Merry Christmas, Hannukah, etc.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Happy Holidays
There will most likely be no blogging until after New Year's. I'll be in Paris until then though, and I'll have plenty to write about when I come back. Reservations are made, bakeries have been scouted, and my childhood favorites will all make an appearance.
Merry Christmas, Hannukah, etc.
Merry Christmas, Hannukah, etc.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Hogs are fun
This post is a bit late to come, as it happened a couple of months ago, but I just got the pictures.
Lauren's aunt Sarah and her family like to eat, have a beautiful house in Berkeley with a perfect kitchen (and a six-burner Wolfe range!), and are the only people I know who own a Caja China. They started a not-quite-yearly tradition of having a pig roast at their place a few years ago. The tradition is quite simple: a whole pig, roasted in the caja china, with a potluck for the other dishes. There's also bourbon involved. Sounds pretty perfect, doesn't it?
In years past, they always ordered their pigs without the head, for it does not fit in the Caja China, and it's a bit more of a challenge to eat than the other parts. This is year, I begged them to keep the head. They pay for it after all! You see, one of the things I love most in this world is charcuterie, and one of the most fun pieces of charcuterie I've ever had the pleasure of making is head cheese, the curiously named product of pig or cow head meats usually set in its own gelatin. I'd made it before in a restaurant, but I wanted it to be my contribution to this lovely party.
In looking around the internet for information about head cheese, I found out that most European countries have some variance of the stuff, and that it's even spread to destinations as far-flung as Korea and South Africa. Interesting that people see livestock heads and want to make jellied cakes out of them. Some people pickle it, and some people stuff it back into a deboned head and cure it. Here, I sought to make a rather typical 'testa' log in an Italian style, without too much gelatin and with distinctly Italian spicing.
The process of getting the meat ready for this type of head cheese isn't actually that complicated. You start by trimming any nose hair and other nasties from the head, and proceed to essentially make a stock. The idea is quite simple, really: there is so much collagen in the head of the pig that the resulting stock is full of gelatin and flavor. Reduce that stock, and use it as your binding agent for all the meat you can pull of the head.
This happened in October, before Obama was elected, so the Berkeley residents in charge of bringing the pig's head to its new home proceeded to put lipstick on its face, in honor of Ms. Palin, mother of Trig. Doesn't he look pretty?
But let's get down to business. Prepping the head is actually quite simple. After washing off the lipstick and cleaning the head, I removed any extra visible hair, and tied the jaw and ears with twine so that it wouldn't come completely apart in the pot.
Then, just do as you would do for a stock. Mix with some aromatics (I used plenty of rosemary and garlic here, as I wanted those flavors in the gelatin). Cover with cold water, and bring to a simmer, for about three or four hour, til the meat slides tenderly off the bone.
Oh wait. At that point, I was told that the pig's legs were too long for the Caja China. Fantastic, I thought, more gelatin! Pig's feet are chockfull of collagen, so I proceeded to hack the feet of the pig, which was chillin' (literally: covered in ice) in the spare bathroom's bathtub. After this massacre, I wound up with four lovely pig's trotters, ready to play their part.
Anyway, after braising, I carefully removed the pig's head, which is hard to do as all the meat is trying to come off the bone. Strain the stock, and reserve just enough for the head cheese, about two quarts. I seasoned it with fennel seeds, chiles, cloves, allspice and white pepper, then let it reduce. We wanted the gelatin to be very hard, so I reduced it by almost two thirds. Then add the salt.
While the stock is reducing, gather the kids, and start taking apart the pig's head! I could have done more cleanly, but it was much more fun to let everyone dig in. Again, this is a pretty simple process. Find the meat, put it in a bowl. Usually starts with taking the bottom jaw out, and then the tongue, which has to be peeled of its outer skin. After that, it's a hunt. There are some bigger pieces, like neck meat and the jowls, but most of the meat has to be pried away from the layers of fat.
And then there's the eyeball...
By the end, it's a complete mess, but everyone's had fun.
At this point, the only tough part. Actually rolling it all together. I laid out a large amount of plastic wrap, made sure the meat was torn up a bit, and lay it out in a rough log shape. Pour the liquid on top, making sure it doesn't go everywhere. Then roll, making sure both ends are tight. It's a bit more complicated than it sounds, and I remember screwing this method up a lot when I first had to do it in restaurants. Eventually, it should like like this:
Ideally, it would have hung in the fridge to keep its round shape, but the fridge was packed with food for the roast, so we had to settle with laying it on its side, and one of the sides flattened a little.
I served it in pretty thick slices, treating it more like a pate. With some toasted sweet batard from Acme, cornichons and whole grain mustard, this was a perfect rustic plate of charcuterie. I'm a modernist in general when it comes to food, but there are certain things that shouldn't be touched. Good charcuterie is one of them. I really liked how this turned out. Not too much gelatin, lots of identifiable pieces of pork head, a good, mildly spicy flavor, redolent of fennel. I ate quite a few slices.
As for the pig? Well, just look at this baby:
There's nothing better than a whole roasted animal. Crispy skin, moist meat, slapped into a sandwich with a little chili sauce. Mmmmm........
Lauren's aunt Sarah and her family like to eat, have a beautiful house in Berkeley with a perfect kitchen (and a six-burner Wolfe range!), and are the only people I know who own a Caja China. They started a not-quite-yearly tradition of having a pig roast at their place a few years ago. The tradition is quite simple: a whole pig, roasted in the caja china, with a potluck for the other dishes. There's also bourbon involved. Sounds pretty perfect, doesn't it?
In years past, they always ordered their pigs without the head, for it does not fit in the Caja China, and it's a bit more of a challenge to eat than the other parts. This is year, I begged them to keep the head. They pay for it after all! You see, one of the things I love most in this world is charcuterie, and one of the most fun pieces of charcuterie I've ever had the pleasure of making is head cheese, the curiously named product of pig or cow head meats usually set in its own gelatin. I'd made it before in a restaurant, but I wanted it to be my contribution to this lovely party.
In looking around the internet for information about head cheese, I found out that most European countries have some variance of the stuff, and that it's even spread to destinations as far-flung as Korea and South Africa. Interesting that people see livestock heads and want to make jellied cakes out of them. Some people pickle it, and some people stuff it back into a deboned head and cure it. Here, I sought to make a rather typical 'testa' log in an Italian style, without too much gelatin and with distinctly Italian spicing.
The process of getting the meat ready for this type of head cheese isn't actually that complicated. You start by trimming any nose hair and other nasties from the head, and proceed to essentially make a stock. The idea is quite simple, really: there is so much collagen in the head of the pig that the resulting stock is full of gelatin and flavor. Reduce that stock, and use it as your binding agent for all the meat you can pull of the head.
This happened in October, before Obama was elected, so the Berkeley residents in charge of bringing the pig's head to its new home proceeded to put lipstick on its face, in honor of Ms. Palin, mother of Trig. Doesn't he look pretty?
But let's get down to business. Prepping the head is actually quite simple. After washing off the lipstick and cleaning the head, I removed any extra visible hair, and tied the jaw and ears with twine so that it wouldn't come completely apart in the pot.
Then, just do as you would do for a stock. Mix with some aromatics (I used plenty of rosemary and garlic here, as I wanted those flavors in the gelatin). Cover with cold water, and bring to a simmer, for about three or four hour, til the meat slides tenderly off the bone.
Oh wait. At that point, I was told that the pig's legs were too long for the Caja China. Fantastic, I thought, more gelatin! Pig's feet are chockfull of collagen, so I proceeded to hack the feet of the pig, which was chillin' (literally: covered in ice) in the spare bathroom's bathtub. After this massacre, I wound up with four lovely pig's trotters, ready to play their part.
Anyway, after braising, I carefully removed the pig's head, which is hard to do as all the meat is trying to come off the bone. Strain the stock, and reserve just enough for the head cheese, about two quarts. I seasoned it with fennel seeds, chiles, cloves, allspice and white pepper, then let it reduce. We wanted the gelatin to be very hard, so I reduced it by almost two thirds. Then add the salt.
While the stock is reducing, gather the kids, and start taking apart the pig's head! I could have done more cleanly, but it was much more fun to let everyone dig in. Again, this is a pretty simple process. Find the meat, put it in a bowl. Usually starts with taking the bottom jaw out, and then the tongue, which has to be peeled of its outer skin. After that, it's a hunt. There are some bigger pieces, like neck meat and the jowls, but most of the meat has to be pried away from the layers of fat.
And then there's the eyeball...
By the end, it's a complete mess, but everyone's had fun.
At this point, the only tough part. Actually rolling it all together. I laid out a large amount of plastic wrap, made sure the meat was torn up a bit, and lay it out in a rough log shape. Pour the liquid on top, making sure it doesn't go everywhere. Then roll, making sure both ends are tight. It's a bit more complicated than it sounds, and I remember screwing this method up a lot when I first had to do it in restaurants. Eventually, it should like like this:
Ideally, it would have hung in the fridge to keep its round shape, but the fridge was packed with food for the roast, so we had to settle with laying it on its side, and one of the sides flattened a little.
I served it in pretty thick slices, treating it more like a pate. With some toasted sweet batard from Acme, cornichons and whole grain mustard, this was a perfect rustic plate of charcuterie. I'm a modernist in general when it comes to food, but there are certain things that shouldn't be touched. Good charcuterie is one of them. I really liked how this turned out. Not too much gelatin, lots of identifiable pieces of pork head, a good, mildly spicy flavor, redolent of fennel. I ate quite a few slices.
As for the pig? Well, just look at this baby:
There's nothing better than a whole roasted animal. Crispy skin, moist meat, slapped into a sandwich with a little chili sauce. Mmmmm........
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Top Chef Debacle
Who watched Top Chef last night? I've normally been pretty defensive of this show, even when many other culinary professionals derided it. In the past four seasons, there were at least a few people worthy of the money, putting out dishes that seemed like they could be developed into something I would pay for.
However, this season seems to be a complete mess. At least half of those cooks couldn't cook their way out of a paper bag. We're down to eleven cooks, and I think only three should be on this show: Jamie, Jeff and Stefan. The others have consistently produced uninspired food from the eighties. How does someone win a quickfire challenge with seared filet mignon on cauliflower puree? Are they catering someone's wedding circa 1985? Weak.
Then there's the matter that this "Christmas" episode was filmed this summer, and thus the chefs were asked to cook completely out of season. And let's not forget that this benefit dinner was probably fake anyway.
Of all the chefs and cooks I've worked with, I can only think of a couple who would have trouble beating Melissa, Radikha, Hosea or Ariane in a cook-off. This is just sad.
------------
However, I stumbled upon this today:
http://www.larakastner.com/alinea/
Please look through this entire photo essay. I looked at it at least six times today. This is what true top chefs do. People have made a lot of noise about the $1500 price tag on these dinners, but if I could get a reservation, I would have been there, regardless of my employment status. This is a little piece of culinary history. And Grant Achatz needs a stylist.
However, this season seems to be a complete mess. At least half of those cooks couldn't cook their way out of a paper bag. We're down to eleven cooks, and I think only three should be on this show: Jamie, Jeff and Stefan. The others have consistently produced uninspired food from the eighties. How does someone win a quickfire challenge with seared filet mignon on cauliflower puree? Are they catering someone's wedding circa 1985? Weak.
Then there's the matter that this "Christmas" episode was filmed this summer, and thus the chefs were asked to cook completely out of season. And let's not forget that this benefit dinner was probably fake anyway.
Of all the chefs and cooks I've worked with, I can only think of a couple who would have trouble beating Melissa, Radikha, Hosea or Ariane in a cook-off. This is just sad.
------------
However, I stumbled upon this today:
http://www.larakastner.com/alinea/
Please look through this entire photo essay. I looked at it at least six times today. This is what true top chefs do. People have made a lot of noise about the $1500 price tag on these dinners, but if I could get a reservation, I would have been there, regardless of my employment status. This is a little piece of culinary history. And Grant Achatz needs a stylist.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Batali
I just received my January issue of Food & Wine, and part of it is devoted to "trends" in the food world for next year. Statistically speaking, it's a bit counterintuitive to talk about trends in the future. However, it's funny to read about these supposed coming attractions, knowing that most will probably be short-lived. 'Trends' have been responsible for culinary abominations like Asian fusion and the iceberg wedge salad. I think things have to stand the test of a few years to really be called a trend. Besides, the only 'trend' in food should be that it tastes good, right?
If we can point to real (and positive) trends in the food world of late, they have to be: the branding of farms on menus, the casualization of fine dining, 'small plates' dining, and the opening of countless Italian restaurants (meaning, of course, 'real' Italian, and not red-sauce houses). The latter trend has been, in part, due to pioneers like Mario Batali, who went to Italy, discovered the joys of true Italian food, and came back to bless us with its effortless deliciousness. Add to that the fact that Italian restaurants are infinitely more profitable (less labor, cheaper ingredients) than French restaurants while maintaining a comparable level of refinement, and you have the makings of a trend. While reading 'Heat', I learned that although Batali was cooking this way for his own personal pleasure, he was lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time, which is probably the primary factor in a restaurant's success (aside from good food, of course).
Since Batali opened Po, in competition with the more Italian-American Village restaurants, there has been a veritable wave of real Italian restaurants opening up in US cities. Oftentimes, the story behind those chefs is the same: classically trained (i.e. French-trained) chefs goes to Italy, falls in love with the food, comes back wanting to share their discovery with their home country. In the Bay Area, we have Delfina, A16, SPQR, Farina, and my favorites, Dopo and Pizzaiolo. Many of these restaurants have focused on fresh pasta and Neapolitan-style pizza. Some, like Quince, have gone for more of a fine-dining route. But no one has come close to achieving what Batali has done. He now has some ownership in some fifteen or so restaurants, most in New York City, and most Italian in some way. From his flagship Babbo, one of the hardest reservations in New York, to the extremely affordable Otto, he's managed to keep the quality high while developing a true culinary empire, which defies traditional restaurant economics. Think what you will about the culture of celebrity chefs, but Batali can only be seen as good for the culinary world (except for his little mishap on PBS). Batali keeps his street cred with moves like his controversial Food Network departure, showing that while he may like enriching himself, he's not a corporate whore.
This summer, I had the opportunity to eat at several Batali restaurants, and they were all positive experiences. I'll review each one in the order I dined there:
------------------------------------
Otto:
I accidentally stumbled into Otto with my friend Dave when visiting New York for stages last April. It was close to midnight on a weeknight, and though they were soon closing, the place was pretty packed and felt very alive. Though it's on a quiet block near Washington Square Park, the place had a uniquely New York energy. We were sat quickly, and the service was fast and professional, if a little curt. Still, better that than friendly but incompetent service. We ate a margherita pizza, spaghetti alla carbonara, and a couple of appetizers, and walked out spending less than $20 each.
I went back to Otto several times this summer, mostly because it was near my restaurant and was open late. It is more of a testament to Batali's skill as a restaurateur than as a chef, though the food excellent, especially considering the prices. The formula is quite brilliant: a large space, with a wine bar in the front and restaurant in the back. You wait for your table with the name of a train station in Italy as your place marker, and the table appears on a "departure" board behind the host, complete with spinning blackboard letters. Very cute. The wine bar has no seats, just counter-like tables, which really packs in the revelers. The wine list is huge, and very affordable. There is nothing pretentious about Otto. In the wine bar, you can order from the antipasti menu, serving typical cold vegetable dishes like olives, peas with prosciutto, spicy Sicilian cauliflower, and Tuscan-style lentils, at $4 a pop. Not only is this extremely affordable for the diner, as these are skillfully made and with the finest ingredients, but they are great for business, as they require no preparation during service, since they are served at room temperature. Much like the treats on the counter at bars in Spain, these are what best represents a truly developed food culture.
Spaghetti with sausage and escarole
The rest of the menu has some excellent salumi selections (the coppa is oustanding) for $9 a plate, fish for $8, and salads for $8. The menu changes with the seasons, and there are some daily specials, but the prices never change, and always stay this low. Otto must be doing very well in this economy. The main courses are pasta and pizza. The pasta dishes are very traditional, like carbonara or puttanesca, with some more americanized variations. Again, just a few excellent ingredients, and at price ($9) that can't be beat. This streamlining of prices must make menu-planning easy for the restaurant. The pizze are more varied in price, but still moderately-priced. They are not traditional Neapolitan pizze, but are cooked on a griddle. The crust is a little crispier and denser than a Neapolitan, but the toppings and sauce are again of the highest quality. The pizza menu is divided into two sections: one more traditional, and one with simple fresh ingredient combinations like potato, anchovy and ricotta. Again, with prices that range from $9 to $14 (for pizze that have things like prosciutto or bottarga on them), we're talking about a very good deal. Since I lived on the Upper West Side, my cheap friends and I often went to a place called Celeste that was theoretically cheap Italian food. However, the prices were a couple of bucks higher than at Otto, and the food was significantly worse. Otto was perfect for going to with friends who weren't that into food. You can get out of there with a full belly for less than $20, which is amazing for the quality of the food. Put it this way: a plate of linguini with marinara sauce at my local Olive Garden (I checked the menu online) costs $11.95, compared to Otto's $9 a plate. Yes, they have that neverending pasta bowl, but that's just gross.
Pizza con arugula e prosciutto
When Lauren came to visit, we went to Otto one night without the intention to pig out. However, a look at the menu and wine list, and we were ordering from every section of the menu: four antipasti, pasta, pizza, an excellent bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the Bastianich label (Joe Bastianich is the wine director and partner in Otto), and the bill came to less than $100 after tax and tip. We even finished with one of their amazing gelato concoctions, which are a must-try.
I love Otto because the food, while not memorable by any means, is still excellent, and priced more affordably than most restaurants of this caliber. I highly recommend it if you're looking for a fun place to go with friends who aren't too into food. You may even spot a semi-celebrity, like Dave from Season 1 of Top Chef (who ate about five plates of food by himself at the table next to us).
Otto
One Fifth Avenue (West Village)
NYC
-----------------------------------------------------
Lupa
I went to Lupa one night after work, and found one of the warmest, most festive restaurant spaces I had been to in a while. Though the food at Lupa is a little more detailed than at Otto, the restaurant has a quieter version of the atmosphere in the wine bar at its sister restaurant. With its typically West Village location, it's a great place for a weeknight meal.
Lupa is the brainchild of Mark Ladner, one of Batali's proteges and the nerdy guy who is his sous-chef on Iron Chef America. I once had the pleasure to read the Art Culinaire issue on his work, and he is one of the rare intellectuals of the food world. His respect for Italian tradition is inspiring, and comes through in his food at Lupa.
The menu at Lupa follows the traditional osteria format: antipasti, primi, secondi, desserts. What Otto does in large volumes at a low low cost, Lupa does with more care and slightly higher prices. For example, the antipasti cost $6, for a slightly larger portion and a finer touch. My favorite dishes came from the 'fish' antipasti section, including a splendid whipped baccala with potatoes ($10).
The pasta is first-rate; my tagliatelle with wild boar ragu was one of the best things I've ever eaten, and I know my ragus. The secondi are very simple, but executed perfectly. Again, I loved all the fish dishes I tried from that section. At prices around $20, these provide a great deal to diners.
However, my favorite part of dining at Lupa was the wine. I was lucky to be eating with someone who knew the bartender, so we were served a litany of wine tastes. Lupa was built with the wine list in mind, and my meal there contributed to my new interest in Italian wines, which I had previous shunned in favor of French and Spanish. The wine has a lot of unique selections, and the waiters know their wines.
Again, Lupa is does the casual Italian osteria right. With the West Village location, you may even thing you're in Europe somewhere. It reminds me a lot of my favorite osteria in the Bay Area, Dopo, though a little better.
Lupa
170 Thompson St (West Village)
NYC
---------------------------------------------
Casa Mono/Bar Jamon
Casa Mono is Batali's foray into Spanish cuisine. After reading Heat, you find out that it was a reward for Andy Nusser, a chef de cuisine at Babbo for years, whose passion for Catalan cuisine prompted the creation of Mono. Though it is Batali-financed and managed, Nusser is the executive chef. That is another one of Batali's skills as a restaurateur: he finds incredible culinary talents like Ladner and Nusser, nurtures them, funds their restaurants, but doesn't act like an overbearing owner, leaving them the freedom run their restaurants as they would like. Normally, those protégé-mentor relationships only last until the protégé opens his/her own place independently. However, in Batali’s case, his protégés seem to have no problem staying under his wing.
The food at Casa Mono is litany of Spanish-style dishes, mainly with influences from Catalunya. They have a varying degree of authenticity, but stay very true to their roots. Though I hate to use the word tapas when it’s not really anything but small plates, this is a fancified tapas restaurant. The traditional bar snacks are done up with fancier ingredients, and it’s easy to get addicted to the many small plates on Nusser’s menu. In a tiny kitchen and a tiny restaurant space, the flavors really remind the diner of being in one of the many small and exquisite restaurants in Barcelona.
My favorites included bacalao croquettes with a unique and delicious orange aioli, and a piece of seared foie gras with a sweet onion relish. What Nusser does best, though is the less-used cuts. The pigs’ trotters were wonderful, not too greasy and beautifully seasoned, as was the lamb’s tongue.
Bacalao croquetas with orange aioli
Again, this restaurant offers a great combination of festive atmosphere with quality, reasonably priced food. I spent around $25 and got to try many different dishes, including wine. Since it’s a little removed from the buzz of the East Village, it’s a great place to come before a night out. I also highly recommend trying the charcuterie from the adjacent Bar Jamon.
Casa Mono/Bar Jamon
52 Irving Place (Union Square/Murray Hill)
NYC
-----------------------------------------------------------
Babbo:
My ‘last supper’ in New York was at Babbo. Babbo is Batali’s flagship restaurant, the one that started his culinary empire. Ten years later, it’s still almost impossible to get a weekend reservation there, and it’s tough on weeknights too. I got myself a seat at the bar on a Tuesday night, and at 5.30pm, the restaurant was packed. It’s on a lovely block off Washington Square Park, and has a more stately feel than Otto, Lupa, and Mono. That night, the pre-theater crowd really was a pre-theater crowd. Neil Diamond was in town to play Madison Square Garden, and many of the tables were packed with characters straight out of the Sopranos, ready for the big concert. Jersey was representing, and the bartender and bar clientele had a good laugh about it. (Sorry if I offended anyone with that, but it was really amusing).
The menu at Babbo isn’t too differently structured from Lupa’s, but the food is less traditional, or at least less rustic. There’s also a much greater selection. The menu digs around Italy’s deep culinary heritage to go beyond the classics and find new and interesting dishes. They started me off with a crostini of marinated ceci beans, which seemed almost large enough to be an appetizer. My appetizer of grilled octopus with fennel, lentils and limoncello vinaigrette was simply outstanding. It’s not hard to cook octopus, but you have to pay attention to it. If grilled, it has to be done on a very hot grill so that the outside chars nicely but the inside doesn’t cook for too long. This octopus was expertly grilled, had crispy skin and the desired consistency of moist chicken, and the refreshing salad of lentils that accompanied it was subtle and well-seasoned. The limoncello vinaigrette was an unusual way to bring acid to the dish, and added a subtle hint of licorice to the plate.
My primi of black spaghetti, salami, rock shrimp and green chile was also phenomenal. Though the shrimp themselves were a little bland, the pasta has a wonderful essence of the sea, and the little pieces of fried spicy salami were an incredible foil for the oceanic flavor. With the delicate spice of the chile, the dish was a tour de force in balance on the plate.
I finished with the excellent olive oil gelato. With a glass of wine, the three course meal came in at under $50, which makes Babbo quite affordable for the quality of the food. The service is extremely professional, and their wine director is one of the foremost authorities on Italian wines in New York. I’ve heard people say Babbo has slipped in recent years, but it seemed to be on top form when I went there. Now if I could just go to Esca and Del Posto, I would be a very happy Batali fan.
Babbo
110 Waverly Place (West Village)
NYC
----------------------------------------
I love Mario Batali. That's all I have to say.
If we can point to real (and positive) trends in the food world of late, they have to be: the branding of farms on menus, the casualization of fine dining, 'small plates' dining, and the opening of countless Italian restaurants (meaning, of course, 'real' Italian, and not red-sauce houses). The latter trend has been, in part, due to pioneers like Mario Batali, who went to Italy, discovered the joys of true Italian food, and came back to bless us with its effortless deliciousness. Add to that the fact that Italian restaurants are infinitely more profitable (less labor, cheaper ingredients) than French restaurants while maintaining a comparable level of refinement, and you have the makings of a trend. While reading 'Heat', I learned that although Batali was cooking this way for his own personal pleasure, he was lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time, which is probably the primary factor in a restaurant's success (aside from good food, of course).
Since Batali opened Po, in competition with the more Italian-American Village restaurants, there has been a veritable wave of real Italian restaurants opening up in US cities. Oftentimes, the story behind those chefs is the same: classically trained (i.e. French-trained) chefs goes to Italy, falls in love with the food, comes back wanting to share their discovery with their home country. In the Bay Area, we have Delfina, A16, SPQR, Farina, and my favorites, Dopo and Pizzaiolo. Many of these restaurants have focused on fresh pasta and Neapolitan-style pizza. Some, like Quince, have gone for more of a fine-dining route. But no one has come close to achieving what Batali has done. He now has some ownership in some fifteen or so restaurants, most in New York City, and most Italian in some way. From his flagship Babbo, one of the hardest reservations in New York, to the extremely affordable Otto, he's managed to keep the quality high while developing a true culinary empire, which defies traditional restaurant economics. Think what you will about the culture of celebrity chefs, but Batali can only be seen as good for the culinary world (except for his little mishap on PBS). Batali keeps his street cred with moves like his controversial Food Network departure, showing that while he may like enriching himself, he's not a corporate whore.
This summer, I had the opportunity to eat at several Batali restaurants, and they were all positive experiences. I'll review each one in the order I dined there:
------------------------------------
Otto:
I accidentally stumbled into Otto with my friend Dave when visiting New York for stages last April. It was close to midnight on a weeknight, and though they were soon closing, the place was pretty packed and felt very alive. Though it's on a quiet block near Washington Square Park, the place had a uniquely New York energy. We were sat quickly, and the service was fast and professional, if a little curt. Still, better that than friendly but incompetent service. We ate a margherita pizza, spaghetti alla carbonara, and a couple of appetizers, and walked out spending less than $20 each.
I went back to Otto several times this summer, mostly because it was near my restaurant and was open late. It is more of a testament to Batali's skill as a restaurateur than as a chef, though the food excellent, especially considering the prices. The formula is quite brilliant: a large space, with a wine bar in the front and restaurant in the back. You wait for your table with the name of a train station in Italy as your place marker, and the table appears on a "departure" board behind the host, complete with spinning blackboard letters. Very cute. The wine bar has no seats, just counter-like tables, which really packs in the revelers. The wine list is huge, and very affordable. There is nothing pretentious about Otto. In the wine bar, you can order from the antipasti menu, serving typical cold vegetable dishes like olives, peas with prosciutto, spicy Sicilian cauliflower, and Tuscan-style lentils, at $4 a pop. Not only is this extremely affordable for the diner, as these are skillfully made and with the finest ingredients, but they are great for business, as they require no preparation during service, since they are served at room temperature. Much like the treats on the counter at bars in Spain, these are what best represents a truly developed food culture.
Spaghetti with sausage and escaroleThe rest of the menu has some excellent salumi selections (the coppa is oustanding) for $9 a plate, fish for $8, and salads for $8. The menu changes with the seasons, and there are some daily specials, but the prices never change, and always stay this low. Otto must be doing very well in this economy. The main courses are pasta and pizza. The pasta dishes are very traditional, like carbonara or puttanesca, with some more americanized variations. Again, just a few excellent ingredients, and at price ($9) that can't be beat. This streamlining of prices must make menu-planning easy for the restaurant. The pizze are more varied in price, but still moderately-priced. They are not traditional Neapolitan pizze, but are cooked on a griddle. The crust is a little crispier and denser than a Neapolitan, but the toppings and sauce are again of the highest quality. The pizza menu is divided into two sections: one more traditional, and one with simple fresh ingredient combinations like potato, anchovy and ricotta. Again, with prices that range from $9 to $14 (for pizze that have things like prosciutto or bottarga on them), we're talking about a very good deal. Since I lived on the Upper West Side, my cheap friends and I often went to a place called Celeste that was theoretically cheap Italian food. However, the prices were a couple of bucks higher than at Otto, and the food was significantly worse. Otto was perfect for going to with friends who weren't that into food. You can get out of there with a full belly for less than $20, which is amazing for the quality of the food. Put it this way: a plate of linguini with marinara sauce at my local Olive Garden (I checked the menu online) costs $11.95, compared to Otto's $9 a plate. Yes, they have that neverending pasta bowl, but that's just gross.
Pizza con arugula e prosciuttoWhen Lauren came to visit, we went to Otto one night without the intention to pig out. However, a look at the menu and wine list, and we were ordering from every section of the menu: four antipasti, pasta, pizza, an excellent bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the Bastianich label (Joe Bastianich is the wine director and partner in Otto), and the bill came to less than $100 after tax and tip. We even finished with one of their amazing gelato concoctions, which are a must-try.
I love Otto because the food, while not memorable by any means, is still excellent, and priced more affordably than most restaurants of this caliber. I highly recommend it if you're looking for a fun place to go with friends who aren't too into food. You may even spot a semi-celebrity, like Dave from Season 1 of Top Chef (who ate about five plates of food by himself at the table next to us).
Otto
One Fifth Avenue (West Village)
NYC
-----------------------------------------------------
Lupa
I went to Lupa one night after work, and found one of the warmest, most festive restaurant spaces I had been to in a while. Though the food at Lupa is a little more detailed than at Otto, the restaurant has a quieter version of the atmosphere in the wine bar at its sister restaurant. With its typically West Village location, it's a great place for a weeknight meal.
Lupa is the brainchild of Mark Ladner, one of Batali's proteges and the nerdy guy who is his sous-chef on Iron Chef America. I once had the pleasure to read the Art Culinaire issue on his work, and he is one of the rare intellectuals of the food world. His respect for Italian tradition is inspiring, and comes through in his food at Lupa.
The menu at Lupa follows the traditional osteria format: antipasti, primi, secondi, desserts. What Otto does in large volumes at a low low cost, Lupa does with more care and slightly higher prices. For example, the antipasti cost $6, for a slightly larger portion and a finer touch. My favorite dishes came from the 'fish' antipasti section, including a splendid whipped baccala with potatoes ($10).
The pasta is first-rate; my tagliatelle with wild boar ragu was one of the best things I've ever eaten, and I know my ragus. The secondi are very simple, but executed perfectly. Again, I loved all the fish dishes I tried from that section. At prices around $20, these provide a great deal to diners.
However, my favorite part of dining at Lupa was the wine. I was lucky to be eating with someone who knew the bartender, so we were served a litany of wine tastes. Lupa was built with the wine list in mind, and my meal there contributed to my new interest in Italian wines, which I had previous shunned in favor of French and Spanish. The wine has a lot of unique selections, and the waiters know their wines.
Again, Lupa is does the casual Italian osteria right. With the West Village location, you may even thing you're in Europe somewhere. It reminds me a lot of my favorite osteria in the Bay Area, Dopo, though a little better.
Lupa
170 Thompson St (West Village)
NYC
---------------------------------------------
Casa Mono/Bar Jamon
Casa Mono is Batali's foray into Spanish cuisine. After reading Heat, you find out that it was a reward for Andy Nusser, a chef de cuisine at Babbo for years, whose passion for Catalan cuisine prompted the creation of Mono. Though it is Batali-financed and managed, Nusser is the executive chef. That is another one of Batali's skills as a restaurateur: he finds incredible culinary talents like Ladner and Nusser, nurtures them, funds their restaurants, but doesn't act like an overbearing owner, leaving them the freedom run their restaurants as they would like. Normally, those protégé-mentor relationships only last until the protégé opens his/her own place independently. However, in Batali’s case, his protégés seem to have no problem staying under his wing.
The food at Casa Mono is litany of Spanish-style dishes, mainly with influences from Catalunya. They have a varying degree of authenticity, but stay very true to their roots. Though I hate to use the word tapas when it’s not really anything but small plates, this is a fancified tapas restaurant. The traditional bar snacks are done up with fancier ingredients, and it’s easy to get addicted to the many small plates on Nusser’s menu. In a tiny kitchen and a tiny restaurant space, the flavors really remind the diner of being in one of the many small and exquisite restaurants in Barcelona.
My favorites included bacalao croquettes with a unique and delicious orange aioli, and a piece of seared foie gras with a sweet onion relish. What Nusser does best, though is the less-used cuts. The pigs’ trotters were wonderful, not too greasy and beautifully seasoned, as was the lamb’s tongue.
Bacalao croquetas with orange aioliAgain, this restaurant offers a great combination of festive atmosphere with quality, reasonably priced food. I spent around $25 and got to try many different dishes, including wine. Since it’s a little removed from the buzz of the East Village, it’s a great place to come before a night out. I also highly recommend trying the charcuterie from the adjacent Bar Jamon.
Casa Mono/Bar Jamon
52 Irving Place (Union Square/Murray Hill)
NYC
-----------------------------------------------------------
Babbo:
My ‘last supper’ in New York was at Babbo. Babbo is Batali’s flagship restaurant, the one that started his culinary empire. Ten years later, it’s still almost impossible to get a weekend reservation there, and it’s tough on weeknights too. I got myself a seat at the bar on a Tuesday night, and at 5.30pm, the restaurant was packed. It’s on a lovely block off Washington Square Park, and has a more stately feel than Otto, Lupa, and Mono. That night, the pre-theater crowd really was a pre-theater crowd. Neil Diamond was in town to play Madison Square Garden, and many of the tables were packed with characters straight out of the Sopranos, ready for the big concert. Jersey was representing, and the bartender and bar clientele had a good laugh about it. (Sorry if I offended anyone with that, but it was really amusing).
The menu at Babbo isn’t too differently structured from Lupa’s, but the food is less traditional, or at least less rustic. There’s also a much greater selection. The menu digs around Italy’s deep culinary heritage to go beyond the classics and find new and interesting dishes. They started me off with a crostini of marinated ceci beans, which seemed almost large enough to be an appetizer. My appetizer of grilled octopus with fennel, lentils and limoncello vinaigrette was simply outstanding. It’s not hard to cook octopus, but you have to pay attention to it. If grilled, it has to be done on a very hot grill so that the outside chars nicely but the inside doesn’t cook for too long. This octopus was expertly grilled, had crispy skin and the desired consistency of moist chicken, and the refreshing salad of lentils that accompanied it was subtle and well-seasoned. The limoncello vinaigrette was an unusual way to bring acid to the dish, and added a subtle hint of licorice to the plate.
My primi of black spaghetti, salami, rock shrimp and green chile was also phenomenal. Though the shrimp themselves were a little bland, the pasta has a wonderful essence of the sea, and the little pieces of fried spicy salami were an incredible foil for the oceanic flavor. With the delicate spice of the chile, the dish was a tour de force in balance on the plate.
I finished with the excellent olive oil gelato. With a glass of wine, the three course meal came in at under $50, which makes Babbo quite affordable for the quality of the food. The service is extremely professional, and their wine director is one of the foremost authorities on Italian wines in New York. I’ve heard people say Babbo has slipped in recent years, but it seemed to be on top form when I went there. Now if I could just go to Esca and Del Posto, I would be a very happy Batali fan.
Babbo
110 Waverly Place (West Village)
NYC
----------------------------------------
I love Mario Batali. That's all I have to say.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Cafe Mums Shabu Shabu -
Last weekend, I partook in a celebratory binge drinking session for two friends who had just finished an exam that may guarantee them future monetary success or something. We went to an all-you-can-and-drink shabu shabu place in Japantown, and much of the night is a blur to me. Let's just say that this night rivals Cinco de Mayo 2006 in my hall of fame of drinking.
The concept is pretty simple. Unlimited beef and vegetables, and unlimited beer and sake, for $43. Sadly, like most of the food in Japantown, it is horrendous. Of course, you're not there for the culinary experience, otherwise you probably wouldn't simultaneously partake in something that would result in your body's expulsion of said culinary experience. Still, you'd think they would make a bit of an effort. Normally, shabu shabu starts off with a typically subtle but definitely flavored hot pot of broth. Here, we only had water. Beef boiled in water is not good. Neither are most of the vegetables on offer. The only redeeming thing was the soy-ginger sauce which was imbibed by most items if they were soaked in it long enough.
The beer is Asahi, and the sake is warm and gross, which is fine as it is mostly used for sake bombs. I felt bad for the staff there. They have to deal with drunk customers all night, but without the tips that come from working at a bar. But hey, no one's making them work there.
If you want a truly sloppy experience with an Asian theme, I'd highly recommend this place. Otherwise, I wouldn't recommend it at all.
Cafe Mums
1800 Sutter St (Pacific Heights/Lower Pac Heights)
San Francisco, CA
The concept is pretty simple. Unlimited beef and vegetables, and unlimited beer and sake, for $43. Sadly, like most of the food in Japantown, it is horrendous. Of course, you're not there for the culinary experience, otherwise you probably wouldn't simultaneously partake in something that would result in your body's expulsion of said culinary experience. Still, you'd think they would make a bit of an effort. Normally, shabu shabu starts off with a typically subtle but definitely flavored hot pot of broth. Here, we only had water. Beef boiled in water is not good. Neither are most of the vegetables on offer. The only redeeming thing was the soy-ginger sauce which was imbibed by most items if they were soaked in it long enough.
The beer is Asahi, and the sake is warm and gross, which is fine as it is mostly used for sake bombs. I felt bad for the staff there. They have to deal with drunk customers all night, but without the tips that come from working at a bar. But hey, no one's making them work there.
If you want a truly sloppy experience with an Asian theme, I'd highly recommend this place. Otherwise, I wouldn't recommend it at all.
Cafe Mums
1800 Sutter St (Pacific Heights/Lower Pac Heights)
San Francisco, CA
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The election isn't over
One of the things that flew under the radar in national politics is agriculture. Most people are so disconnected from their food supply that they have no idea how much of an impact it has on the world. While we worry about the war, which will most likely end soon, or at least in our lifetime, we continue to commit grievances against our health (and thus the healthcare system), the environment, and the world's food supply, by sticking to poor dietary choices and always shooting for the 'best deal' when buying food. I don't think that most of the changes we need are going to come from government action. We still live in a mostly market-driven economy, and as consumers, we have the most power to affect change. I don't need to repeat the talking points, as they are all over the internet and beyond, but if you are still clueless: read The Omnivore's Dilemma, stop eating so much meat, and spend a greater percentage of your income on food that may cost a bit more (though maybe not) but tastes better and is better for the world, instead of on shoes, TVs, cars, and stupid shit like that.
That said, Mr. Obama did run as the candidate for change, and we need to hold him to that. I am generally impressed by Obama's intellectual honesty, and if he is to continue to be held in this kind of esteem, he must at once overhaul the Department of Agriculture. Aside from the economy, the environment is the most pressing issue we face. Nicholas Kristof had an excellent column about this in the Times, and I have to agree with him. Everyone knows the buzz words. Factory farms. Agribusiness. Ethanol subsidies. And yet we continue to accept this farming system as the status quo. We need to pressure Obama to pay more attention to the Department of Agriculture. Instead of paying small farms to grow food, let's pay them to help them invest in their small-production systems and to build a sustainable infrastructure. Let's change the landscape in Iowa and Nebraska to include more than corn and soy. Again, I still think that the change needs to come from consumers. I don't trust that government can do that much to influence what is mostly a cultural problem at this point. Still, you can get the ball rolling my signing this petition. It's time to stop looking at these issues as some kind of elitist foodie boner. They are universal issues, and I hope Obama will see them as worthy of a spot on his agenda.
That said, Mr. Obama did run as the candidate for change, and we need to hold him to that. I am generally impressed by Obama's intellectual honesty, and if he is to continue to be held in this kind of esteem, he must at once overhaul the Department of Agriculture. Aside from the economy, the environment is the most pressing issue we face. Nicholas Kristof had an excellent column about this in the Times, and I have to agree with him. Everyone knows the buzz words. Factory farms. Agribusiness. Ethanol subsidies. And yet we continue to accept this farming system as the status quo. We need to pressure Obama to pay more attention to the Department of Agriculture. Instead of paying small farms to grow food, let's pay them to help them invest in their small-production systems and to build a sustainable infrastructure. Let's change the landscape in Iowa and Nebraska to include more than corn and soy. Again, I still think that the change needs to come from consumers. I don't trust that government can do that much to influence what is mostly a cultural problem at this point. Still, you can get the ball rolling my signing this petition. It's time to stop looking at these issues as some kind of elitist foodie boner. They are universal issues, and I hope Obama will see them as worthy of a spot on his agenda.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Recession Special?
The recession hasn't been kind to me: I haven't worked in a while, and thus haven't been able to go out to dinner either. At least not anywhere nice.
But I've been getting by with some good home cooking and a few tacos here and there. However, I finally faced recession's ugly face head on when I walked in to Popeye's earlier this week to partake in their fantastic 2 pieces for 99c Tuesday special. I knew as soon as I'd walked in that something was wrong. The sign was the same, but the price...$1.29! There's not supposed to be dollar signs on Tuesdays! I still bought the chicken, but it just didn't taste as good. This was one of the only things I had left in my life!
"The Foreclosures didn't phase me
The Dow Jones was a lil scary
JP Morgan Chase made me a lil dizzy
But the Tuesday special put the recession in da hizzy."
- Recession Special, Da Gourmet Pig (from "Tha Carter MMVIII")
But I've been getting by with some good home cooking and a few tacos here and there. However, I finally faced recession's ugly face head on when I walked in to Popeye's earlier this week to partake in their fantastic 2 pieces for 99c Tuesday special. I knew as soon as I'd walked in that something was wrong. The sign was the same, but the price...$1.29! There's not supposed to be dollar signs on Tuesdays! I still bought the chicken, but it just didn't taste as good. This was one of the only things I had left in my life!
"The Foreclosures didn't phase me
The Dow Jones was a lil scary
JP Morgan Chase made me a lil dizzy
But the Tuesday special put the recession in da hizzy."
- Recession Special, Da Gourmet Pig (from "Tha Carter MMVIII")
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Cooking dry pasta (MTK, Pt. V)
Being a good cook has nothing to do with manipulating expensive ingredients. While those skills can put you over the top, I'm still of the mindset that if you can accurately cook and season basic staples like rice, beans, veggies and pasta, you're well on your way to becoming a fantastic home cook. I've been to people's houses for dinner where they've served a multitude of mediocre dishes, all with meat in them, and those experiences make me long for the dinners where people have made one perfect soup, or a nice salad.
So yeah. Cooking pasta. Boil water and dump it in and look on the package for cooking time and toss in the jar of Prego and bam there it is right? Or, in the style of culinary mastermind Dhey Vidjentry, you can heat the sauce in a separate pot and make a mess/Jackson Pollock in tomato sauce on the wall. Either way works.
NO. THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DO IT!!!*&%*&&*$*&!!!! (That said: FUUUUUCK!)
I make a lot of pasta dishes, and the few times where I've let my pasta overcook, or I underseasoned it, I have been very mad at myself. I don't care how good the sauce or the other accoutrements are. Badly cooked pasta is as repulsive as blue cheese to me (and I HATE blue cheese).
I'm usually the lesson-giver in these posts, but this time I want to direct your attention to this post by Bowldimore (that's how they say it - or 'Bah-tee-moh' on some forms of mass transit) based food blogger Skillet Doux. He's much more thorough than I am on some things, and also provides obsessive coverage of Top Chef, that may seem weird to some but which I thoroughly enjoy. You've got to admire the dedication to troll the Bravo website for non-televised info to make an accurate judgment of each episode.
Spaghetti alla carbonara, with peas
His dry pasta commandments are mostly spot on. Follow them. The only quibble I have is with the reusing of the pasta water. That's one of those tricks that's much more effective in restaurants where the pasta has been cooked in the same water all night, making it actually starchy and potent as a thickener. If you're using the appropriate amount of water, as in Commandment IV, the pasta water will barely get starchy. Then again, it's a bit of a stupid quibble; if you're going to add water to your sauce anyway, might as well be that seasoned, very slightly starchy water than just what comes out of the tap, right?
The other commandments are spot on. In particular, I strongly believe in using the finest quality ingredients in simple dishes. When people say DeCecco pasta is too expensive, and then they spend $6 on a small chuck steak, it doesn't make sense to me. A box of DeCecco pasta can feed four people easily for around 80 cents a person, with a few more cents for the sauce ingredients. Same goes for buying jarred sauce, or using shitty olive oil. I also thoroughly agree (and will write a post on) with not being afraid of oil. Or fat in general. You don't have to eat it every night, but eating fats shouldn't be considered weird. I think that many Americans have a repulsion to the mouth-feel of fats that comes from zany ideas about diets and Atkinses and other such shit.
Rigatoni with fried cauliflower, capers, chile, lemon and breadcrumbs
But the most important one: Commandment VIII: Thou Shalt Not Overcook the Pasta. I was telling Lauren the other day that I won't even eat overcooked pasta. It is truly repulsive to me. Underseasoned and overcooked pasta seems to me as valuable as bread drenched in water or limp lettuce. The product is so simple that the texture is invaluable to the final taste. And why is mac-n-cheese always made with overcooked pasta? Grrr....Anyway, Mr. Skilletdoux does an excellent job explaining what al dente means, and uses the description I've always used. At the very moment the last bit of white, uncooked dough disappears is the perfect al dente texture. Just to add to that, I've taken pictures of the inside of a rigatoni just before and just after al dente has been achieved. Yes, I am a huge tool who cooked four rigatoni for this post.
Just before
Just right
So yeah. Cooking pasta. Boil water and dump it in and look on the package for cooking time and toss in the jar of Prego and bam there it is right? Or, in the style of culinary mastermind Dhey Vidjentry, you can heat the sauce in a separate pot and make a mess/Jackson Pollock in tomato sauce on the wall. Either way works.
NO. THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DO IT!!!*&%*&&*$*&!!!! (That said: FUUUUUCK!)
I make a lot of pasta dishes, and the few times where I've let my pasta overcook, or I underseasoned it, I have been very mad at myself. I don't care how good the sauce or the other accoutrements are. Badly cooked pasta is as repulsive as blue cheese to me (and I HATE blue cheese).
I'm usually the lesson-giver in these posts, but this time I want to direct your attention to this post by Bowldimore (that's how they say it - or 'Bah-tee-moh' on some forms of mass transit) based food blogger Skillet Doux. He's much more thorough than I am on some things, and also provides obsessive coverage of Top Chef, that may seem weird to some but which I thoroughly enjoy. You've got to admire the dedication to troll the Bravo website for non-televised info to make an accurate judgment of each episode.
Spaghetti alla carbonara, with peasHis dry pasta commandments are mostly spot on. Follow them. The only quibble I have is with the reusing of the pasta water. That's one of those tricks that's much more effective in restaurants where the pasta has been cooked in the same water all night, making it actually starchy and potent as a thickener. If you're using the appropriate amount of water, as in Commandment IV, the pasta water will barely get starchy. Then again, it's a bit of a stupid quibble; if you're going to add water to your sauce anyway, might as well be that seasoned, very slightly starchy water than just what comes out of the tap, right?
The other commandments are spot on. In particular, I strongly believe in using the finest quality ingredients in simple dishes. When people say DeCecco pasta is too expensive, and then they spend $6 on a small chuck steak, it doesn't make sense to me. A box of DeCecco pasta can feed four people easily for around 80 cents a person, with a few more cents for the sauce ingredients. Same goes for buying jarred sauce, or using shitty olive oil. I also thoroughly agree (and will write a post on) with not being afraid of oil. Or fat in general. You don't have to eat it every night, but eating fats shouldn't be considered weird. I think that many Americans have a repulsion to the mouth-feel of fats that comes from zany ideas about diets and Atkinses and other such shit.
Rigatoni with fried cauliflower, capers, chile, lemon and breadcrumbsBut the most important one: Commandment VIII: Thou Shalt Not Overcook the Pasta. I was telling Lauren the other day that I won't even eat overcooked pasta. It is truly repulsive to me. Underseasoned and overcooked pasta seems to me as valuable as bread drenched in water or limp lettuce. The product is so simple that the texture is invaluable to the final taste. And why is mac-n-cheese always made with overcooked pasta? Grrr....Anyway, Mr. Skilletdoux does an excellent job explaining what al dente means, and uses the description I've always used. At the very moment the last bit of white, uncooked dough disappears is the perfect al dente texture. Just to add to that, I've taken pictures of the inside of a rigatoni just before and just after al dente has been achieved. Yes, I am a huge tool who cooked four rigatoni for this post.
Just before
Just right
Monday, December 08, 2008
Family Supper
With the economy affecting my job hunt, I haven't really been out to eat in a long time...at least not anywhere worth writing about. In the meantime, please enjoy this little piece of self-indulgence.
This summer, before coming back to California, I got the chance to go home for the first time in a long time. Though Lauren is usually the beneficiary of my cooking, I haven't had much of a chance to cook for my family. Since I had a week with nothing to do, I figured it would be nice to prepare a couple of dinners for the fam.
[Home is a bit of a misleading term in this case: both of my parents live in Montreal, as do my brothers, and I happened to be born there. However, I am not Canadian, and have never spent more than 6 continuous months there (from age 0-6months....). I grew up in France, and then England, but my parents moved back there after I graduated high school and went off to college in Pennsylvania.]
Montreal is a phenomenal place to cook, at least in the summer. It has that incomprehensible feature of having the quality of food available in France (or other European countries) and being on the same continent at the US. Weird. I've wondered about what makes the quality of our food so much worse across the board, for example in the making of baguettes. In Montreal, I can get a great baguette, as good as in France; I can get good coffee almost anywhere; wine lists in restaurants are cheap and good; and the (farmers) markets at Atwater and Jean-Talon have, at least in the summer, some of the best produce I've seen in North America, on part with the best markets in California, if not better at least in terms of quality (though not diversity; the ground is frozen half the year after all...). When it comes to berries, tomatoes, leeks, and fresh corn, I've yet to find comparable products in the US, except for this one box of toybox tomatoes at Incanto in SF.
I love going with my parents to the Atwater market year-round, a kind of fancy indoor market with outdoor farmers' stalls that's reminiscent only in design to the San Francisco Ferry Building marketplace. Where the Ferry Building is a ludicrously expensive tourist mecca with more than one olive oil tasting shop and the economy-defying Tsar Nicoulai caviar shop, Atwater is a collection of shops that provides year-round quality and savoir-faire to a mostly local crowd. One of the things I hate about the rise of the supermarket as our primary shopping destination is the inability to connect with local butchers and produce-mongers and other such places. With this kind of relationship, you can get the food and quantities you want to buy, instead of selecting from neatly packaged but impractical and usually low-quality things at Safeway...why do I need a bunch of 18 scallions anyway? Two years ago, when visiting my grandparents in France, we went to the big indoor market in their small Paris banlieue, and the fishmonger, Mr. Ali, not only recognized my brothers and I, but also knew that we were there to buy sole for one of our grandmother's classic dishes. Well, actually we weren't there to buy anything, but if we had it would most likely have been sole. When I go to Atwater, the vendors at the butcher and the spice/oil stores remember my name, a feat considering that I go there maybe twice a year. And the food is actually all moderately priced.
I made a simple dinner at my dad's place, with the main course being pan-roasted striped bass with a creamed summer succotash with tarragon. However, I wanted to do something a little 'fancier' at my mom's house, where I stay when I'm there. At the end of this past summer, I realized that a lot of my philosophy on cooking had changed. I used to be into the super high-end, presentation-driven and industrial food additive-laden dishes of places like wd-50 and Alinea. Towards the end of that summer, however, I felt drawn to simpler flavors, comforting textures, and rustic Italian and French food. Perhaps it's because I worked in an 'ingredient-driven' restaurant in New York, but I became enamored by the task of drawing out natural flavor from pristine ingredients. In a way, this isn't at all far removed from the world of fine dining: most high-end Spanish restaurants seem to be focused on this, including Etxebarri, probably the most fascinating restaurant in the world to me, and even many French 3-michelin starred chefs have gone in that direction, like Alain Passard and Marc Veyrat. Since I was feeling very lazy and had the bounty of the Atwater market to work with, this approach also made much more sense in constructing a menu for my family.
Pico, my sous-chef
The menu had one or two common treads. One was to limit each dish to a few components, and that those components should come from only one or two ingredients. The first course was a watermelon and oven-roasted tomato gazpacho. This had a beautiful color from the bright tomatoes, and was complemented by a few drops of basil oil and balsamic syrup. I tried to add a touch of whimsy with a crostini of some very fine mozzarella di buffala, sea salt, and chives. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Get it? Uh...
The next course was the best of the lot, I think, though I pretty much entirely ripped it off from a dish we had at Dopo, one of my favorite Bay Area restaurants. A puree of cannelini beans cooked in chicken stock, and a crudo of ahi tuna seasoned simply with lemon, olive oil, sea salt, sage and shaved red endive. This was all about correct seasoning, and trying to balance the acidity with the freshness of the fish. The bitterness of the red endive and the rich but muted flavor of the beans let the tuna shine while still giving the dish dimension.
After that, I pulled out my party trick. This dish is something I've done and worked on before, and it's pure comfort food, salty and rich and delicious. It's an english muffing fried in butter, topped with a mushroom duxelle seasoned with thyme and rosemary, sauteed spinach, and a fried egg. This is then sprinkled with fried breadcrumbs and fried rosemary. Seriously. How bad can this be?
Next course, the main course, was a little bland to look at, but it had a great end of summer feel. An apple soubise, topped with creamed fresh corn and caramelized onions, topped with a seared scallop. Again, this turned out well.
Pre-dessert, for my bro the caesar fan, a caesar salad. I love good caesar salad, made entirely from scratch; for now, the best version I've had is Pizzaiolo's, followed closely by Zuni's. That's something the Bay Area does well.
Dessert brought us back to the start. A strawberry gazpacho, with basil cream, black pepper and a sweeter balsamic reduction. A crostini with mascarpone, sea salt and honey. The picture is an odd color, for some reason, but again, it was the superlative quality of the strawberries that made the dish.
------------------------
I don't think I've ever written about Montreal on this blog, aside from the occasional reference to poutine, my drunk food of choice. It's a shame, really, because it's one of the best places to eat in North America, or at least the most European. When I go home, I have a ritual of places I go to eat: the best greasy-spoon at Cosmo's, toasted hot-dogs and poutine at 3am at Casse-Croute du Coin, Hong-Kong style pan-fried noodles from Soupe & Nouilles, and sometimes a meal at the greatest bistro in North America, L'Express. Then there's the odd fancy dinner my parents take me too, and the serendipitous finds, like some of the cha gio I've ever had. There's something so unpretentious about the food there, which I think can only come from a society that's as gastronomically inclined as the French, Italian or Spanish. People demand quality across the board, and in return this enables the small restaurants, cafes, food carts and fast-food joints to provide high standards of food at prices supported by dedicated patronage. If you've never been, and you're into food, it makes for a great vacation.
This summer, before coming back to California, I got the chance to go home for the first time in a long time. Though Lauren is usually the beneficiary of my cooking, I haven't had much of a chance to cook for my family. Since I had a week with nothing to do, I figured it would be nice to prepare a couple of dinners for the fam.
[Home is a bit of a misleading term in this case: both of my parents live in Montreal, as do my brothers, and I happened to be born there. However, I am not Canadian, and have never spent more than 6 continuous months there (from age 0-6months....). I grew up in France, and then England, but my parents moved back there after I graduated high school and went off to college in Pennsylvania.]
Montreal is a phenomenal place to cook, at least in the summer. It has that incomprehensible feature of having the quality of food available in France (or other European countries) and being on the same continent at the US. Weird. I've wondered about what makes the quality of our food so much worse across the board, for example in the making of baguettes. In Montreal, I can get a great baguette, as good as in France; I can get good coffee almost anywhere; wine lists in restaurants are cheap and good; and the (farmers) markets at Atwater and Jean-Talon have, at least in the summer, some of the best produce I've seen in North America, on part with the best markets in California, if not better at least in terms of quality (though not diversity; the ground is frozen half the year after all...). When it comes to berries, tomatoes, leeks, and fresh corn, I've yet to find comparable products in the US, except for this one box of toybox tomatoes at Incanto in SF.
I love going with my parents to the Atwater market year-round, a kind of fancy indoor market with outdoor farmers' stalls that's reminiscent only in design to the San Francisco Ferry Building marketplace. Where the Ferry Building is a ludicrously expensive tourist mecca with more than one olive oil tasting shop and the economy-defying Tsar Nicoulai caviar shop, Atwater is a collection of shops that provides year-round quality and savoir-faire to a mostly local crowd. One of the things I hate about the rise of the supermarket as our primary shopping destination is the inability to connect with local butchers and produce-mongers and other such places. With this kind of relationship, you can get the food and quantities you want to buy, instead of selecting from neatly packaged but impractical and usually low-quality things at Safeway...why do I need a bunch of 18 scallions anyway? Two years ago, when visiting my grandparents in France, we went to the big indoor market in their small Paris banlieue, and the fishmonger, Mr. Ali, not only recognized my brothers and I, but also knew that we were there to buy sole for one of our grandmother's classic dishes. Well, actually we weren't there to buy anything, but if we had it would most likely have been sole. When I go to Atwater, the vendors at the butcher and the spice/oil stores remember my name, a feat considering that I go there maybe twice a year. And the food is actually all moderately priced.
I made a simple dinner at my dad's place, with the main course being pan-roasted striped bass with a creamed summer succotash with tarragon. However, I wanted to do something a little 'fancier' at my mom's house, where I stay when I'm there. At the end of this past summer, I realized that a lot of my philosophy on cooking had changed. I used to be into the super high-end, presentation-driven and industrial food additive-laden dishes of places like wd-50 and Alinea. Towards the end of that summer, however, I felt drawn to simpler flavors, comforting textures, and rustic Italian and French food. Perhaps it's because I worked in an 'ingredient-driven' restaurant in New York, but I became enamored by the task of drawing out natural flavor from pristine ingredients. In a way, this isn't at all far removed from the world of fine dining: most high-end Spanish restaurants seem to be focused on this, including Etxebarri, probably the most fascinating restaurant in the world to me, and even many French 3-michelin starred chefs have gone in that direction, like Alain Passard and Marc Veyrat. Since I was feeling very lazy and had the bounty of the Atwater market to work with, this approach also made much more sense in constructing a menu for my family.
Pico, my sous-chef
The menu had one or two common treads. One was to limit each dish to a few components, and that those components should come from only one or two ingredients. The first course was a watermelon and oven-roasted tomato gazpacho. This had a beautiful color from the bright tomatoes, and was complemented by a few drops of basil oil and balsamic syrup. I tried to add a touch of whimsy with a crostini of some very fine mozzarella di buffala, sea salt, and chives. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Get it? Uh...
The next course was the best of the lot, I think, though I pretty much entirely ripped it off from a dish we had at Dopo, one of my favorite Bay Area restaurants. A puree of cannelini beans cooked in chicken stock, and a crudo of ahi tuna seasoned simply with lemon, olive oil, sea salt, sage and shaved red endive. This was all about correct seasoning, and trying to balance the acidity with the freshness of the fish. The bitterness of the red endive and the rich but muted flavor of the beans let the tuna shine while still giving the dish dimension.
After that, I pulled out my party trick. This dish is something I've done and worked on before, and it's pure comfort food, salty and rich and delicious. It's an english muffing fried in butter, topped with a mushroom duxelle seasoned with thyme and rosemary, sauteed spinach, and a fried egg. This is then sprinkled with fried breadcrumbs and fried rosemary. Seriously. How bad can this be?
Next course, the main course, was a little bland to look at, but it had a great end of summer feel. An apple soubise, topped with creamed fresh corn and caramelized onions, topped with a seared scallop. Again, this turned out well.
Pre-dessert, for my bro the caesar fan, a caesar salad. I love good caesar salad, made entirely from scratch; for now, the best version I've had is Pizzaiolo's, followed closely by Zuni's. That's something the Bay Area does well.
Dessert brought us back to the start. A strawberry gazpacho, with basil cream, black pepper and a sweeter balsamic reduction. A crostini with mascarpone, sea salt and honey. The picture is an odd color, for some reason, but again, it was the superlative quality of the strawberries that made the dish.
------------------------
I don't think I've ever written about Montreal on this blog, aside from the occasional reference to poutine, my drunk food of choice. It's a shame, really, because it's one of the best places to eat in North America, or at least the most European. When I go home, I have a ritual of places I go to eat: the best greasy-spoon at Cosmo's, toasted hot-dogs and poutine at 3am at Casse-Croute du Coin, Hong-Kong style pan-fried noodles from Soupe & Nouilles, and sometimes a meal at the greatest bistro in North America, L'Express. Then there's the odd fancy dinner my parents take me too, and the serendipitous finds, like some of the cha gio I've ever had. There's something so unpretentious about the food there, which I think can only come from a society that's as gastronomically inclined as the French, Italian or Spanish. People demand quality across the board, and in return this enables the small restaurants, cafes, food carts and fast-food joints to provide high standards of food at prices supported by dedicated patronage. If you've never been, and you're into food, it makes for a great vacation.
Friday, December 05, 2008
A clue?
I found this post on Craigslist today while looking for jobs. The description (and Hayes Valley location) seems to fit Absinthe perfectly:
Does this mean that their current chef, Jamie Lauren, of Top Chef fame, is out? Does this mean she won Top Chef? Craziness.
We are a longstanding SF restaurant that seeks new guidance in the kitchen. Creative California cuisine is our specialty.
Does this mean that their current chef, Jamie Lauren, of Top Chef fame, is out? Does this mean she won Top Chef? Craziness.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
San Tung
I like Chinese food, and particularly food from Szechuan, but I find it hard to write about. I like to think I know what I'm talking about when I write about food, and Chinese food is one of those things where my knowledge extremely limited. There are a lot of good explanations for that. For one, it's one of the most diverse and complex cuisines in the world. I'm actually embarrassed to use the term 'Chinese food' because it's like saying 'American music'. Chinese civilization is rich and has been far ahead of its time (until the Cultural revolution of course...) for much of its modern existence, from what I know. It seems that the food is no exception.
Sadly, I've never been to China (even though Lauren's parents live there), and even if go to Beijing for a week or two, I don't think I'll come close to understanding the full scope of Chinese cuisine. Add to that the fact most 'Chinese' food in the West is unrecognizable to most Chinese (who the fuck is General Tao/Tso?), and I'm a long ways away from understanding the nuances. I guess the only thing I can go by is whether or not it tastes good. Luckily, San Francisco has large Chinese population, and thus a large number of restaurants to sift through.
A couple of weeks ago, at the end of a bike ride around city with my friend Jason, we stopped by San Tung in the Sunset neighborhood. Jason spent a sad year living in the Sunset, far from the hopping den of sin downtown, and he knows the area well. San Tung is one of those places that locals (a large Asian community) go to in droves, and there's usually a wait. I know that it's a point of ridicule to some, but I do believe that where natives of a culture go and eat, there's more of a chance you'll find a true representation of the food in question.
San Tung is apparently famous for their crispy dry-fried wings, and they are absolutely worthy of their hype. They're impossibly crispy, with a nice sweet-and-spicy sauce. It's the type of addictive finger-food that, placed in the wrong hands, could lead to a bad case of obesity. These things alone are worth a trip to San Tung.
In the background, the wings
We also had a nice dish of shredded pork with water chestnuts, Chinese mushrooms, and vinegar. This was definitely one of those things you don't find in more Americanized restaurants, and that touch of vinegar put it over the top.
Blurry pork picture
The other two dishes we tried were less successful. The eggplant and garlic dish was swimming in slime. Maybe it's a cultural difference, but slimy eggplant equals badly cooked eggplant for me. The other dish, a peanut noodle with seafood, felt a bit gloopy and heavy, and had that pervasive taste of questionable seafood.
Still, San Tung's menu is large enough to warrant several other trips to the Sunset. There are some Korean dishes on the menu, which doesn't make sense, and they serve you some (bad) Kimchi as an amuse. However, if properly guided through the menu, you're sure to find some gems. In any case, make sure you order those wings.
Random kimchi amuse
San Tung
1031 Irving St. (Sunset)
San Francisco, CA
Sadly, I've never been to China (even though Lauren's parents live there), and even if go to Beijing for a week or two, I don't think I'll come close to understanding the full scope of Chinese cuisine. Add to that the fact most 'Chinese' food in the West is unrecognizable to most Chinese (who the fuck is General Tao/Tso?), and I'm a long ways away from understanding the nuances. I guess the only thing I can go by is whether or not it tastes good. Luckily, San Francisco has large Chinese population, and thus a large number of restaurants to sift through.
A couple of weeks ago, at the end of a bike ride around city with my friend Jason, we stopped by San Tung in the Sunset neighborhood. Jason spent a sad year living in the Sunset, far from the hopping den of sin downtown, and he knows the area well. San Tung is one of those places that locals (a large Asian community) go to in droves, and there's usually a wait. I know that it's a point of ridicule to some, but I do believe that where natives of a culture go and eat, there's more of a chance you'll find a true representation of the food in question.
San Tung is apparently famous for their crispy dry-fried wings, and they are absolutely worthy of their hype. They're impossibly crispy, with a nice sweet-and-spicy sauce. It's the type of addictive finger-food that, placed in the wrong hands, could lead to a bad case of obesity. These things alone are worth a trip to San Tung.
In the background, the wingsWe also had a nice dish of shredded pork with water chestnuts, Chinese mushrooms, and vinegar. This was definitely one of those things you don't find in more Americanized restaurants, and that touch of vinegar put it over the top.
Blurry pork pictureThe other two dishes we tried were less successful. The eggplant and garlic dish was swimming in slime. Maybe it's a cultural difference, but slimy eggplant equals badly cooked eggplant for me. The other dish, a peanut noodle with seafood, felt a bit gloopy and heavy, and had that pervasive taste of questionable seafood.
Still, San Tung's menu is large enough to warrant several other trips to the Sunset. There are some Korean dishes on the menu, which doesn't make sense, and they serve you some (bad) Kimchi as an amuse. However, if properly guided through the menu, you're sure to find some gems. In any case, make sure you order those wings.
Random kimchi amuseSan Tung
1031 Irving St. (Sunset)
San Francisco, CA
Monday, December 01, 2008
Thanksgiving in a tiny tiny kitchen
I didn't really celebrate Thanksgiving until I came to the US for college in 2001, but I've come to mostly embrace its culinary traditions. Who doesn't love a big pile of mushy, savory food to warm the belly?
I've done all sorts of Thanksgiving meals since 2001, from traditional turkey dinners to a Thanksgiving entirely served in pie form last year. This year, I was doing most of the cooking, so I wanted to do something a little different. I'd had turducken once before, and while I loved it in the same way that I love the Rob Schneider breakout film "Surf Ninjas", it actually didn't taste very good. The main reason, I think, was that the chicken, being inside the duck, takes longer to cook than the duck. Instead, I wanted to combine those three meats and honor the proper name of the dish, but with proper technique to ensure all the meat was properly cooked.
I knew I wanted the duck to be in the middle, as it takes a lower temperature to cook. Around 130-135 for mid-rare. (Or 170 for 'safety', courtesy of the fascists at the USDA). However, the turkey needs about 160 degrees. After that, it was a question of incorporating the chicken into the dish. I figured chicken sausage, which I could brown ahead of time to give it a head start, would be a good complement and would add much needed flavor. I found a delicious smoked chicken sausage at Ver Brugge in Oakland, where I also bought my caul fat for the dish. I've cooked with caul fat in restaurants a lot, but never at home, as it's hard to find. However, it's one of those things than can really be transformative when roasting meats. Here is a 'making of' montage:
The two birds, ready for butchering. The duck had one of those stupid poppers in it.
Post-butchering massacre
Getting the chicken sausage stuffing ready. I browned it first, and mixed it with sweated leeks, celery, onion and carrots, with thyme and rosemary. The same mixture would also later form part of the dressing.
Putting the duck breast in the center. At fits I thought about splitting the breast in half and pounding it out to flatten it, but then decided to create three flaps, using the tenderloin, to make a cavity in the center of the breast.
Spreading out the caul fat.
Placing the turkey in on the caul fat, and salting before wrapping. Pre-salting meat it something everyone should, as it greatly enhances the flavor.
Wrapping the bundle
Bundle wrapped!
I tightened the package with twine to distribute the breast meat more evenly for even cooking. Pretty.
The other "fancy" step to my turkey dinner was the gravy, which I decided to make as a proper French meat sauce. This is a time-consuming process which is one of the big differences between restaurant and home cooking, and took forever to make, even though I took some shortcuts. Normally, I would have made several reductions over roasted bones, but working on such a small scale, I started with pre-made turkey stock, and reduced it over the roasted duck and turkey bones from my carcasses. I also started it by taking a fond on the roasting pan using white wine, and began my reduction with a maple syrup and sherry vinegar gastrique to give the sauce some complexity. I was very pleased with how this came out, probably more than the roast itself. Here's another smaller montage:
Roasted duck and turkey bones and mirepoix
Taking the fond of the roasting pan on the stovetop
The sauce reducing over bones
I did a pretty half-assed job of taking pictures after that, as I was cooking many other things, but here's a pic of the dressing, pre-cooking:
To cook the turkey breasts, I first pan roasted them in duck fat, basting with more duck fat at the end, until they were beautifully browned. I then roasted them at 400 degrees for about 45 mins, and took then out to rest. I also cooked the legs separately.
How did it all turn out? It was actually quite good. One of the breasts was a little drier than the other, but they both had a great smoky flavor imparted by the sausage, and weren't dry by regular turkey standards. I slightly overrested them, so that the duck breast had a slightly odd consistency, but it was still otherwise tasty. Next time, I'll use a higher quality duck, and maybe brine the turkey breasts. I also won't try to do it all myself. Sadly, I forgot to take a picture of the final product until much later in the evening after the meat had been sitting out for a while, which explains the sorry following picture:
The rest of the dinner consisted of the following:
- roasted beets with mixed greens, chives and oregano vinaigrette
- dressing, with apples, smoked chicken sausage, apricots, cranberries and five herbs
- mashed potatoes: these were made in the finest restaurant style, with tons of cream, milk and butter. However, I forgot my strainer at home (I did the final cooking at my friend Jason's apartment, where the dinner was held), so it was a little grainy in texture. Somehow, it was much better the next day.
- swiss chard and celery root gratin
- turkey and duck jus
- mushroom gravy
- Jason's mac-n-cheese
- butternut squash and fennel soup
- brussel sprouts with pancetta and shallots
- pies by Scott and Jessie
In the pics below, you may be able to see some turducken (a la Gourmet Pig) slices.
Next up: latkes!
I've done all sorts of Thanksgiving meals since 2001, from traditional turkey dinners to a Thanksgiving entirely served in pie form last year. This year, I was doing most of the cooking, so I wanted to do something a little different. I'd had turducken once before, and while I loved it in the same way that I love the Rob Schneider breakout film "Surf Ninjas", it actually didn't taste very good. The main reason, I think, was that the chicken, being inside the duck, takes longer to cook than the duck. Instead, I wanted to combine those three meats and honor the proper name of the dish, but with proper technique to ensure all the meat was properly cooked.
I knew I wanted the duck to be in the middle, as it takes a lower temperature to cook. Around 130-135 for mid-rare. (Or 170 for 'safety', courtesy of the fascists at the USDA). However, the turkey needs about 160 degrees. After that, it was a question of incorporating the chicken into the dish. I figured chicken sausage, which I could brown ahead of time to give it a head start, would be a good complement and would add much needed flavor. I found a delicious smoked chicken sausage at Ver Brugge in Oakland, where I also bought my caul fat for the dish. I've cooked with caul fat in restaurants a lot, but never at home, as it's hard to find. However, it's one of those things than can really be transformative when roasting meats. Here is a 'making of' montage:
The two birds, ready for butchering. The duck had one of those stupid poppers in it.
Post-butchering massacre
Getting the chicken sausage stuffing ready. I browned it first, and mixed it with sweated leeks, celery, onion and carrots, with thyme and rosemary. The same mixture would also later form part of the dressing.
Putting the duck breast in the center. At fits I thought about splitting the breast in half and pounding it out to flatten it, but then decided to create three flaps, using the tenderloin, to make a cavity in the center of the breast.
Spreading out the caul fat.
Placing the turkey in on the caul fat, and salting before wrapping. Pre-salting meat it something everyone should, as it greatly enhances the flavor.
Wrapping the bundle
Bundle wrapped!
I tightened the package with twine to distribute the breast meat more evenly for even cooking. Pretty.The other "fancy" step to my turkey dinner was the gravy, which I decided to make as a proper French meat sauce. This is a time-consuming process which is one of the big differences between restaurant and home cooking, and took forever to make, even though I took some shortcuts. Normally, I would have made several reductions over roasted bones, but working on such a small scale, I started with pre-made turkey stock, and reduced it over the roasted duck and turkey bones from my carcasses. I also started it by taking a fond on the roasting pan using white wine, and began my reduction with a maple syrup and sherry vinegar gastrique to give the sauce some complexity. I was very pleased with how this came out, probably more than the roast itself. Here's another smaller montage:
Roasted duck and turkey bones and mirepoix
Taking the fond of the roasting pan on the stovetop
The sauce reducing over bonesI did a pretty half-assed job of taking pictures after that, as I was cooking many other things, but here's a pic of the dressing, pre-cooking:
To cook the turkey breasts, I first pan roasted them in duck fat, basting with more duck fat at the end, until they were beautifully browned. I then roasted them at 400 degrees for about 45 mins, and took then out to rest. I also cooked the legs separately.
How did it all turn out? It was actually quite good. One of the breasts was a little drier than the other, but they both had a great smoky flavor imparted by the sausage, and weren't dry by regular turkey standards. I slightly overrested them, so that the duck breast had a slightly odd consistency, but it was still otherwise tasty. Next time, I'll use a higher quality duck, and maybe brine the turkey breasts. I also won't try to do it all myself. Sadly, I forgot to take a picture of the final product until much later in the evening after the meat had been sitting out for a while, which explains the sorry following picture:
The rest of the dinner consisted of the following:
- roasted beets with mixed greens, chives and oregano vinaigrette
- dressing, with apples, smoked chicken sausage, apricots, cranberries and five herbs
- mashed potatoes: these were made in the finest restaurant style, with tons of cream, milk and butter. However, I forgot my strainer at home (I did the final cooking at my friend Jason's apartment, where the dinner was held), so it was a little grainy in texture. Somehow, it was much better the next day.
- swiss chard and celery root gratin
- turkey and duck jus
- mushroom gravy
- Jason's mac-n-cheese
- butternut squash and fennel soup
- brussel sprouts with pancetta and shallots
- pies by Scott and Jessie
In the pics below, you may be able to see some turducken (a la Gourmet Pig) slices.
Next up: latkes!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
