Dinner Party: Moroccan-Inspired Meal

I recently read an article all about olive oil, describing the breadth of aromas, flavors, and places of origin. It included several recipes for sauces, dips, and other miscellaneous condiments from around the world. I was especially struck by a recipe for a pistachio chutney and ended up using the recipe as the foundation for last week’s dinner party.

pistachio chutney, just out of the food processor

The chutney had a Moroccan vibe to it and called for a pairing with game birds. Since I always end up deciding what to cook at the last minute, I wasn’t able to call ahead to pre-order my pheasant, as every butcher in town suggested. So I went with the next best thing and bought a 4 lb. cockerel from Dickson’s Farmstand Meats at Chelsea Market. I spent a fair amount of time discussing preparation methods with the butcher.

spice blend

We settled on a spice rub to complement the chutney – equal parts coriander, cinnamon, cumin, and curry, with some salt thrown in for good measure – then cooked at 350 degrees for 15 minutes per pound (although I blasted it up to 425 for the last 10 minutes so the skin would get nice and crispy).

crispy little booger, resting

For the rest of the meal, I settled on a hummus with crudites as an hors d’oeuvres (made with a rich, spicy olive oil that Toni had given me from one of his neighbors in Croatia), fingerling potatoes boiled with butter and thyme as a contorno, and a strawberry rhubarb crumble with vanilla bourbon ice cream.

les ingredients

We noshed on the homemade hummus while the cockerel was cooking, sipping on my favorite summer rose, a Touraine from the Loire Valley. During dinner we moved from white to red – I’d paired a Vermentino and a Gamay (Beaujolais-Villages) with the meal, and both accented the slightly spicy dish without overpowering any of the flavors. And the fruitiness of the Beaujolais provided an excellent transition to my slightly-too-sweet-so-thank-goodness-there’s-ice-cream dessert. I shouldn’t have used a recipe that called for rhubarb only – didn’t adjust for the sugar in the strawberries!
 
still delicious.

Overall verdict: success. Everyone ate at least 3 helpings and walked away stuffed!

Food Memories: Vanilla Bourbon Ice Cream, or “Milk Punch”

I have spent the past few days planning for a dinner party that will be taking place chez moi this evening. Well, mainly planning the dessert part. I wanted to make ice cream, which means deciding on flavor combinations and executing it a few days in advance. Since rhubarb is at its peak right now, I thought a strawberry-rhubarb crumble would be good, paired with a deliciously simple vanilla ice cream. 

Then my simple idea, as usual, became more complex. I thought bourbon would be an excellent addition, and that led me to nutmeg. Suddenly I realized I was making a family favorite: every Christmas, when my mom’s side of the family gathers together, we start the celebrations with what my grandfather dubbed “milk punch.” Which basically means we begin drinking bourbon milkshakes at 11am. Nothing better.

“Milk Punch” Ice Cream

1 3/4 cups heavy cream
1 cups skim milk
1/2 cup light cream
1 tsp vanilla extract
3 eggs
3/4 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup bourbon (I used Evan Williams)
1. Combine creams and milk in a medium saucepan.
2. Add the vanilla to the cream mixture and bring to just under a boil over medium heat. Remove the cream from the heat and steep, covered, for 20 minutes.
3. Combine the egg yolks with the sugar and salt in a mixing bowl. Whisk until the color lightens. Slowly whisk 1/4 cup of the hot cream into the egg mixture to temper it, then whisk the egg mixture back into the cream mixture. Cook over medium heat until the mixture thickens and coats the back of a spoon without running.
4. Remove from heat and strain the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve. Add the vanilla extract and the bourbon.
5. Chill completely (at least 4 hours, or overnight) in the refrigerator, then freeze in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturers instructions. 
– makes about 1 quart –
Adapted from Serious Eats