and on your cheeks, and then you wish you could take a bath in it.
    
But what really changed my culinary life was the Massaman curry.  Here was a curry without a color.  Not red, not yellow, not green.  It also had potatoes and peanuts.  It was different, like its origins (from the Muslim south).  It was so subtle, so interesting, so multilayered.  It taught me that curry could be so much more, in this case with the addition of Spice Island ingredients like cinnamon and nutmeg.  This was how exotic was exotic when it wanted to be.  This was beautiful. 
     
It also hasn’t been replicated at any of the other restaurants in my neighborhood.  So, since my favorite restaurant is a little too far to go to as frequently as I would like, I forced myself to learn how to cook Thai food.  They say if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.  I’m not saying that I am a proficient Thai cook, but I do make good Thai food, which is better than bad Thai food you had to pay for.  I have learned that cooking Thai food is not that hard.  It all seems to involve coconut milk, curry paste, and the addition of fish sauce and sugar.  I have taken extra steps including keeping on hand palm sugar, coconut oil, galangal, tamarind paste, ginger, and lemongrass, which along with a full complement of spices allows me to make just about any recipe.  Which still leaves me wondering, if someone like me can keep these ingredients and make at least a good curry, why are so many restaurants around me cooking not very good, clumsy, uninteresting, you are Thai aren’t you so why aren’t you making good, much less great, curry?

    
I don't know, but all of this is a long way of answering the question: what on earth possessed you to make Cambodian chicken curry?  The answer is, once you know how to do something, you want to try more of it, in different ways, opening new doors, exploring new ingredients, techniques and tastes.  So, as I was flipping through my recently purchased 500 Curries cookbook, wanting to fill a need to both explore and experience, I came across this recipe.  It is simple and different, in that it uses Indian curry or garam masala as the base.  According to this book, that is common in many Cambodian recipes.  I did not know that, not that I knew anything about Cambodian recipes, but it was something new and something I would try.  Serves 2.

    

Ingredients:

1 1/2 tbsp garam masala

1 1/2 tsp turmeric

2 chicken breasts cut into bite size pieces

1 tbsp sesame oil

1 shallot, chopped

1 garlic clove, chopped

1 tsp galangal, chopped

1 lemon grass stock, chopped

1 tsp chili flakes

1 potato (sweet if desired), peeled and cubed

1 tbsp fish sauce

1 tbsp sugar

1 cup coconut milk

6 cherry tomatoes, halved

1 small bunch basil, chopped

1 small bunch cilantro, chopped

salt/pepper

   

Directions:

In a small bowl, mix together the garam masala and turmeric.  Use half the mixture to coat the chicken pieces.  Set both aside.  Heat the oil in a wok or large pan over high heat.  Add the shallots, garlic, galangal and lemon grass and cook a minute or two.  Stir in the rest of the spice mixture, chili flakes and then add the chicken. Stir to coat, cooking for 2 to 3 minutes.  Add the coconut milk, 1/4 cup water, fish sauce, sugar and potatoes.  Bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer.  Cook for about 15 minutes until the potatoes are soft.  Add the tomatoes and half the basil, stirring to combine.  Season with salt and pepper, adding a little more of either sugar or fish sauce to taste.  Serve with rice and garnish with remaining basil and cilantro.

     

Adobo Duck Tacos

     

   
El Bulli is closed. Temple of culinary exploration, the workshop of invention, forge of avant-garde tastes closed its doors at the end of July.  Regarded for many years as the best restaurant in the world, El Bulli was a mythological place for most all of us. Located an ocean away in rural northeastern Spain, it might as well have sat on Mount Olympus. A god created there, and a heavenly pedigree was needed to obtain a reservation. What does such a place mean to us mere mortals, those without privilege to the sacred fruits? I have Chef Ferran Adria’s book “A Day at ElBulli.” The cover suggests its forbidden nature, “2,000,000 requests for 8,000 places every year.” The quotes on the back describe the reasons: “’The best cook on the planet’ – Joel Robuchon” and “’Ferran is a genius. Without a doubt, he’s had the biggest influence on modern gastronomy of any chef alive’ – Heston Blumenthal.”  What can any of us offer in the glare of such light?
  
The answer is inside of each of us, and is the most important thing for any cook. It is the heart, and from the heart, the passion that we bring to our cooking. Whether we bring greatness to our craft is measured in other ways, but because we apply ourselves with pure hearts, with love for our creations, we realize the full rewards of cooking. We feel the reason we cook, the enjoyment, the enrichment, the fulfillment. Each of us can say what Adria says, “I love to cook.” That is the most important thing.
   
And so, after watching a Tony Bourdain “No Reservations” episode on the closing El Bulli, I thought to myself, what should I cook? Would I shrink in self comparison to Adria? No, I would exalt in our shared passion and let that fuel another night’s personal experience. My only direct connection to El Bulli was that I would make something small, as a tasting plate might be. I have a cookbook entitled “Big Small Plates” by Cindy Pawlcyn of Mustards Grill in Napa Valley that features just such dishes. On the cover is this recipe for rabbit tostada with cumin-scented black beans and lime crème fraiche. On this evening, that would hit the spot. Is it something El Bulli would serve? I don’t know, and don’t really care. I was cooking ingredients I wanted in the way that I wanted. To that end, my version uses duck breast instead of rabbit and adobo sauce instead of a guajillo chile paste. They were both on hand and a little less involved than the original recipe. Was this my own creation birthed in a laboratory in Madrid? No, and neither was it prepared on the Mediterranean seaside south of Barcelona. But it was fun, it was interesting, it was my own and it fueled my passion for cooking. Make this your own and feel the passion.  Serves 2
  
Ingredients:
2 duck breasts
salt and pepper
1 cup chopped onion
2 cups chicken stock
1-2 tsp adobo sauce (from a can of chipotle peppers)
1 tbsp olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tsp ground cumin
1 can black beans
1 bunch cilantro, chopped
2 limes
1/4 cup creme fraiche
2 tbsp lemon juice
1 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tsp brown sugar
1 pinch chile flakes
1/4 cup olive oil
1 cup shredded cabbage
1/3 cup crumbled goat cheese
6 (6-inch) corn tortillas
   
Preparation:
In a saute pan over medium-high eat, cook the duck breasts skin side down until the fat is rendered.  Turn the duck breast and brown the other side.  Transfer the breasts to a platter and poor off the duck fat, leaving 1-2 tbsp.  Add 1/2 of the chopped onions and saute until softened.  Add 1 tsp of the adobo sauce and stir into the onions to bring out the flavor.  Return the duck breasts and coat in the mixture.  Pour in 1 1/2 cups of chicken stock, bring to a simmer and cover.  Cook for 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, heat 1 tbsp of olive oil in a small sauce pan over medium heat.  Add the other 1/2 of the chopped onions and saute until softened.  Add 1 clove of minced garlic and 1/2 tsp of cumin and saute a minute to release their flavors.  Stir in the black beans and cook another minute to coat the beans with the flavorrs.  Add the remaining 1/2 cup of stock and bring to a simmer.  Turn the heat to low and cover to keep warm.
Zest one of the limes and juice half into a bowl.  Stir in the creme fraiche, season lightly with salt and pepper and set aside.
Whisk together 1 clove of minced garlic, 2 tbsp lemon juice, the red wine vinegar, brown sugar, pinch of chile flakes, 1/2 tsp of cumin and the olive oil.  Shred the cabbage and mix with the desired amount of vinaigrette to coat.
Remove the duck breasts from the saute pan and shread with two forks.  Return the shredded duck to the pan to coat with the sauce and spoon out to a plate.  Microwave the tortillas for 30 seconds if desired.  Season the black beans to taste with salt and pepper and stir in a small handful of cilantro.  Place the rest of the cilantro in a bowl. 
Assemble the tacos with the black beans, duck and shredded cabbage as a base.  Spoon on the lime creme fraiche and add cilantro and crumbled goat cheese to taste.
   

Chicken with Sage Bacon Cream Sauce

   

How do we know when the seasons change?  This can be importent because increasingly we are told to eat based on the season. Eat what is fresh now, reap the harvest and bring it to the table. Tender pea shoots in the spring, ripe tomatoes in the summer, hearty game in the fall.  Eating fresh ingredients is essential to good cooking and seasonal ingredients are freshest, but what if I don't feel like eating summer fare in the summer.  What if I am tired of bright, colorful flavors.  What if I am ready to move on to something more hearty, more rustic?

    

Recently, I ate at a restaurant that literally titles itself after the seasons. It tries to stay so up to date that it changes its appetizer weekly. There's nothing wrong with that really, it's a current concept and they are riding that train. However, what if I don't feel like what's current. We may still be in the heat of the August, but I'm tired of mango salsas to go with my grilled fish. Summer vegetables have been fresh and beautiful, but I've never liked zucchini and I don't need any more corn.

   
That said, I hate when stores display Christmas items in October or clothing stores put out the fall gear before the end of summer. I am just not in the mood to buy a sweater on the way to the pool, and the last thing I want to see is Santa Claus before Halloween.  How do I balance living in the season and moving on to the next?  On this night, perusing the menu at this seasonal restaurant, I stopped on the pork loin with Cremini mushrooms and polenta. These flavors of butter and cream, roasted comfort goodness, speak to me of scarves and sweaters, not shorts and sun glasses. Had this menu succeeded in sneaking Christmas tree lights into my shopping cart?

The recipe below is from my local paper this summer.  It may not be boar ragu or shepherd's pie, but its cream and bacon illicited a comfort response that a tropical salsa would not.  The pan sauce is the key, and it coated my insides with the savory goodness I needed.  The sage bacon cream sauce is the perfect autumn bridge.  The sage reminds us of the garden, while the bacon and cream transition us to coming cool weather and the hearty dishes of fall.  It fit where I was and what I wanted, not just in place, but also in mood and emotion.  So, listen always to exhortations to cook with the freshest ingredients, but listen to yourself in choosing which of those ingredients will meet your needs that evening.  I hope this recipe will meet your needs one night.  Adapted from the the Wahsington Post, June 29, 2011.  Serves 2.
   
Ingredients:
2 strips bacon, diced
1 tablespoon butter
1 tbsp olive oil
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
salt
pepper
1/4 cup corn meal
1 tbsp minced shallots
1/4 cup dry white wine
1/4 cup chicken stock
1 tbsp chopped parsely
1 tsp minced sage
1/4 cup heavy cream
   
Preparation:
In a large saute pan over medium-high heat, cook the bacon until crisp.  Remove the bacon and if insufficient bacon fat is present to saute the chicken breasts, add the oil and butter.  Season the chicken with salt and pepper and then coat with corn meal, shaking off any excess.  Add the breasts and cook until starting to brown on the bottom.  Turn the breasts and reduce the heat to medium.  Add the shallots and cook a couple of minutes to soften.  Add the wine and stock and scrape up any bits on the bottom of the pan.  When the chicken is cooked through, remove to a plate.  Stir in the parsley, sage and cream and cook a few minutes to warm.  If the sauce needs to be loosened, add a little more stock or wine.  Plate the chicken breasts and spoon the sauce on top.
   

Spaghetti with Shrimp and Grapes

    

Fire and ice, night and day, sun and rain, there are some elements of nature that if not opposite, seem at odds with each other.  And yet, when they do occur together, they yield wonderful results.  Who can say that the sun peaking through during a rain storm is not a beautiful site.  This duality came to mind as I pulled out my da fiore cookbook of recipes from the restaurant by that name in Venice.  The recent movie The Tourist reminded me of the beautiful scenes and vistas of this city.  I myself have visited Venice on two occasions, and like most tourists, it was during the summer.  Light glitters off the canals, highlights the palazzos, and gives brilliance to the produce in the markets.  You can stroll the narrow alleys and bridges of Venice for hours, turning corners and discovering private little squares and hidden restaurants waiting for you. 
   
Sadly, those days of casual meals outdoors in the warm summer sun are a distant memory this time of year.  Winter in Venice is damp, cold, and overcast - not an inspiration for cabin fever.  To combat such chilling feelings, my fall menus feature warm, comfort food.  But several months of heavy, hearty food leave me wanting something fresher, something brighter.  With the new year, I want to renew and look forward to spring.  Instead of warmth, I am now searching for brightness, the kind of sunlight that peaks through the rain.  This recipe provides that with the addition of grapes to pasta.  I find that it adds a brightness to the dish that inspires me toward fresher feelings, with a pasta base that anchors me to hearty winter needs.  Of course, the Italians eat pasta year-round, as should we all.  But this dish provided me that link, from savory winter fair, to lighter spring fare.  It may be too soon to mix early-spring vegetables into our meals, but try this idea to mix some light into your winter day.  Serves 2.
   
Ingredients:
1/2 lb uncooked shrimp, peeled, deveined and cut in half diagonally
1/2 cup grapes, halved 
1/4 cup olive oil
1 small leek, white part only, cleaned and thinly sliced
1/4 cup white wine
2 plum tomatoes, peeled and diced
2 tsp chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 tsp chopped chives
salt/pepper
1/3 lb spaghetti
   
Directions:
Cook the pasta in a large pot of salted boiling water.  When the pasta has 6 minutes remaining, heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat.  Add the leek and shrimp and cook for 3 minutes, stirring often.  Add the wine and reduce somewhat.  Add the grapes and tomatoes and cook another minute, then stir in the parsley and chives.  Drain the pasta and and add to the sauce.  Add some of the pasta cooking water if needed.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Cook for 1 to 2 minutes, stirring to combine.  Serve.
   

Pork Basque-Style with Peppers and Tomatoes

   

     

What culinary wonders await us at Target?  Yes, I said Target, land of laundry baskets, toys, electronics and six dollar polo shirts.  Many locations do now offer groceries, but they are more chicken nuggets than Cornish game hen.  We all need places to buy milk along with socks, so I'm not knocking Target.  Nor was I expecting culinary inspiration, but there it was on the shelf:  Tempranillo.  Tempranillo, that noble grape of Spain, heart of Rioja wines.  Black and thick in skin, it needs cool nights to bring acidity and hot days to develop the sugar and skin to give a deep red color.  These are best found in northern Spain.  This bottle said its grapes were from Navarre, neighboring Rioja.  Alas, it wasn't a Spanish wine, a Francis Coppola import instead.  But still, I almost felt that I needed to look around, to see if I was being watched, and wonder why something like this would settle among the cheap Chardonnay and Merlot.  No matter, I grabbed it and headed home with this grain of sand that would form a pearl.
Is this recipe a pearl?  Perhaps not, but the point is that inspiration for an interesting meal can come from anywhere, as plain and innocuous as Target.  Sometimes all we need is that spark to take us away, in this case to Basque country.  Next door to Rioja, the Basques are home to some of the finest restaurants in the world.  Arzak is a three-starred Michelin restaurant in San Sebastian that gives us some of the world's leading nouvelle cuisine.  The roots of this dish are not that.  They are found on the docks, or out on the fishing boats.  They are marmitako, a fish stew that means 'from the pot.'  It is a favorite way for Basques to prepare tuna.  It is a simple preparation with potatoes, onions, tomatoes and paprika.  Fisherman plying the Cantabrian Sea may also use mackerel, and argue about whether they should use green or red peppers.  Tonight, I am not an arguing fisherman, nor am I using fish even.  I am substituting pork, mostly because I want to, but also because that is what I have.  That is not to say that pork isn't an integral part of Spanish cooking.  It can even mix with seafood as in the Portugese pork and clam recipes famous in Alentejo.  Substitute tuna if you like, make this recipe your own.  Just ensure that even if you find yourself at Target, let yourself find the inspiration to go far away, if only in meal and dream.  Serves 4.
     
Ingredients:
2 tbsp olive oil
1 pork loin, cut into 3/4" cubes
1 tsp paprika
salt/pepper
1 yellow onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 roasted red pepper, chopped
1 1/2 cups white wine
3 potatoes, peeled and cut into 3/4" cubes
1 cup tomato sauce
1 tsp sugar (if needed)
2 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped
     
Directions:
In a large saute pan over medium-high heat, add the olive oil.  While it is heating, mix the pork with the paprika and season with salt and pepper.  Add the pork to the hot oil and brown, a few minutes on each side.  Remove the pork to a plate with a slotted spoon and turn down the heat.  Add the onions and cook 6 minutes to soften.  Add the garlic and cook another minute to release the flavor.  Add the roasted red pepper and wine.  Bring to a boil and simmer down to one cup of liquid.  Add the potatoes and just enough hot water to cover the potatoes.  Cover the pan and reduce to strong simmer.  Cook for 20 minutes until the potatoes are soft when poked with a fork.  Mix in the tomato sauce and the sugar if needed to break down the acidity.  Add the pork and simmer another 5 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper as needed.  Top with the parsley and serve.