From the Fridge: Mushroom Walnut Crostini

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Yesterday evening, I wanted to make a quick and easy dinner after my book club. Inspired by the beautiful dispaly of winter veggies at Whole Foods, I decided on a stovetop ratatouille, with eggplant, zucchini, yellow squash, and a bit of canned tomatoes (I hate buying fresh in the winter). However, I find that sauteeing eggplant is one of the more arduous processes in cooking, one that absorbs all the oil in pan, leaving precious little for the other vegetables. My alternative – a slow-cooking method that cooks the eggplant separately from the zucchini and squash, which require far less cooking time. All are brought back together when the tomotoes, oregano, thyme, and s&p is added. This in turn sits and stews in a covered pan for about 20 minutes.

In the meantime, I was a hungry girl. I didn’t get home until after 9, and dinner wasn’t getting into my belly any time soon. So, I decided I needed a little something something to snack on while I was waiting. One of my favorite combinations is mushrooms with nuts (or sausage, but that can be a bit decadent…), so I pulled the i-need-to-be-used-or-i-will-go-bad package of button mushrooms out of the fridge, chopped them up using my recently acquired knife skills, and threw them into another skillet over medium heat. As they browned, I cut my garlic into little brunois and added them to the pan – I have a hard time cooking sans garlic. I then grabbed the can of walnuts from my pantry and chopped them up coarsely. Into the mix.

As the flavors began to come together, I realized the texture wasn’t. I wasn’t looking for a crumbly mess to top my little baguette rounds, so I poked my head back into the fridge and saw a little spoonful of mascarpone (pron. mas-car-pon-ay, a personal pet peeve, if you couldn’t tell) left over from a tart I made a few weeks ago. The perfect bind, with its creamy, light consistency and slightly tart flavor. Once ready, I dumped all of the ingredients into my Cuisinart with a bit of kosher salt, deafened myself momentarily as I hit the pulse button, and then transferred the mix to a serving bowl while I waited for the toast points to toast up. It spread beautifully onto the bread, and the flavor was woodsy and nutty with a crackle of salt (I sprinkled some extra grains on top for good measure). So delicious that I ended up licking the bowl.

And with that, dinner was served.

Pizza alla Romana

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Since getting over last week’s stomach plague, I have been on Italian food kick, which for me really seems to entail a lot of pizza. When I lived in Rome, pizza was my favorite (savory) thing to eat… I won’t deny that I could live on gelato alone, but I do like to throw in a good thin crust, bufala-covered pizza for good measure.

Most people have a crust preference. Some are die-hard Neopolitans, where pizza is said to have originated, with its doughy, medium-thickness crust. Others like the pizza alta, high pizza, the thick, Sicilian-style pizza that leaves a bomb of dough in your belly. It’s been translated in the US as deep-dish pizza, but I wouldn’t dare compare the cooking styles. Pizza alta is so yeast-filled that the dough rises up on its own, leaving its edges without the pan-seared edge of an American-style deep dish.

And there’s Roman pizza. Thin, crispy crust, cooked in a wood-fire oven that leaves the edge with a bit of char that complements the goo-i-ness of the cheese, whether fior di latte or mozzarella di bufala. I am obviously a lover of pizza alla romana, with a few favorite places scattered throughout the center of Rome and even out to Ostia beach.

However, I have yet to find my satisfactory pizza in New York, although I’ve been on the hunt for quite some time. That’s not to say I haven’t had good pizza. I enjoyed the saltiness of Motorino‘s pizza, although the dough was a bit too thick for my taste (I do like to be able to polish off my personal pizza without feeling sick afterwards – another point for thin crust). And I was a great fan of Gnocco‘s Emiliana – fresh mozzarella, tomato sauce, prosciutto crudo, arugula, and parmigiano – until it left me ill one evening.

I’ve even enjoyed Farinella‘s pizza a taglio, which reminds me of my many pizza meals on the go from the local farinaio (baker) in Rome – the long, rectangular baking sheets of pizza covered with all sorts of toppings, then cut with scissors and sold by weight. I love the pizza rosso more than anything, with its thin layer of tomato sauce and oregano.

There are plenty of others to try in New York, but Atlanta’s Baraonda is still the closest thing I’ve tried to what I am looking for. Maybe they’ll open a branch up here soon. Or maybe I’ll just hop a flight to Rome for a day – I’ve done it before :)

Ginger & Greens Soup

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A few weeks ago, with leftover collards and other random bits in my fridge, I decided to pull together a version of ginger-greens soup, which I love to nosh on when I don’t feel well, or at least need some cleansing comfort. I had been trying to entice my friend Stevie to come over for dinner for the past few days, but she hadn’t been well. Armed with this soup, I tried again, inviting her for dinner. I could hear slight hesitation in her voice when she asked, well, what are you making? Oh, I don’t know, I replied, just some ginger-and-greens-soup-with-homemade-stock-and-then-a-citrus-salad-on-the-side. I relayed this quickly, hoping that both the force of my words and the actual good-for-the-soul meal would convince her to come. It worked. She came, she ate, she took some home. The next day, she called – I feel better.
 

Sick Soup, for Stevie

  • 1 large yellow onion
  • 1 large sweet potato
  • 1 bunch spinach
  • 1 bunch collard greens
  • 1 fist-sized stalk of fresh ginger, chopped*
  • 2 cups good-tasting vegetable broth**
  • fresh lemon juice
  • olive oil
  • sea salt, plus more to taste
  • freshly ground black pepper

*I learned a great trick from Gourmet.com a few months back – you use a spoon to scratch off the skin of the ginger. Its rounded edge allows you to get around the crevices of the gnarly root without losing too much of the flesh.

**As you peel and chop and gather veggie discards, throw these into a pot with about a quart of simmering water. Add salt and any other herbs, and you will soon have homemade stock! I sometimes like to throw in a bit of white wine as well, if I have any lying around. Or, you can freeze the bits until you are ready to make stock, if you already have some lying around.

Chop the onion and cook it slowly in the olive oil, stirring occasionally, over low heat until soft and golden. (Throw the skin, ends, and additional misc. pieces into the pot of water.)

Meanwhile, peel and dice the sweet potato and put it in a large soup pot with 4 cups water and a pinch of sea salt. Thoroughly wash the greens, chop them coarsely, and add them to the pot, along with the chopped ginger. (All of the discarded peels and stems can go into the stock pot.)

Bring the water to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer the soup, covered, for 30 minutes, or until the vegetables are completely tender. Add the caramelized onions when they are ready. (Back at the stock pot- After about 30 minutes of simmering, strain the veggie broth, removing the veggies pieces and floating detritus.)

When the vegetables are soft, add the vegetable broth. Stir in the lemon juice to taste and some fresh-ground black pepper. Add some salt if needed. I also like to shave some parmigiano on top, if I’m feeling fancy.

Serves 2 hungry girls, with leftovers for the next day.

This recipe was adapted from Heidi Swanson.

Coconut Macaroons and a very big thank you

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I’ve had quite the weekend. Friday night, while in the midst of grocery shopping for a potluck at a friend’s house, I managed to lock myself out of my apartment – I left the keys on the kitchen counter, under the bag of fruit, and my door locks automatically. Shoot, I thought, then proceeded to do what the landlord recommended when the office was closed and something went wrong. I went downstairs, propping open the front door, and went across the street to the restaurant, which is owned by the same company, expecting someone to have keys to let me back in.

I walked in about 8:30 on Friday night, perhaps the busiest time of the week for a popular restaurant, let alone a well-known neighborhood institution. I went straight to the head of operations and carefully explained to the GM Tom that I needed help getting back into my apartment across the street. He looked at me like I was crazy – no keys there. He kindly sent me down the road to the Peter Luger parking lot, where he said I would be able to find the super; he cautioned me, however, that his English was limited. I thanked him and walked quickly down the street, for fear that the door to my building would be knocked shut at any moment.

I found Vladimir right away. Just not the keys to my place. He showed me his keychain – only the front door and apartment, 4, 5, he said. I reiterated and gestured – I am apartment 8, please help! He only shook his head, pointed to the office, and said, 8am Monday. Office opens. Arguing was fruitless, as he continued to shake his head and say he did not understand me, as I listed all the reasons I thought it unacceptable that there was no alternative. Before I could get too frustrated, I ran back across the street and up the stairs to try my door again. Nothing.

As I began to cry, my neighbor opened her door to let a deliveryman in. I asked her if she had any idea who I should contact, and she invited me in to give me the super’s number. Too bad it turned out to be Vlad’s. However, she kindly let me sit and take a breath, commiserating with me that life in New York is so hard and that the landlords have really got to be more responsive and…well let’s just say, she had many things to commiserate about.

I went back across the street to see Tom again and ask if he knew anyone else I could call. He stepped aside and made a few phone calls, but came up with nothing. As I was holding back tears, a locksmith finally answered – I’ll send someone within 20 minutes, he promised. I thanked Tom again and told him I hoped that I would not see him again that night. Then, I crossed the street and waited inside the entry hall to my apartment for the locksmith, who called to confirm the address and to say he was on his way. Then my phone died.

I waited patiently in the vestibule for the first 20 minutes, then began to pace, sticking my head in and out of the building, starting to cry. I feared leaving and heading over to my friend’s (the potluck, and a place to sleep, were waiting), as I did not know whether he had gotten lost or if I would even be able to get back into the building. Finally, at 10pm, I grabbed a cab and headed over to Stevie’s for a plate of pasta and some pjs.

As she poured me a glass of wine, I began to charge my phone and saw several missed calls. The locksmith! I quickly called back and asked in a desperate voice, where have you been? Missed connections – he insisted he’d been waiting for a half hour outside, and I said it was impossible, I’d been looking outside every five minutes from 9-10. We fixed a time, so that I could finish my pasta and wine and make it back in time to meet him. At 11:30 sharp, we met in front of my building, then I ran to get the front door key from Vlad, and we proceeded upstairs. I stood by and watched him try to pick the lock…which we soon realized was a high security lock that he would have to drill through and replace. 3 drill bits, 5 hours, and $582 later, I was in my apartment. Now I just have to figure out if I am able to take that out of next month’s rent.

In the meantime, I am baking coconut macaroons for all the lovely people that went out of their way to help and comfort.

Recipe adapted from Gourmet:

  • 4 large egg whites
  • 1/4 cup sugar
  • 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
  • 1/8 teaspoon salt
  • 2 (7-ounce) packages sweetened flaked coconut, adding the first, then more as needed 
  • Ghirardelli bittersweet chocolate morsels, melted

Mix the egg whites, sugar, salt, and vanilla together in a bowl. Add the first package of coconut. Keep the rest on reserve. Fill a level tablespoon with the coconut mixture and place on parchment paper, then pop in a 325 degree oven for 20 or so minutes. Remove from the oven and flip them over on the pan to let cool, so they don’t stick.

 macaroons cooling, pre-chocolate

In a large saucepan, bring water to a boil. Place the chocolate in a smaller pan over the hot water. Stir constantly, as the chocolate melts. Once melted, turn the flame off, but leave the chocolate over the heat. Dip the macaroons halfway into the chocolate, then let set on the parchment paper. Store in the refrigerator until ready to eat – or, in this case, package and give away.

Note: I found that the moisture ran through the coconut to the bottom of the bowl, so I had to keep adding extra coconut to blend together. You do have to strike the right balance – too much extra coconut, and it becomes dry, but too little, and the egg white mixture puddles out in the oven, forming a flat, crispy edge around the cookie.

Lenten Promise

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Most people make New Year’s resolutions. I think that’s cliche…er, rather, I might have been too hung over from a decadent night of champagne and lobster rolls to think about it. Lucky for me, today is the beginning of Lent, a second go-round for promise-making, with a nearer end in site. So here goes – for Lent, I promise to write more. I spend most of my time thinking about food, preparing meals, studying menus, tasting wines, but I don’t usually get around to recording my thoughts, process, or insight. Which is a shame, as I both enjoy writing and being able to look back on what I’ve done (or in this case eaten). A big part of my phobia, as it were, is a blank canvas and a lack of chronology. That is, if I’ve skipped writing about a memorable something, I am less inclined to write about the next one, and so on. No more! These blogs might be less in depth at times, but at least they’ll be a record. And who knows, maybe this promise will turn into a habit that extends beyond the Lenten season!

For now, I am off to practice my new knife skills that I learned at the Brooklyn Kitchen (although my mamma already taught me the best way to slice an onion). Cauliflower, chicken, and kale stir fry, coming right up! I think I’ll have some leftover Cour-Cheverny with that too.

Ich liebe Gruner Veltliner

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I have fallen in love. Hard. Sometimes, something new and exciting just bursts into your life, and you walk around with blinders on, seeing, thinking, wanting only… I am obviously talking about gruner veltliner. My most current obsession, this Austrian wine is the answer to my white wine prayers—crisp, bright, acidic, minerally, peppery, thirst-quenching, and surprisingly full-bodied. Fortunately for me, this once-popular-then-cast-aside wine has become an increasingly prevalent presence on restaurant and bar menus, providing a unique alternative to the usual Sauvignon Blanc and Muscadet suspects (two of my go-tos).

Gruner is unique for several reasons. It is a sensory conundrum, making it both a delicious and intellectual endeavor to drink. I find it to be simultaneously light and full; fruity and peppery; acidic and slightly sweet. A perfect drinking wine, and even better with food—in fact, it might be the most-friendly wine in the world, giving its compatriot riesling a run for its money (especially considering it lacks riesling’s reputation of sweetness).
Austrian winemakers tend to make gruners to be drunk young, but it is also a wine that can be laid aside to age for years. This capacity for ageing is rare in whites, and I am obviously oversimplifying the possible descriptions of this amazing varietal. The younger wines might be crisp, clear, and minerally, with a touch of spiciness, but the older the wine gets, the more complex, full-flavored, and peppery—the signature of its flavor profile—it may become.

Even more importantly, at least in understanding our lack of exposure to the grape as American consumers, gruner is grown primarily in Austria. Although it is the most widely planted grape, the wines rarely leave the borders of the small country. Many of the wines we are familiar with are what are known as international varietals—wines like a Chardonnay or Cabernet that are grown in most wine-making regions. The proprietary attitude of the Austrians toward this grape goes beyond the notion of terroir (even though the minerality of the Austrian soil, in all its variations, plays a huge component in the wine’s flavor profile)—gruner is the unofficial national grape of the Osterreich. I just hope they are willing to share it with me.

A few favorites to try: Gritsch, Berger, and the amazing gruner on Bar Boulud‘s wine list!

Recipe: Beet and Beet Greens Risotto

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I have been reading a lot about beet risotto recently, so I finally decided to try my hand at making it. I am a beet lover to the core—boiled, roasted, sliced, diced, ravioli filling… you name it, I eat it. I love that beets are full of flavor and are healthy at the same time: the root is a good source of vitamin C and iron, and a very good source of fiber, folate, and potassium. But what about the greens? I am the sort of cook that hates waste. If I’ve separated an egg for a meringue, I will hold onto the yolks (sometimes too long – I suggest using them immediately, from personal experience). Yes, it’s easy to find a solution for beet greens if you’re making a salad, but a risotto? I’ve made risottos with all sorts of vegetables before, from zucchini to asparagus, so I thought that beet greens might not be too different. Why not throw them in the pot as well?

Traditional Italian risottos call for arborio rice, but it has proven difficult for me to locate at times, as well as expensive for the quantity. When I lived in Italy, translations on arborio boxes often included the word “parboiled” so I looked into what that meant and found that the term refers to the way the rice is processed. Parboiled rice is rice that has been boiled in the husk, improving its nutritional profile and changing its texture. Parboiling drives nutrients into the grain itself, so that parboiled white rice is nutritionally similar to brown rice. This type of rice takes longer to cook, and the resulting texture is firmer and less sticky than most cooked rice. Although this might not work for sushi, it is useful for making risotto, which is a slow process that requires the rice starches to be released slowly over time.

I began the way I always begin to cook risotto, with two pots on the stove. In the larger pot, I drizzled olive oil and let my diced onion begin to simmer. In the smaller pot, I brought my homemade chicken stock to a slow boil. My initial intention was to grate the beets to allow the thin strips to brown evenly alongside the onion, but halfway through the smallest of the bunch, I gave up and zapped the rest in the microwave for 30 seconds in a bowl with a bit of water in it. This didn’t cook the beets but merely softened them enough for a knife to pass easily through. I diced them and through them into the pot once the onions took on a translucent color. Then I removed the stems from the greens, washed them, and cut the leaves into little slivers. Into the pot those went as well, and I allowed the vegetables to cook down for about five minutes before adding a cup of the rice.

Once the rice browned (about a minute), I began to slowly add the simmering broth, stirring to let the liquid absorb slowly, building the texture of the risotto, incorporating the beets, greens, onions, and rice. 20 minutes and 4 cups of broth later, I pulled the risotto from the heat and added about a half cup of freshly grated Grana Padano (the ‘skim’ version of Parmigiano, which I enjoy for its nuttier flavor). Then, my roommate and I sat down to eat. Recipe conclusion? The beet greens held up nicely in the risotto, adding flavor and texture, rather than wilting away as I had feared. The rice itself worked well, although it had a nuttier quality than arborio typically has. My only regret was not roasting the beets longer in the pan. They were a little undercooked, but nonetheless wonderful. At least for a beet lover.

Bacon. Because it’s the trendy thing to do.

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I’ve always been a meat-lover. Growing up, my daddy hunted and I remember us eating what he had shot, from duck breasts to dove “poppers” to venison sausage (my personal favorite). Game has been the name of the, well, game for as long as I can remember.

I cannot say the same for bacon. Like most girls, I’ve toyed with different diets in my day, and one that stuck for a long time was the swearing off of bacon. I proclaimed I did not like it, did not want to eat it or even touch it—I convinced myself of this for a long time. Not that I had an issue with the concept (‘vegetarianism’ has never been part of my personal vocabulary), I just refused it. That is until I moved to Italy and began to eat and breathe pork, from prosciutto to speck to pancetta. Italian brought bacon hurtling back into my diet, and I’ve never looked back.

A meal that has stood out recently in my mind is based on the notion of bacon, but on a grander scale. I had the pleasure of dining in the bar room at Aureole near Times Square in New York City. I work near the place, had read multiple reviews, and finally decided I needed to try it for myself. I could wax poetic about the beauty of the restaurant space and the competence of the waitstaff (the sommelier let me try several tastes of wine until I found one that was perfect for me—and this was over lunch), but I am really focused on one aspect of my meal: the Pork Belly Sliders.

In layman’s terms, pork belly is just a hefty cut of bacon. A beautiful, thick, fatty, exquisitely juicy cut of bacon. Executive Chef Charlie Palmer, owner of several New York City restaurants, calls his style of cuisine “Progressive American,” and in America, bacon is literally from the belly of the pig (not true elsewhere in the world, since bacon can be cut from multiple sections). Although Chef’s menu elegantly opens to reveal first the ‘bar snacks,’ then the appetizers and entrees, I never moved beyond the first element of the menu that caught my eye. Pork Belly.

The belly was served in the style of pastrami sliders, replete with cole slaw, russian dressing, and raclette cheese, served on the tiniest little brioche, and topped with a few slivers of toasted sea salt. Three glorious squares of pork belly were each encased in this delicate take on a delicatessen favorite. Each bite was distinct, highlighting the fat of the belly, the crunch of the salt, the ooze of the slaw and dressing, the softness of a slightly soggy bun. And although it sounds decadent, the size of each portion was little more than bite size. I was so satisfied I even refused the dessert menu. This might just be my new diet…

Fresh, Healthy Dinner, with a peppery kick

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Dinner last night was a late affair—I got home around 9 after a book reading at McNally Jackson. And by book reading I should say cheese tasting. Liz Thorpe from Murray’s Cheese Shop in NYC has recently published a book on cheese, and to elucidate her findings, she brought snacks. Brilliant. But more on that another time.

Because it was late, I wanted to throw something light and healthy together, without taking too long. Looking in my fridge, I came across egg whites left over from a custard I had made for ice cream a few days before, corn which I had steamed and cut off the cob a few days before, cherry tomatoes that were beginning to turn, and very (almost too) soft avocados. Knowing that fresh produce stays fresh for, oh, a day, I realized I had let one too many days pass. I had to act fast.

I began by whisking up the egg whites and letting them heat slowly over a low flame. Meanwhile, I got to chopping. I halved and scored the avocado and set aside. Then, I plopped the corn into a large bowl and sliced my way through the tomatoes, some jalapenos, a handful of cilantro, and a red onion. I tossed them in a bowl and added some fresh ground salt and pepper. At precisely that moment, my eggs looked about cooked through, so I added the avocado pieces to the pan and took them off the heat.

Somehow, I had managed to salvage the goods, with enough of everything to go around for five (friends had come over post cheese tasting). A splash of peppery Domaine des Corbillières Touraine Rosé went perfectly with this simple, fresh meal with a kick – don’t forget, I’d thrown in a jalapeno or two. Score one for summer produce.