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.