Spring Seduction

We had an eventful winter with trips to New York, Minneapolis, Chicago, and Southern California (Los Angeles, Dana Point, San Diego).  Coming back to the rural Midwest after walking the Brooklyn Bridge and touring the Mission at San Juan Capistrano was proving to be somewhat anticlimactic.  Then spring revealed herself in all her bucolic glory and I was reminded, again, that living the country life has its merit.

 

Mission San Juan Capistrano

 

 

The cherry tree graced us with just a few days of gorgeous blooms.  The asparagus broke through the dry ground forming purple and green rows.  The arugula, lettuce, pea, and radish have all sprouted.  The Brassica patch is planted along with some new perennial flowers and fennel.  The rhubarb patch went from a few green leaves to an abundance of red and green stalks in a matter of days, and the first picking is macerating on my counter as I type.  My porch is full of eager transplants awaiting the approaching warmer soil temperature.  The wildflowers have all bloomed on the shady hillsides by the creek creating a pastoral paradise of Virginia Bluebell, Trillium, Dutchman's Breeches, Hepatica, and Violet.  Then, as if she hadn't been convincing enough, the Midwest decided to have her final word in the matter of her worth: morels.

Hepatica

 

I've never tried morels, but I've always been intrigued by their reputation.  A generous student gave my husband a small ziplock baggie full of them this week.  As I anticipated their arrival for an indulgent Monday night meal, I learned how to clean them here. And I read an interesting article about foraging them here.  Then, in pursuit of the perfect recipe with which to introduce our family to the morel, I found this.  In my opinion, Molly Wizenberg (blogger, author, restaurateur) can do little wrong by way of recipe choices or writing.   Both the recipe and post are wonderful. 

rinsing morels

 

And so, on a mild spring evening overlooking the garden, my husband, daughter, and I sat at the small table on our back porch with a simple meal fit for royalty: creamed morels on toast with wine.  We devoured the earthy deliciousness surrounded by the colors of spring as the busy birds sang their lively work songs.  And there, in a very rare moment, I desired to be nowhere else. 

creamed morels, toast, Pinot Grigio

 

My Valentines

Happy Valentine's Day, the day devoted to love.  Here's what I'm loving this Valentine's Day . . .

 

From the cellar:
 

Lately I'm crazy about manzanilla.  I recall drinking plenty of it during the Feria de Abril in Seville, but somehow forgot about it over the last decade.  This very dry sherry perfectly pairs with salty foods such as olives and jamon serrano.  And if you need to drink something trendy, sherry is 'in'.  Check out the article on page 66 of the February issue of Food & Wine, Sherry on Top, which states that 'sherry is having its moment' and lists the top Sherry Bars in London.

a little spread we put together in Brooklyn from some nearby shops

 

I've also been enjoying  Bordeaux Whites.  My heart belongs to robust reds, but I need something more subtle and crisp with a plate of escargots swimming in garlic butter, which is exactly how we enjoyed this bottle at La Creperie in Chicago.
 

In my kitchen:

Cast-iron lamb chops.  The half lamb we ordered from a local farm last summer has made for some pretty spectacular meals, especially the lamb chops seared on a hot cast iron skillet for three minutes on each side.  The outside gets a nice crust while the inside remains perfectly medium rare.  Add a side of cous cous and nice Zinfandel and it's a fantastic quick meal.

 

 

Pickled vegetables.  The one jar of spicy pickled snap peas I put by is such a tease.  We had a poor crop due to last year's drought and have been really taking our time with the one prized jar.  They're savory, sweet, spicy, and managed to retain some good crunch.  Luckily we have several jars of the sweet pickled beets that are sublime with blue cheese and crusty bread.

pickles, smoked paprika tomato jam, goat cheese, spicy snap peas, sweet pickled beets, Roquefort

 

 

From the professional kitchen:

Pizza.  Yeah, yeah, everyone likes pizza, but I'm not just talking about any pizza here.  I'm talking about pizzas that transcend New York versus Chicago style. Pizzas as art!   For instance, we ventured into the Midwood neighborhood of Brooklyn for a slice from Di Fara's.  Domenico DeMarco has been making all his pizzas himself, by hand since 1964.  Almost fifty years of practice in making the perfect (and I think it is) pie.  Di Fara's has won numerous awards, which is why people wait hours.   We arrived fifteen minutes before it opened, waited twenty minutes to order, another thirty minutes for a seat, and more than thirty after that to eat (don't worry, it's byob).  Yes, it's a little high maintenance and yes, it's very, very worth it. 

Dom making the pie

   

putting it in the oven

et, voila!

 

I hate to say it, but I'm partial to New York style pizza.  As a former Chicagoan, this is almost as blasphemous a statement as revealing my lack of a preferred baseball team. Ok, I prefer the team with the better looking players. I found The Cubs far more interesting when Ryan Theriot was manning second base. Back to pizza:  Chicago style pizza is just too much--too much cheese, too much sauce. New York style is thinner, crispier, with good chew. We did plenty of 'research' a few weeks ago on a long weekend trip.

I'm tellin' ya, I even liked Ray's.

My assessment of Chicago style pizza doesn't mean that there isn't good pizza in Chicago.  There's GREAT pizza in Chicago.  Thank goodness because getting to Midwood from the Midwest is really a hike.  Case in point: Coalfire Pizza.  Over New Year's, we stopped in our old near west neighborhood to try the only pizza in the city made in a coal-burning oven.  The 800+ degree oven makes for a truly memorable pie.  We enjoyed several, but The Coppa, topped with high-quality coppacola, was outstanding.  My husband felt the same about the 'Nduja.   One bite and he said, "Oh man, that tastes like Italy."  And it did, but I'm a sucker for cured pork.  Great pizza, good beer and wine, and great service made for a wonderful night with friends.  The handsome, buff, straight-out-of-The-Sopranos-looking manager didn't detract from the experience either.

There's The Coppa, down front

 

The 'Nduja with perfect crust

The nicest server gave Viv a private tour of the oven while her special order (I want sausage!) was cooking

 

Brulee Desserts.  Creme brulee is the quintessential dessert.  It's a multi-sensory eating experience: the elegant dessert, the crack of the caramelized sugar, the rich custard. I love when pastry chefs extend the torch beyond this classic favorite. In the past several months I've had two instances that were profoundly good:

Gingersnap Banana Pudding at Butcher and the Boar, Minneapolis: homemade gingersnap crust, decadent banana pudding, and some sort of fluffy merengue-y topping finished with a caramelized crust.  There is no photo.  It was gone before it even occurred to me.

Caramalized Banana Ricotta Tart at Balthazar, New York: creamy ricotta tart topped with sliced bananas and caramelized under a shellacked, crunchy layer of sugar. 

The tart at Balthazar was so good, I had to try my hand at one.  Not bad for a first attempt with the broiler, but it's time for my very own culinary torch. 

The glass of manzanilla, the trek through Brooklyn, the caramelized tart experiments are all the more complete with my real Valentine, the man who brought me to the country.  The one who plants the tomatoes that I harvest, slaughters the chickens that I butcher, and gets stung by the swarm of bees for the homegrown honey that I put in my coffee.  He's the one that patiently loves his sassy wife and equally sassy daughter.  He's the one with the beard, and more importantly, he's the one with the heart.  He's the one that makes life taste all the better. 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Happy New Year

It's been a year of bees.

A year of chickens,

and ducks,

and one very memorable rooster.

A year of canning,

gardening,

foraging,

harvesting,

and cooking.

We had eggs,

ice cream,

and many happy meals with family and friends.

Happy New Year from our table to yours.  May you eat well in 2013!

Fall Fare

Gardening season is approaching its end, but the show is not over yet.  First, the nightshades perform their final encore. Then the squash, kale, and brussels sprout steal the limelight.  It's easy to think about the garden in the warm summer months, but the cool months provide an exciting bounty as well. 

 

 

My eggplant were the first, along with the melons, to stop producing due to frost.  I stashed several in the refrigerator to keep for a ceremonial eggplant parm dinner marking the end of the season, but I wasn't feelin' it.  Even with a fresh batch of ricotta in the fridge and tomatoes for a quick sauce, they seemed to be calling for something different, something new.  These eggplant were uppity and wanted nothing short of novel excellence that came in the form of the remaining untried recipe from My Calabria, Pollo con Melanzane, or Braised Chicken with Eggplant, Tomatoes, and Pancetta.  It's beyond me how this recipe made it so long unexercised, but with a new cobalt Dutch oven barely cool from my coq au vin adventure, eggplant practically pleading for a sublime sendoff, and a freezer full of chicken, it was time to put my faith yet again in Rosetta Costantino's southern Italian brilliance.  The recipe is listed below and it is fantastic. 

 

My tomatoes, despite several frosts, are still producing.  Each time it gets cold I think they're done.  Then, I go outside and sure enough, there are ripe tomatoes that I couldn't possibly leave on the frostbitten and withered vines.  We've had our share of roasted tomato bruschetta and sandwiches.  With plenty canned and in the freezer, I retreated to my tomato archives to see what I could make that had an autumnal flair as tomato-basil season is long gone. Marcella Hazan's Tomato Sauce with Onion and Butter perfectly fit the cozy autumn profile, and given the reviews, one would think this was the king of tomato sauces.  And it's good, very good--homey, with a delicate nuanced flavor.  Its fragrance alone is reason enough to try it.  It's a lovely October meal, but no, it is not the king of tomato sauces.  It's very 'sitting next to the campfire in a cable-knit sweater admiring the New England foliage while sipping a non-alcoholic cider'.  If a sauce could have sociopolitical leanings, this sauce is definitely a WASP.  It's the Martha Stewart of sauces, which is classic, and nice.  I greatly admire and respect Martha Stewart, I'm just cut from a different and more leopard-print cloth. 

With the next batch of tomatoes, I made Rigatoni with Braised Lamb Ragu.  Now that's far more leopard print than cable-knit.  My house smelled like Greektown.   Opa!  Short of the saganaki and cold table wine, it was pretty close to a trip to Jackson and Halsted.  I've listed the recipe at the bottom of the post.  See, there's a tomato recipe for everyone:  for protestants and vegetarians, the Tomato Sauce with Onion and Butter (sorry vegans, you have stumbled upon the wrooooong site); and for catholics or those that don't require higher than an SPF 15, Rigatoni with Braised Lamb Ragu.  These rules aren't hard and fast--feel free to try them both. 



The above recipes are fairly quick to assemble.  The following takes more time, but is absolutely worth it.  Lasagna with Squash and Kale is adapted from this recipe from this month's Bon Appetit.  The recipe can be followed exactly as written except for the substitution of kale for broccoli rabe.  If you are buying ingredients from the store or can find broccoli rabe at the farmer's market, by all means try the recipe as is.  My adaptation is based on the vegetables in my garden, not taste preference.  I learned several things from this recipe: 1.  Squash and kale make a quintessential fall dish in both flavor and color.  2.  Lasagna needs not fatty meat to be delicious.  3.  Bechamel should be included in every recipe.  Trust me, this is a recipe to keep in your archives.

Another simpler kale recipe is Kale, White Bean, and Sausage Soup.  I grew up with a similar dish, sausage with escarole and beans, so I've made many variation on this theme, but never according to a specific recipe.  Now seemed like as good a time as any to crack open The Tuscan Sun Cookbook from Frances and Edward Mayes.  This is a very straight-forward version of the dish, easy enough for a weeknight meal, but refined enough for a first course with company.  It is perfect for a cold autumn night when only the kale is left standing in the garden.

Now I'd  like to talk about brussels sprouts.  Please don't make that face.  I tend to take brussels sprouts insults personally.  It's just about my favorite vegetable (do not let the eggplant hear that!).  If you don't like them you probably haven't had them prepared in a way that really suits their character (or you're just a jerk).  True brussels sprouts-lovers can enjoy them boiled, but anyone else must have a roasted or sauteed version.  These methods caramelize the natural sugars and create a mesmerizing crucifer. 

My go-to preparation is to trim and halve or quarter each sprout, toss with olive oil and sea salt, and roast at 350 until they have brown and crispy edges.  I could eat a platter of these on my own.  If you want to make a great side dish, add some crispy pancetta/bacon or caramelized onion.  Divine.  This week I prepared them according to the standard roasting method, but cut them finely, into almost a hash.  This creates even more crispy bits.  Rather than just eating them as a side though, they became the main entree on a pizza crust and topped with fresh mozzarella and lots of shaved parmigiano.  This may be my favorite fall pizza--there is a hierarchy of favorites depending on season and location.

We also had braised brussels sprouts.  I will admit, this may not be the recipe to initiate one's self into the world of brussels sprouts.  However, if you are already a resident, please try Cream Braised Brussels Sprouts.  They are silky, rich, and delicious.  For more recipes and, follow my pinboards on Pinterest.

Now if you're into the fall pizza idea, try Pizza with Squash and Sage.  If your sage plants are crazy prolific like mine, this is a great use of the herb.  Squash and sage compliment each other so well.  This pizza is a great lunch or appetizer.   If you want to make more of a meal of it, add some grilled Italian sausage, a great addition to that particular combo.

 

The days of garden-fresh produce are numbered.  There is a curtain call or two left for most fall vegetables, and the dates of the kale show may be extended depending on when we get our hard freeze.  Enjoy the garden show now.  When it's over, we'll just have frozen and canned vegetable reruns until spring.

 

Pollo con Melanzane

Braised Chicken with Eggplant, Tomatoes, and Pancetta

from My Calabria, Rosetta Costantino

 

1 lb globe eggplants or slender Italian eggplants

Kosher salt

olive oil for frying

8 bone-in chicken thighs

freshly ground black pepper

3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

2 oz pancetta, chopped

3 garlic cloves, halved

1 cup dry white wine

2 cups peeled, seeded, and diced ripe tomatoes

1 small fresh hot pepper, such as cayenne of Thai, halved

3 Tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley

 

Cut the eggplants into large chunks, about 1 inch thick and 2 inches long.  If they are too small,  they will fall apart when cooked.

 

Sprinkle the eggplant all over with 1 tsp kosher salt.  Heat enough olive oil in a 10-inch skillet to come 1/2 inch up the side of the pan, about 2 cups oil.

 

Pat the eggplant dry with paper towels.  When the oil is hot enough to sizzle the edge of a piece of eggplant, fry the eggplant in batches until golden all over, 2 1/2 to 3 minutes total.  Don not crowd the pan.  With a slotted spoon, transfer the cooked eggplant to a plate lined with paper towels.

 

Season the chicken thighs all over with 2 tsp salt and several grinds of black pepper.  Heat a 12-inch skillet or Dutch oven over high heat.  Add the extra virgin olive oil, the pancetta, and the garlic and saute until the garlic is golden, about 1 minute.  Add the chicken thighs skin side down.  Saute without moving them until the skin side is browned and releases easily from the pan, about 5 minutes.

 

Transfer the chicken with tongs to a plate and pour off the accumulated fat, leaving the garlic and pancetta in the pan.  Return the chicken to the pan and add the wine.  Simmer until all the wine has evaporated.

 

Add the tomatoes and hot pepper.  Taste and add more salt if desired.  Simmer steadily, uncovered, until the chicken thighs are fully cooked (their juices will be clear, not pink) and the tomatoes have collapsed into a sauce,  about 10 minutes.  Add the fried eggplant and stir gently to coat the eggplant pieces with sauce without breaking them up.  Continue simmering until the tomato sauce is reduced to a glaze, about 2 minutes.  Stir in the parsley and serve.

Redneck Paisana note: if using an entire chicken in pieces, be careful note to overcook the breasts.

Rigatoni with Braised Lamb Ragu

 

olive oil for frying

flour for dredging

salt/pepper

1 lb boneless lamb pieces for stewing

fresh rosemary spring, leaves removed and finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, crushed

3/4 cup dry white wine

3 cups tomatoes, peeled, seeded, chopped

 

Preheat oven to 350.  Pat lamb pieces dry, salt and pepper, dredge in flour.  Heat oil in a Dutch oven (out enough oil in Dutch oven that it come 1/4 inch up the sides).  Fry lamb in batches until nicely brown.  Transfer browned lamb to paper towel lined plate.  Fry garlic until golden.  De glaze Dutch oven with white wine.  Use a wooden spoon to work the browned bits on the bottom of the pan into the wine.  Add tomatoes and rosemary, bring to a boil.  Taste for salt.  Add lamb pieces, cover Dutch oven and bake in oven for 1hr 45 minutes to 2 hrs or until lamb pieces are very tender and falling apart.  Serve over rigatoni.

 

 

 

Kale, White Bean, and Sausage Soup

from The Tuscan Sun Cookbook, Frances Mayes and Edward Mayes

Serves 12

 

2 Italian Sausages , casings removed

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 yellow onions, chopped

2 garlic cloves, minced

2 quarts chicken stock

1 cup white wine

1 tsp fresh thyme leaves or 1/2 tsp dried

1 bunch kale, stalks included, washed and chopped

1/2 tsp salt, plus additional to taste

1/2 tsp pepper

4 cups cooked cannellini beans

 

In a stockpot over medium heat, brown the sausages in 2 tbsp of the olive oil, breaking them up with a wooden spoon.  Remove to a bowl.  Add the remaining 2 tbsp olive oil with the onion and garlic, and cook on medium-low heat until translucent.  Add the chicken stock and wine, and raise the heat to medium for 15 minutes.  Stir in the thyme, kale, salt, and pepper.  Bring to a boil.  Cover and lower the heat to simmer for 15 minutes.  Add the sausage and beans, and simmer another 10 minutes.  Taste for salt.

 

Autumn Pizza

Redneck Paisana

 

pizza dough

olive oil

cooked vegetables (roasted brussels sprouts, roasted squash slices)

chopped herbs (sage for squash pizza)

1-2 oz fresh mozzarella di bufala

1 cup shaved parmigiano reggiano

salt/pepper

 

Preheat oven to 500.  Roll out dough and fit into an olive oiled cookie sheet.  Lightly brush olive oil on dough, especially crust.  Sprinkle with herbs.  Arrange roasted vegetables on dough leaving a 1/2-1 inch border for crust.  Dot with small dices of mozzarella.  Sprinkle with shaved parmigiano, salt, pepper.  Cook for 10-12 minutes or until edges of pizza are crispy.   High heat creates crispy edges with a chewy center.

The Rooster's Last Crow

We never intended to have a rooster.   In our order to the hatchery, we requested fifty Cornish Cross meat birds and fifteen heritage laying hens.  As they grew, one bird didn't clearly fall into either category: it was white, like a Cornish Cross, but small, like a heritage breed.  We would have assumed it was a runt, but its blue legs and only fourteen other identified hens indicated heritage lineage.  Time went on and the Cornish Cross all grew to proper slaughter weight.  We processed them and what appeared to remain were fifteen colorful hens scratching and pecking in an ample chicken run.  Then the mystery bird began to crow and his sex was no longer a mystery. 

 

We deliberated for several months as to whether we should keep him.  His crow was incredibly charming and, at first, so was his machismo.  He would stand at the top of the ramp to the coop and proudly flap his wings and call his ladies.  Then his, let's say charisma, got out of hand.  On several occasions I witnessed acts in that coop that I didn't feel I was yet old enough to see.  He was a strict rooster, and he punished my darling hens.  We were harboring our own poultry version of Fifty Shades of Grey in the backyard.

 

 

Then, he started to think Vivienne and I were also part of the flock.  He tried punishing us too.  He went after Viv on several occasions.  He earned a watererer to the side of the head one day when he attempted to spur me.  This was becoming a lot of drama for eggs.  Oh yes, and he was obviously going to fertilize my eggs.  I'm not squeamish, but finding blood in my eggs will definitely put omelet production to a temporary halt.  He had to go.  Needless to say, he wasn't happy about it.  Really, he was getting exactly what any guy banging fourteen chicks at the same time deserves.

 

Before one slaughters a rooster, one must catch him first.  Cue the Rocky theme.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 That was one nimble rooster.  Nick finally cornered him inside the coop.

A few last words of thanks:

 

And it's time.

It was a swift death.

One might think this is the end of the rooster tale, but the slaughter is the very beginning of turning a rooster into dinner.  There's the scalding, the defeathering, and the cleaning of the bird.   It's quite glamorous:

I decided to make the traditional French dish, coq au vin, literally translated as rooster in wine.  Typical meat birds are slaughtered at about six weeks of age because the meat is tender and mild.  This rooster was almost six months old.  The meat was tough, dark, and very fragrant.  French peasants created coq au vin particularly to make good use of an aged rooster.  First I had to break him down, which still takes me twice the time I expect.  Note the color of the meat along the backbone and breastbone in the upper right corner--much darker than standard chicken.

I used Molly Stevens coq au vin recipe, which is featured here with step-by-step photos.   I wish I had better photos of the final product, but by the time we sat to eat it,  we were two bottles into the night.  Here's what I managed to capture:

And luckily, our guests took a plated shot.  Please pardon the haphazard (read: tipsy) presentation.

Neither do the dish justice.  In my opinion though, no photo could.  I don't believe a more delicious entree has ever graced my dining room table.  Thank you, rooster aka Russell Crowey aka Roosty Rooster aka coq au vin.  Merci beaucoup.