Urbanite on Display

Fried rice? Why not?

The other night Seth was over and I was throwing together some food from whatever came in the box to go with our Moinette blonde. In the interest of a balanced diet I decided that maybe we should have some brown rice and set that to cook. Well as you know, brown rice takes for god damned ever to cook. Poor planning on my part had the rest of our meal done about a half-hour before the rice, so we just went on without and I just stored the cooked rice away for a future use.

Yesterday I was trying to decide what to make for dinner and my thoughts went to my leftover rice. I also thought of the veggies I have from the box, and I knew that I had some bok choy to get rid of. I always have bok choy to get rid of and I’m kind of sick of sautéing it. The Chinese cabbage and leftover rice got me thinking about fried rice. I never think to make fried rice. I don’t particularly like it for one. I used to eat a quart of it after making weight for wrestling in high school, along with a quart of apple cider. But, that wasn’t because I had any affinity for it. It was just an odd habit from my youth — like mascara is for goth kids. To be fair however, I’ve only really eaten fried rice from cheap Chinese fast food restaurants. What if I tried it myself?

Shortly after I decided I would set forth to make fried rice, the roommate pinged me to see if I needed anything from the store. Yes! Peanut oil, ginger, and soy sauce please! I got a call shortly thereafter saying there was no peanut oil to be had. What the fuck? She rattled off the available oils and I told her to get some avocado oil as I really needed something for high heat cooking.

Once, home, I decided to keep it simple: rice, onion, ginger, garlic, the aforementioned bok choy, and some red pepper flakes. I got my sauté pan nice and hot and added some avocado oil and got the aromatic bits cooking before I added the rice and bok choy. Looking at my rice and thinking it could use something else to make it a complete meal, I sliced a few batons of some Boccaolone peppered salame and made a light omelette which I then chopped. After adding both to the hot pan, I salted, peppered, and added a healthy does of soy sauce to the proceedings. It was so simple, and I have to say I’m still thinking about it today. Enjoyed with a Beglian beer whose name I know forget, it was an utterly satisfying meal. Not to go all Rachel Ray on you with the thirty minute meal, but this was fast and awfully delicious. It has now been added to the repertoire.

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I need an entire wall of these…

These so need to get got. I still can’t figure out where to get them, but it will happen.

Yoinked from Gizmodo. Hipped to by the roommate.

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Reflections on the new “diet”…

diet noun *

1 a: food and drink regularly provided or consumed

b: habitual nourishment

c: the kind and amount of food prescribed for a person

About six weeks ago I decided I wanted to change my diet. I didn’t want to go on a diet as I try to pay attention to my total caloric intake in rough terms all the time. I don’t want to cut calories per se, nor do I have any particular health goals. I wouldn’t mind losing a few pounds, but that only come for me from exercise. No, my only purpose in this endeavor is to diversify the source of my daily calories. I want to eat more different things. So the question is, where did I end up with this new approach and further, why did I even bother?

I’ll address the second part of that question first. Basically I realized that most meals — especially when dining out — revolve around a big slab of meat. I can usually finish that piece of meat and I often do, but meat was just becoming something easy and boring to eat. I need lunch I guess I’ll get a turkey sandwich. Hmm, I guess I’ll get the steak-frites. The requirement for meat in a meal was getting a little oppressive as you can’t normally get just a little bit. Meat was taking up an inordinate amount of my calories and most of the time I wasn’t even enjoying it all that much. This is doubly sad because something, you know, died for the privilege of my turkey sandwich. It’s kind of tragic when you eat meat and it’s just bleh, no?

There are other issues with the consumption of meat that have been on my mind, as well. Countless books and articles have enumerated the environmental and health toll of industrially-produced meat such that I’ve already decided I would prefer meat that comes from someplace tangible. But, even if one eats only the most ethically and sustainably produced meats, is it really environmentally tenable to eat two pounds of meat in a day? I know the answer to that question. In fact, I’m sure that there is an environmentally minded vegetarian out there who can hit me with some facts suggesting that eating any meat is less sustainable from an environmental standpoint than going vegetarian or vegan. So why not give up meat altogether?

I think as a consumer of meat it is important to consider the effects of that decision every once and a while and I do that pretty regularly. I love meat though. My connection and love of food has deep roots in how I grew up and what I long for deep down. Even the new foods I gravitate towards always seem to have a long history and generations of thought and care behind them and predictably include meat. Further, while I have certainly been satisfied by vegetarian meals I would be eliminating a huge source of my enjoyment of food if I cut out animal products. That said, all these traditions that I speak of are usually born out of a deep respect for the animal and a general scarcity of protein. My grandmother can make an amazing leg of lamb, but she would not serve it three meals a day seven days a week. So, if I don’t actually need all that much animal protein in my diet, and it’s probably a good idea for the environment if I don’t eat it all the time, and I don’t really enjoy it half the time anyway but I really enjoy it when I do, what to do?

Well, the regimen as it were is pretty simple. I consume animal protein one meal per day. If I eat sausage for breakfast, no ham with dinner. Simple. Or at least it seems. I also realized that if I just swapped out cheese for the meat that I would have eaten otherwise I didn’t really achieve much. But, that also doesn’t mean that every meal that doesn’t have meat becomes vegan. I will still saute my vegetables in duck fat if I feel the need, and I use meat stocks with abandon.

I’ve been at it for about a month in my estimation, and I have to say that I feel like I’m eating much better than I ever have. Again, not in the health sense, but I’m eating a wider variety of things and challenged to use them in new ways. In fact, this whole exercise should be looked at less as a diet than as a challenge I made to myself. The result of this challenge is that I’m enjoying the meat I do eat more and the new influx of grains, fruits, and vegetables into my cooking and diet has me more interested and pleased than ever. It’s kind of sweet.

There have been a couple of interesting side effects to this. Take my lunch the other day. I had eaten a muffin for breakfast and knew I was eating at a Southern Indian joint — where I always go veggie — for dinner. Since lunch was the only opportunity for meat for the day I ordered a turkey sandwich. It was disappointing. Further it was insulting, not only to the poor turkey, but to me personally. I would have been better off with the serviceable salad and skipped meat altogether for that day. Now meat is an event, and it’s always the best quality. I know I said I only buy the good stuff anyway, but everyone slips up occasionally and just goes for the easy choice when it comes to the best meats. Now that I’ve comfortably restricted my opportunities for meat, those disappointing meals are no longer an option. I am doubly committed to the quality of meat, not just for reasons of conscious but for my own damned enjoyment.

The other indirect result of this experiment is that even in the meals where I do have meat, I’m often using less of it. By eliminating meat some of the time, I’ve had to figure out other sources of calories. As I expand the catalog of things I’m comfortable making, I find that a little meat can really make a dish shine. Some broccoli raabe really tastes good with some slivers of hot soppressata. That’s not a lot of meat, but it’s still damn satisfying. I will still eat a leg of duck confit, or even a pile of cassoulet. I still crave steak-frites every now and again. But, when I don’t have a specific craving I’m finding that a little bit of meat or a small grating of cheese goes a long way towards my enjoyment of my meal.

The only question that remains for me is how sustainable this is on a personal level. It’s clear that I cook a lot and love doing it, and this approach to eating requires a lot of it. But, it has been invigorating and enjoyable so far so I don’t see that changing. But, if work intercedes it might become more difficult. We’ll see. But, so far, so good.

* Taken from the entry at m-w.com

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Other people’s wine… and some panade eventually.

These days I’ve been pretty much wrapped up in the myriad charms of Zuni Cafe. One of my roommates is a server there and it’s walkable, so I’ve been frequenting it quite a bit. My roommate also has the eponymous cookbook which I’m finding one of the most enlightening tomes on cooking I’ve ever read. The excitement wrought by the cookbook has me going back to the restaurant more, which makes me read the cookbook even more. Tis a vicious cycle.

One of the things I like most about the cookbook is its preponderance of recipes that don’t require meat. There are lots of vegetable and grain dishes that could certainly be punched up with some meat stock or a prosciutto end, but most of them can be made completely vegetarian if need be. One of them is a dish called panade that I had never heard of before seeing it in the book. It is as author Judy Rodgers describes, a great way to use stale bread. Since I’m always getting monstrous loafs of bread from Tartine and not finishing them, I always have stale bread. None of the variations required meat, just some veggies and cheese and lots of slow cooked onions layered with stale bread and moistened with the stock of one’s choice and cooked slowly. I had to try this.

I was give just such an occasion last week when Cas and Daryl and I decided we should get together and drink our nicer bottles of wine. It started when Del hollered at me stating that he had happened upon a bottle of Rioja that he knew nothing about but was excited to try nevertheless. Cas, in a parallel conversation, noted that he had a bottle of Grgich Hills Fume Blanc that he wasn’t sure why he was saving. I told them both they should bring their vinified bounty to my place and that I would cook an appropriate meal, one that included my loaf of stale bread.

As this happened on a Friday night, things got a later start than usual. Cas and Del wouldn’t make it over till sometime around eight, so I bullshitted around pulling apart the stale bread, grating cheese, and otherwise setting up my mis-en-place. I also opened a bottle of wine with the roommate, meaning that even these simple tasks ground to a crawl. As the guests arrived — both mine and the roommate’s — it became clear that this was going to be a long evening. The panade requires two hours in the oven and I hadn’t even gotten all the prep done when folks were showing up.

It is exactly for such occasions that one keeps a stocked pantry and wine cellar. I had some soppressata from Boccalone which I knew would keep Del occupied forevermore. I was using Petit Basque in the panade, but I bought too much so the roommate cut up the leftovers for the guests as well. Needing something to drink and seeing the whole night as one where I’d be drinking other people’s wine, I found a bottle of Champagne I’d received from GG as a housewarming gift. The wine — Besserat de Bellefon “Cuvee de Moines” — was one I had never heard of before but the giver went out her way to find something that might be considered different. And… it was fucking different! Cas was the first to break the silence after opening it with a simple utterance of “Wow, this is good.” Indeed. For our cocktail hour purposes, the wine had a good bit of citrus and apple fruit but a very nice and clean mineral finish. It also seemed to be under noticeably lower pressure with much less effervescence than I’m used to in Champagne.  In some senses it was like a San Pellegrino spritzer, but in the most satisfying way possible. It wasn’t too sweet, it didn’t have those obnoxious grapefruit flavors, nor was it too bread-y. It was balanced and quite simply, it was fun to drink. This night of other people’s wine has already started well!

Ok, so this new Champagne discovery obviously slowed down the panade process even more. But, eventually I was able to get everything together. My panade would be made of stale bread, a whole lot of shredded Petit Basque cheese, two pounds of onions cooked down to almost nothing, and some Swiss chard. Easy enough now that I look at it, but it seemed impossible to get it all ready for some reason.

Once the panade was assembled, it needed to cook for two hours. Yes, two freaking hours and we’ve already finished with a couple of bottles of wine. It was also like 9:30 by that point. Oh well, it was Friday. Nevertheless, people were gonna go nuts if they didn’t get some food before 11:30, so I started braising some radicchio in a pan and set some duck confit out to warm up. Again, a stocked pantry is an important thing.

It was also time for a new bottle of wine and we turned to Cas’ offering of a 2006 Grgich Hill Fume Blanc. Grgich is a big name in California wine, so I had definitely heard of this producer. By the same token, I would never have thought to have bought this on my own. I am prejudiced against the very forward styles that I consider prevalent in California, especially when oak is involved. An oaked Sauvignon Blanc from one of California’s bigger names would seem tailor made to disappoint me. That’s why it’s nice for one to have friends that bring around different wines. In the face of my snobbery this wine was pretty fantastic. It had great tropical fruit aromas, decent acidity, and great body. The use of oak was so judicious that the wine was sturdy without gaining any of the flavors that oak imparts. We really enjoyed this wine while we waited. And waited. And waited. In any event, we were batting 2-for-2 at this point with wines I had nothing to do with.

As the radicchio approached readiness, I crisped the skin on the duck legs and set them in the oven to warm up properly. Dressed with some aged sherry vinegar, this was a simple hold me over snack until the panade was ready. My confit is good stuff though so it wasn’t really a tragedy that it had to make an appearance. Del even said something nice about it.

Del’s quote: “I want meat to taste like this all the time.”

Thanks Del! The arrival of red meat to the party seemed like a good time to open the last of the bottles of wine: a 2003 Torre Muga Rioja courtesy of Del. I am familiar with Muga as a producer and quite like their standard offering from Rioja, which is both good and affordable. This Torre Muga is their flagship wine, however. I had never tasted it nor would I probably buy it because it’s pretty spendy. Now I’m singing a different tune though as this wine kicked ass. I mean, it was really good and in ways that I’m not usually excited about. First of all, it was fruity as hell. This is not a quality I generally find favorable, but it wasn’t sweet and there were some hints of olive and spice to keep things interesting. The tannins were noticable but never in the way, and the wine was less alcoholic and more acidic than I’d expect from such a modern style of wine. It was really great as we drank it and could probably age for a few years as well. It wasn’t necessarily as interesting as my favorite wines, but it was an extremely well made and balanced wine that I can only say good things about.

For those keeping score at home, all of the wines that were provided by others for this occasion were not only good they were really good. Each surprised me in one way or another and I would buy each again, price tags be damned. Such a successful evening would indicate that I should let people ply me with wine more often. I will have to reflect on this. Oh, wait. We ate the panade! Yeah, at around 11:30 the panade came out but I had already had a hand in the death of four bottles of wine so… there is no picture. It was damn tasty though in that drunk and satisfying sort of way, if a little soupy rather than pudding-y owing to having used too much stock. Hmm… this was a really simple dish to make and I usually have the stuff to make it around so I’ll have to do this again with a little more professionalism. In any event I was pretty happy to both get a nice introduction to some great wine and find a new use for my constant supply of stale bread.

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Chocolatiere? Qu’est-ce que ce?

One of the roommates committed the recently unexpected crime of buying me a gift for Christmas. This is only criminal in the sense that I had not reciprocated — nor have I, nor will I — and thus felt a little guilty. Having eaten at my table many times, the roommie decided I needed a new kitchen gadget and so procured me this little toy.

Frankly, I didn’t know what the fuck it was when I first looked at it. It says Chocolatiere on it so it presumably does something with chocolate. Out of pure confusion I read the manual to learn that it is primarily a tool for foaming one’s hot chocolate. The instructions were simple: add 100g of shaved chocolate to the jug; add 1 quart of hot milk on top to melt the chocolate; cover with lid and churn with the plunger until foam appears. C’est tout. Simple! In fact, so simple I wouldn’t have ever expected that one would need a tool for just such a purpose. In fact, I didn’t know that foam was a desirable trait in hot chocolate. Anyway, it was clear to me that I would never have bought this for myself which is a prime quality of a good gift. As long as it was handy in making something yummy I’d be happy with it. As it happened, I had just bought 3 kilos of Valrhona Guanaja chocolate under the premise that I needed to have chocolate on hand. Since I usually have a quart of Strauss whole milk sitting around, I had the milk as well. So, I made hot chocolate.

How’d it turn out? It was good. Using very good chocolate and very good milk made for a foamy luxurious drink. That said, it tasted more of hot cocoa than chocolate owing mostly to the small amount of chocolate used. That shouldn’t be viewed as a negative however — this was much smoother and creamier than anything I’ve made from cocoa powder — it just did not exhibit the depth my 70% chocolate had to offer. The next time I’ll use more shaved chocolate which should give me a sharper flavor.

After a few sips though, I was done with the simple pleasure of my drink and wanted to add another flavor. Some complexity perhaps? Since I always look for complexity in aged spirits, I rifled through the archives for something to push my hot chocolate over the top. Conventional wisdom says bourbon is the way to go, but the sweet vanilla flavors would essentially be more of the same in my drink. No, I should go for something with a lot of punch like a smoky single malt Scotch. I took out an independent bottling of a vintage cask of Caol Ila. I had already tried this whisky and was rather disappointed in it as it was good but extremely expensive for what it is*. It has a good smoke flavor but not a lot of complexity in its own right. However, adding that smoke note to my sweet smooth chocolate would give my drink just the edge it needed. I added just a touch so as to not overpower my cocoa flavors.

The final result was delicious and something a little new for me. Not to say that it’s never done, but Islay malts are not a common choice as a hard addition to hot chocolate. But, as with most smoky things it came off a little salty which created a nice interplay with the sweetness of the chocolate. Yum.

What to say about the gadget? As I thought on it, a manual foamer probably isn’t the worse thing to have around. I could see making some savory foams or even white mochas and egg nog with this tool. If nothing else it can be an extra decanter in a pinch as well. So, even though I would never buy this for myself — and still would not — I’m pretty happy with it. It’s a nice gift and I’m glad I got it.

* This is actually a problem I’ve been having with a lot of single malts lately. They just aren’t ever cheap and can be very disappointing when one goes for a splurge. This is a topic for another day, however.

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It’s alive… or the life and death of the Franken-cassoulet monster.

This past Saturday — in between preparing multi-course meals, celebrating birthdays, and causing a raucous at the karaoke bar — I was looking into my fridge and thought to myself, “You know, I pretty much have everything I need to make cassoulet right here and shit, ’tis the season.” And so, at 4pm I randomly started making what ended up being the Franken-cassoulet monster.

I would like to start out with a little background on my ongoing love for cassoulet. One of my favorite dishes from my mother’s repertoire when I was a child was her seven bean soup. It was a simple enough dish: the aforementioned seven beans, some onions, carrots, stock, and a big ham hock to give it some meatiness. It was a much lighter version of pork and beans essentially. I never really knew how much I loved it until I got older and it came to me in a flashback.

My moment of recall came in my senior year of college. I went to a lavish dinner at Pasion in Philadelphia with a college friend and her mother to celebrate graduation. I was an aspiring gourmand and extremely curious but still a novice in the history and roots of cuisine. My friend’s mother ordered black lentils with pork shoulder and I remember thinking that it was a waste of a choice at an inventive restaurant to order such a plebeian dish. I was too young to realize that if a good chef puts a peasant dish on the menu he is probably going to put some love into it. I also didn’t realize that my dish — a braise of goat with cilantro — was pretty common in its own right. Really I didn’t know a damn thing and that fact was underscored when I absolutely fell in love with those lentils and their attendant pork shoulder. It was such a lovely marriage of legume and meat and it brought to mind my mother’s soup. It was better than then Mom’s, but it spoke directly to my memories of and my need for pork and beans. My friend’s mother kind of gave me a look of mild contempt as I had my moment; as if to say that something so obvious shouldn’t be so revelatory. Looking back I totally agree with her.

Once I had seen the light, I often ordered bean dishes when presented the option. At some point I remember seeing cassoulet on a menu and asking the server what it was. I was told that cassoulet is a white bean stew featuring all manner of braise cuts and preserved meats. Duck confit, sausages, shoulders and hocks could all find their way into a cassoulet and they would be slowly cooked together with the beans for hours. The entire process was described as one of those Herculean tasks of French cooking. I ordered it. I loved it. I started to seek it out and then I started to make it myself. It turned out it was actually really easy to make and there was no hard and fast way to do it. While it requires several days to assemble and cook, none of those days requires much work. One just needs to have everything that goes into in and then more or less throw it together and bake. Granted, one of those things is duck confit which is not a trivial thing to make. But, since I make sure to have a rotating stock of such delights on hand at all times I more or less look at it as a staple.

Normally, I start a cassoulet by cooking the beans in a quick stock made from ham hocks. I then layer the pot with the cooked beans, an onion puree, the meat from the ham hock, some duck confit, and some Toulouse sausages and then cover with the leftover bean liquid and forget about it in the oven. It’s a unified dish that is more or less classic; ham stock, the ham that was used to make the stock, duck, and sausage from one the Gascon towns in France where the dish was conceived. This time, I had a more sordid selection of goods, but I threw them together nevertheless. Thus my dubbing this particular iteration the Franken-cassoulet.

I had a rich dark turkey stock that I made from the Thanksgiving carcass and thought I might well use that to cook the beans. I also had a pound of Boccalone pancetta and thought that might be nice to throw in while the beans were cooking. Some people throw in lardo or uncured pork belly, but I only had Italian cured pork belly so in it went… I’d ease up on the salt was all. Instead of Toulouse sausages, I had venison and juniper berry sausages. I had duck confit. I had onions for a puree. After the beans were done I started to layer them in Jeff’s graciously loaned Le Creuset oven dish. When I poured the bean infused stock over the pile, it became clear that there was not enough to cover the beans and meat. I went back to the fridge and found some veggie stock and decided to use that. It really was just a pile of whatever I happened to have around.

Into the oven it went and it cooked for a couple of hours. I took it out to cool and refrigerated it for four days. This is one of the keys to cassoulet or any dish that a marriage in liquid of many flavors: that shit needs to mature. I decided to give it plenty of time and organized an impromptu feast around it’s consumption.

The above picture was taken right before I returned the monster to the oven on the day of service. You’ll notice that where ever there is not a visible piece of meat or a bean, there is a sea of white. That is solidified fat. I believe that if the stock level were higher when I put it initially cooled it, it would have been completely sealed in fat and preserved for a a little longer. I love preserving things with fat. Anyway, this went into the oven and after an hour it needed a little more liquid for the final push. Now out of veggie stock, I used some chicken stock that I had sitting around. After just enough time to make the just-added stock hot, it was done and ready to eat.

Everyone dug in and people seemed to enjoy it.

Phil’s quote: “This is better than your last cassoulet.”

Thanks Phil. The next hour or so was spent figuring out ways to mix the various helpings of stew with toasted slices of day-old bread from Tartine. There was some soaking it in the juices, a little bit of crostini action, and by the end smearing of soft pancetta on the bread like butter. The roommate’s vegetarian guest thought it all looked so good that he eventually decided he needed to at least try it, because you know, it is a bean dish.

We were also drinking wine, basically from the time I put the cassoulet in the oven. I asked everyone to bring a bottle of wine and suggested Madiran since it hails from the same region in southwestern France. Failing that — given that Madiran is a little obscure — I suggested Bordeaux because it’s close enough and really, if there is ever a dish that call for a sturdy wine it is cassoulet.

Jeff, being the ass that he is, brought a Charles Shaw Merlot but did not get the rise out of me that he had hoped for. I know Jeff too well to believe that he’d only bring me the Chuck and sure enough he had brought a very nice 2000 Burgundy. He asked the cats at the Wine House what they thought we should drink with cassoulet and they suggested Burgundy. Although not regional, it’s a great choice because the high acidity to helps cut through all the fat. It’s also a natural pairing with pork and duck. Not what I asked for, but hey, we need a light wine to start off with. Predictably, Jeff’s choice was the best wine we drank all night as well. An enjoyably fruity and earth nose, light on the palate and a surprising level of well-integrated tannin. I <3 Pinot Noir.

The Bordeaux we drank — one from Phil and two that I had decanted an hour before anyone showed up — were all good but I’ve been yet to be swayed by big wines featuring Cabernet Sauvignon. They all had nice noses — particularly the 2004 from Graves — but I wasn’t really feeling the flavors. Too much nettle and tobacco. They were good wines, but I just don’t think I’m a fan of overly assertive wines. On the heavier end I would have been happier with some Rhones instead.

Oh, that last wine was the dry Madeira that I love so much. The roommate requested it when dessert arrived, which just like the last time I wrote about Madeira was an apple and pear clafoutis. I actually had some leftover flambeed apples and pears from the first preparation of the clafoutis, and since all it requires is milk, sugar, eggs, and some flour I decided to make it again.

It felt really good to make this one as I did it all from memory and it came out of the oven looking prettier than the first try. But, when I went to serve it it completely lost its integrity and would not come out in even slices. I was baffled. I tasted it and the flavor was also better than the first time. Then I realized that it wasn’t coming out in slices because although the bottom had set, it was stuck to the dish. I told everyone that I forgot to butter the dish and that was why we had to eat it like pudding.

Roommate’s quote: “Douchebag!” as she scoops out a healthy serving from the dish.

Umm, thanks. Moments later…

Roommate’s quote: “Can I have some more?” (x3)

So, yeah, clafoutis may become a standard. Not to be outdone though, Jen brought some homemade marshmallows.

Jen knows that I love marshmallows and these were excellent as always. These along with the fantastic Amadei chocolate (big ups to Cas for coming through with that) and a glass of Calvados made for a nice punctuation to the evening. You have to love it when a plan comes together, even when the plan is as simple as raiding the fridge and throwing it in a pot.

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Dinner 12/9/07

Last week the roommate commissioned me to open Chez Jean-Michel for her and her best friend to have dinner for the coming Sunday. That was yesterday and I did my best to only use stuff that I had in the house as I had a significant backlog of fruits and vegetables from my CSA. Asking the roomie what she wanted, I was directed towards sweet starches and away from seafood. No problem. I had a bunch of sweet potatoes and I thought that making gnocchi out of them might be a good starter course. Gnocchi are kind of heavy and starchy though so I should make the second course both a source of protein yet lighter and refreshing. I had some baby lettuces that could be the base of a salad as well as a bunch of satsuma mandarins. To keep things light, maybe a pan-cooked quail to go with? Yeah, I was feeling that. Lastly, I would make some kind of dessert using the pink lady apples and Bartlett pears that were floating around. Here’s how it all went.

Course 1: Sweet potato gnocchi with chestnuts and thyme cream

Knowing that I want to make gnocchi I look through the pantry and fridge trying to figure out what kind of sauce to do. I could make a pesto, but that seems a little boring. I have some Strauss heavy cream in the fridge and a handful of sage leaves as well as some leftover chestnuts. That’s pretty much a sauce. I’ll need some cheese to thicken it. I have some Pecorino Romano, but I’m bored with it so I’ll get a different cheese when I hit the ferry building.

Fast forward to the ferry building and I’m chatting with the girl at Cowgirl Creamery. I tell her I’m making a cream sauce and I want something with character and I’m totally over Pecorino Romano. She suggests perhaps a different Pecorino and hands me a sample of Pecorino Ginepro featuring a balsamic vinegar and juniper berries soaked rind. She cuts herself a piece and we considered it for a moment. The semi-hard cheese has a distinct juniper flavor and a nice acidic bite. I note the acidity, she concurs adding that it has a citrus quality. I say it will be nice with the sage and she perks up and agrees.

(Digression: what the fuck is up with the god damned cute people working at Cowgirl? Male and female alike they are all fucking good looking. And since they always seem to cut themselves a taste along with my own, we end up having a cheese moment which makes them about twice as hot as they already were by the time I get to the register.)

Cheese in hand, I have everything I need. I make the gnocchi by following the standard gnocchi recipe and just subbing in sweet potatoes. Roast the tubers, peel them and run through the food mill. Mix in a few egg yolks and some salt and start adding flour till you get a dough. It seems like I need more flour than I normally need for gnocchi, but I get them rolled and cut eventually and have the guests shape them with forks. While the water comes to a boil, I start on the sauce.

The sauce should come together quickly; the only thing I need to do is make a tea with the cream and the sage. I get out the cream and the sage and the sage smells really bad. Damn it. I checked it this morning. I guess I didn’t smell it but it looked OK. Hmm… well, I have thyme, that’ll have to do. I bring the cream to a boil and take it off the heat and throw the time in it and let it steep for a half hour and then strain out the thyme. The cream tastes like thyme now and it’s really good. The water starts to boil so I prepare the rest of the sauce so that I can transfer the dumpling straight from the water into the sauce. I simmer the cream in a sauce pan with the chestnuts, a few turns of black pepper and a dash of salt. Then I finely grate the cheese into the sauce until it has the desired consistency. Boil the gnocchi, toss around in sauce, dinner is served.

Roommate’s quote: “This is my favorite thing you’ve ever made.”

My notes: This turned out damn good, but the gnocchi needs a little work. I loved the expression of the sweet potato flavor, but it was a little doughy as a result of needing more flour. I think I may need to let the puree drain for a few hours before making the dough next time. I should also add some nutmeg to the dough. I’m actually surprised this dish got made without me using any. The sauce was perfect. They thyme and juniper were really nice together and the chestnuts provided a little meatiness.

Wine pairing: Cascina Val del Prete Roero Arneis “Luet” 2005. I wanted Italian to keep the theme but it needed some acidity to cut through the cream and cheese. I remember suggesting a friend drink this at Incanto once and I really liked it. It has seen some oak but it has good fruit and a really crisp finish. A really nice balanced white wine for under $20.

Course 2: Quail Salad with Satsumas and Walnuts

Quails are a great salad meat and I’m thinking that the satsumas would go along nicely with them. I also have some walnuts to make it more of a salad. Since a salad must have a dressing, I think that I’ll make a vinaigrette from the pan drippings. Madeira might be nice in the sauce too; it’ll be a nice pairing with both the little oranges and the quail. Wait, I’m out of Madeira. Why am I always out of Madeira? Because I love it and keep drinking it? Yeah. OK, I need to get some. I remember that Georges Perrier has a quail salad in his cookbook and I give it a peep to see if there are any ideas. His salad features a Madeira spiked vinaigrette made from the pan drippings. Did I have this in the back of my mind when I conceived this dish? Well, at least I have some validation that this will work. I like this dish as a mix between a main course and an intermezzo.

Alright, let’s do this. Pan sear the quail in half a stick of butter until they are brown on all sides. Grr. I hate my stove. It’s either too hot or not hot enough. In this case it’s not hot enough so the skin didn’t get crispy like I want it. It’s brown, but not perfect. Oh well. I butcher them into boneless breasts and legs and keep the remaining bits for the sauce. Deglaze the pan with Madeira. Have a swig of Madeira because I love it. Scrape up crust from bottom of pan and add the bony quail parts and a little chicken stock. Reduce till sufficiently fragrant and non-alcoholic. Whisk in some sherry vinaigrette and the sauce is done. The salad is just the greens tossed with with the section satsumas and some walnuts, topped with the meaty parts of a whole quail and drizzled with our pan vinaigrette.

Roommate’s quote: “I wasn’t sure I was going to like quail, but I do.”

My notes: I wish the skin was crispier. It was still damn good. I probably added a touch too much sherry vinegar. It started to fight with the Madeira and that’s no good. Also, the salad could have used some fresh ground pepper as well as a pinch of fleur de sel. Next time.

Wine pairing: Les Vins de Vienne Saint-Joseph “L’Arzelle” 2004. Saint-Joseph is supposed to be the cheap enjoyable appellation of the northern Rhone. We decanted this about three hours before pouring it and I was pretty smitten. It was perfume-y with big black fruit aromas, medium body and good acidity. I believe my initial response was “I want to fuck this wine.” As a pairing it was not bad as I tend to like floral wines with salad. That said, the heavy vinegar kind of muted the wine. Paired solely with the quail however, the wine sang.

Course 3: Apple and Pear Clafoutis

I have a bunch of pears and apples. What can I do with them? Normally I make poached fruit desserts or ice cream because I haven’t always had the most success with baking. I think I should expand my repertoire so I open up the Tartine cookbook and look up pears. Oh, look, clafoutis. I love clafoutis. It’s a milk custard with a little flour added to give it structure with some fruit thrown in. I can do this. First I have to cook up the fruit to make it better than it is. I’ve diced and skinned two each of the apples and pears. I proceed to saute them in half a stick of butter when I decide that maybe some Calvados might be in order. I’m thinking that I don’t want my fruit swimming in alcohol so I think I will flambe the whole thing. Later I will read in both Ruhlman and McGee that flambe doesn’t do a very good job of removing the alcohol and that’s its only use is for performance. Well, at least I have an audience. Anyway, I reduce the remaining Calvados until the fruit is glazed. Then I create a milk custard thickened with a little flour and flavored with a vanilla bean and pour into a 10″ ceramic dish. I spread my fruit liberally throughout and bake. After the edges start to brown I dust the top with powdered sugar and turn up the heat to get it to caramelize. It doesn’t all seem to want to caramelize so I take it out when I’m worried about burning the bottom. After 15 minutes rest to allow the custard to cool and set, we bust into it.

Roommate’s quote: “Can I have another slice?” (x3)

My notes: I followed the directions and got a good product. The apples and pears were a great choice and really delicious when glazed with the Calvados. The only problem was that not all of the powdered sugar caramelized before the tart was done. Maybe it needs to be a really light dusting so there are absolutely no clumps. I dunno. It was a good first-time-in-a-long-time baking effort though.

Wine pairing: Blandy’s 10 year old dry Sercial. Dry Madeira is a wonderful thing. It’s nutty and rich and just lovely. It’s no wonder I’m always running out of it.

C’est tout. The only things I really needed to buy specifically for the meal were quails and the cheese. Everything else was a staple or I had from the CSA box. It wasn’t perfect, but perfect rarely happens when there is more than one course going on.

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WTF

I saw a woman on the Bart this morning reading a big glossy hardback book called Ronnie with Ron Wood’s mug on the cover. Ron Wood has a biography? Seriously? I mean, I know he’s been in a lot of important bands but… I mean. What the fuck?

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Touchez Pas au Grisbi

I had grand designs of making gnocchi with my backlog of sweet potatoes, but I spent too much time bullshitting to start on that sort of project. Instead I decided on a glass of wine and one of the films I’d just bought from the Criterion Collection. When I first got a DVD player back in college I spent all of my money trying to compile a definitive corpus of films that would be representative of my infallible tastes. It was a naive goal and I stopped buying film in any medium around my senior year and haven’t really bought any since. The one exception I had made was for the Antoine Doinel box set so that I can watch Le Quatre Cent Coups whenever I feel like it. Last week I realized that there were a few other films I needed to have on hand for those rainy nights when I just can’t be bothered to cook or open myself up to something new. Since last night was one of those nights I was glad to have ordered those films, including Touchez Pas au Grisbi.

Touchez Pas au Grisbi translates to “hands off the loot” and is unsurprisingly — given its title — a gangster film. Made in the 50’s it stars an old-but-still-very-cool Jean Gabin as Max, a hood who just pulled off his last heist with his best friend Riton (as played by Rene Dare). The main narrative of this film is not the heist, however. Max and Riton already have the loot — in this case 200 lbs of gold bullion jacked from the airport — they merely have to hold onto it until they can fence it at which point they can sail into retirement. I love that the heist is fait accompli; as if the fact that Max could pull it off completely lacks for suspense. But, as the story unfolds it turns out to not really be about keeping the gold so much as how two old friends deal with their advancing age and the friendship that has kept them together for twenty years. It’s a pretty emo film all told. It’s also a near flawless mood piece with some pitch perfect performances. Anyway, here are my thoughts from last night’s screening:

- The aforementioned relationship between Max and Riton is best defined as a sibling rivalry. Max is the older brother always admonishing Riton for not accepting his age and letting it ride. Riton is always ashamed and trying desperately to both please Max but also be attractive to younger women. Riton’s desire to please causes all the problems in the film and the interplay of Max’s loyalty and Riton’s shame is really well executed by both actors.

- There is a scene where Max and Riton are trying to hide from some pursuers and they end up in Max’s secret apartment. It’s so secret that Riton doesn’t even know his friend of twenty years has such a space. Nevertheless, Max is able to entertain perfectly with a stock of pate and some white wine made by “a friend of his in Nantes”. Since it’s his safe house at which he doesn’t spend any time, Max only has biscuits but he apologizes for the lack of fresh bread. He also has a closet full of suits dressed with pocket squares and spare pajamas and bedding for Riton. I aspire to have such a secret hideout. Honestly I’d like to have these things in my main abode. In any event the sheer fact that someone would outfit their rarely used hideout so thoughtfully is a really nice piece of characterization.

- This film makes great use of diegetic music as a means to set mood for the viewer. The score of the film is dominated by what is more or less Max’s theme song. It’s the music that goes with Max into a room, but rather than just have the music playing as a leitmotif for us, Max actually puts it on the record player. It doesn’t really matter where he is, if it’s not already on he asks everyone around him if it’s alright if he does. Since Max is awesome, everyone always says yes. I imagine this film must have influenced Melville’s use of music in Bob le Flambeur, specifically the vibraphone piece played during the opening gambling scene.

- While Gabin is the star of this show, the film also has early appearances from two of my favorite French actors. Jeanne Moreau plays Riton’s coy girlfriend, Josy. It’s kind of a cheese cake role, but she absolutely kills in Jules et Jim and it’s interesting to see her play a trifling showgirl as a counterpoint. This film also marks the debut of Lino Ventura who would play the dignified but tiring resistance spy in L’Armee des Ombres. While not as deep a performance as the one in that film, here he really plays the villain to great effect. Perhaps not coincidentally, I picked up both Jules et Jim and L’Armee des Ombres as part of the same haul as Touchez Pas au Grisbi.

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Another great meal at Incanto

Before the show last night I shoehorned in some dinner to catch up with a friend. Neither of us having a strong opinion on where to eat, I suggested the bar at Incanto. This should come as a surprise to no one as I would eat there every day if time, money, and cardiopulmonary health permitted. This being December, the menu was in full on winter mode: filled with bitter greens and red wine braises. Winter is up there with Spring, Summer and Fall in terms of my favorite seasons, so I was a little more geeked than usual over the choices in front of me. A couple of revelations followed.

The highlight of the meal was the Barolo and radicchio risotto. I am good at making risotto, but this was really fucking good. It was clear that there was a much more liberal use of cream and cheese in the finish than I would use myself, but there was more depth to the flavor than can be achieved by some added fat. I’m not sure how he did it, but the deep dark flavors of the wine were pervasive not just in the rice but the cream in which it sat. The color was lovely and I don’t think this effect can be achieved just by using red wine at the beginning of cooking. He must have incorporated it into the cream somehow. Beyond that the choice of radicchio as the chunky bit was nothing if not inspired. The cheese was excellent too; the name escapes me but it was a softer more pungent cheese than is normally worked into risotto. In any event, this dish was so damned good that I’m kinda vexed by it. Risotto is an ace-in-the-hole dish for me and I’ve just had my eyes opened. I feel the same way I imagine Brian Wilson felt when he first heard Rubber Soul. I am a little annoyed and moreover challenged. I must commence on my Pet Sounds immediately.

In other news, we ate other things last night that were also damn near perfect though they were all overshadowed by the risotto. The braised lamb neck with warm bitter greens and herbs came with a creamy polenta brightened by slivers of lemon zest needs highlighting. Once I had stopped fawning over the risotto I was really charmed by this dish, but lamb necks are huge and therefore there was a lot left over. As I asked our server to wrap it, she asked if I’d like them to removed the large bones to which I reflexively responded in the affirmative. Why would I not want the bones? Once my air of intractable postulation had dissipated, I had to actually consider why I wanted the bones. I then remembered that I have some homemade dark turkey stock as well as a half-dozen homemade duck legs confit. With some white beans, I could put together a pretty fantastic cassoulet. These bones and their remaining meat would be a lovely little addition. And, cassoulet is more or less my favorite thing in the world and it’s also the season. In fact, I believe I will be setting aside white beans to soak this very night.

The last thing I should mention about this impromptu meal was that the dessert that made me fall in love with Incanto on my first trip is back on the menu. Ginger cake with warm butterscotch. I <3 butterscotch and when it is served warm over spiced cake I practically melt. And, since I have absolutely no faculty for baking, I will not be reproducing this at home. As such, I will be going back to Incanto approximately every day for a little dessert. Tis a cruel yoke, my love of butterscotch.

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