The Gourmet Weekly – a personal note from Ruth

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I am a huge fan of Ruth Reichl, the editor in chief of Gourmet. And even though I’ve had the privilege of meeting her, I look forward to her weekly newsletter which is such a beautifully crafted personal expression of the foodie insights that are on the her mind. In fact, it’s much more personal than a fleeting meeting. Here’s an excerpt from this week’s letter (because it really feels more like a letter, not just another newsletter):

“When I first arrived at Gourmet, I was stunned to discover that the most-requested recipes were all for salads. To me, a salad was something you threw together at the last minute from whatever greens you happened to have on hand, not something that you actually went out and shopped for. Then I became addicted to the stunning salads that our test kitchen is constantly coming up with, and I began to understand why our readers were so crazy for them.”

Gone Shrimpin

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This is me on a shrimp boat in southern Georgia near St. Simons Island. My family and I went trolling for shrimp on the Lady Jane, and although I personally did not, ahem, do much to bring them in, I did get to join in the eating of the freshest shrimp I’ve ever had.

The water was boiling in a pot while we trolled through the rivers of the marsh. The cap’n’s son helped reel the net in. While giving us a marine biology lesson on the horseshoe crab (a relative of the spider), he pulled the heads off of the shrimp and tossed them in a bucket.

Next thing I knew, I was peeling of the shells of the softest, most supple shrimp I had ever tasted in my life. Rather than having that chewy, mealy consistency that even flash frozen shrimp can sometimes have, these were little like butter, melting in my mouth without needing to chew – well, almost.

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An unpronounceable wine is pronounceably good

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Txakoli [cha-ko-lee]

A Spanish wine from the Basque region, this dry, effervescent white wine is my new discovery and favorite wine of this summer season. I first experienced it when I went to Mercat, a Barcelona-style Spanish restaurant on Bond Street in downtown NYC. Knowing very little about Spanish wines, I asked the bartender for a suggestion – something crisp and dry.

From there the spectacle began, as did my love affair with Txakoli. Because of the effervescence, Txakoli is traditionally poured with a T-shaped spout from a distance high above the head – essentially, an armspan apart, since the glass is held low – in order to aerate the wine and bring the bubbles to life. We watched our bartender pour, amazed that not a drop fell to the floor.

The wine itself is light-colored, with a slightly green tinge and tiny little bubbles that stream to the top. And it is delicious, with the green giving it a slightly herbaceous and citric quality that I find particularly refreshing in white, summer wines. The indigenous grape hondarribi zuria is the main varietal in the wine, and it is this grape which imbues Txakoli with its refreshing acidity and kick. The effervescence comes from the fact that the wine is sealed off before fermentation is complete, so that as the sugar turns to alcohol, the CO2 that is released is trapped inside.

Sauvignon blanc drinkers that are interested in something zing-y and new, you’ve found your wine.

a desconstructed “cassoulet”

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I am using the term “cassoulet” very loosely, as a disclaimer for those who believe in making cassoulet by the writ. Originating in France–or more accurately in the area known as the Occitane–it is a peasant dish, a rich, slow-cooked bean stew that also contains some sort of meat. I was looking to create a cheap, easy dish to pair with a bottle of 2003 Pinot Noir from the winemaker “Lorca” in Monterey, CA., a Christmas present from my cousin. The French grape given an American twist inspired me to do the same.

White beans, mushrooms, chicken–a very protein-heavy combination–formed the basis of this dish, so to offset the weight, I used chicken breasts. Chicken breasts tend to be my least favorite cut of meat, mostly because people tend to buy the boneless, skinless variety and then proceed to cook the heck out of it, thus draining any last residue of moisture and flavor left to it. I opted for bone-in, skin-on breasts, which are both more flavorful and cheaper.

After browning the chicken, skin side down, in the pan, I placed it alongside bite-sized pieces of red-skinned potatoes in a deep-rimmed baking dish. I sprinkled kosher salt, fresh ground pepper, and herbes de provence over the ingredients, as well as some olive oil, and left it to bake in the oven for about a half hour. In the meantime, I added a can of drained cannellini beans and chopped white mushrooms to the pan juices and let the flavors meld over low heat. The speed up the cooking process and to retain moisture, I covered the pan with a lid, stirring occasionally.

Once the chicken was complete and its juices had set, I sliced the breasts and added the meat to the pan, just momentarily to allow the flavors to combine. I served my “cassoulet” alongside the potatoes and steamed peas. Then, we popped the Lorca. I usually would not pair a newer Pinot Noir with a heavy dish like the one I prepared, but the age of the wine promised structure, spice, and tannins, without being as overpowering as a Cabernet might have been. And I was proven correct: the wine brought out a sort of succulent sweetness to the pan stew, especially in the mushrooms, and the dish itself added an element of depth to the already delicious wine. The perfect way to celebrate a lovely gift.

a little turkey…

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Thanksgiving…turkey, turkey, turkey. Brined turkey, roast turkey, fried turkey.

I’m not talking turkey yet. Today, I pay homage to Turkey’s more ubiquitous little brother, Chicken. In America, chicken is the go-to meat. It can be found anywhere, cut anyway, and it is always affordable–especially if you’re willing to do the dirty work yourself. I am a fan of buying whole chickens; you pay the same amount that you would for pre-sliced, deboned, deskinned chicken breasts (which is essentially chicken sans flavor). A whole chicken, whether roasted in its entirety or braised in pieces, is a filling crowd-pleaser.

Inspired by the rotisserie chickens in the deli by my office, I decided to roast a chicken for dinner. I had two big boys to feed, and as I would soon be leaving for the holiday, I wanted to clean out my pantry as much as possible. Thus, a menu was born–roast chicken with mashed sweet potatoes and steamed broccoli. I figure you can’t get much healthier while eating so heartily.

After cleaning the bird and putting the innards into water for chicken stock (to get the most bang for my buck!), I began to rub it down with salt, pepper, and thyme. After slicing garlic into slivers, I cut into the thicker parts of the meat to stick the garlic in. Lacking kitchen twine, I used thread to tie the bird together. The bird, along with three aluminum wrapped potatoes, were put into a 425 degree oven for a hour and twenty minutes (the bird weighed about 5 pounds), and I left it alone. At the twenty minute mark, I cut up the broccoli and threw it into the steamer.

We set the table, threw the broccoli into a bowl after rinsing it in cold water to stop the cooking process, mashed the sweet potatoes with skins on in another bowl, threw a little kosher salt on both, all while the meat settled. I carved up the chicken, we sat down, and twenty minutes later, plates were cleared and stomachs were full.

If only Thanksgiving were that easy…but then, where would the fun be?

Louisiana Wedding

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I have not had as much fun or as much food as I had this past weekend in quite some time. I went down to a wedding for an old family friend (well, she’s young, but the friendship is old) in Shreveport, Louisiana. The wedding was the perfect Southern affair, spanning several days, requiring several changes of outfits, and most importantly tasting several different elements of Louisiana cookin’. And I brought an Italian along for the ride.

G and I arrived in Shreveport on Friday afternoon and found ourselves, along with the rest of my family, the welcome house-guests of the father-of-the-bride’s brother and his wife. We were put up in their guest cottage, which was outfitted with more breakfast/lunch/snack food than one family could consume in a weekend, even if there weren’t meals planned. We unpacked, hung our nice things so they could de-wrinkle, and set about to resting before the rehearsal dinner.

That night, at the Shreveport Club, the groom’s family (out-of-towners from Austin) hosted a lovely surf-and-turf dinner–beef tender and shrimp in a cream sauce. The rehearsal dinner, I learned, is traditionally given by the groom’s family for close family members and out-of-town guests, and I figured we were a bit of both. The wine was a little bit on the weak side (more acid than umph), which was unfortunate as it was the night where we sat through many a speech! One outfit and one meal down.

We went to bed so that we could get up and do it all over again. Friends of the bride’s family hosted a pre-wedding brunch. We were welcomed into their gracious, palatial home–rather reminiscent of Monticello–with a choice of mimosa or bloody mary. I went for spice over sweet, and the bartender threw in a special something, a pickled green bean, the likes of which I’d never before seen in a bloody mary. It was a nice change from celery. Brunch was served buffet style–cheese grits, the most moist fried chicken I’ve ever tasted, asparagus with a gremoulade sauce, and meat pie, right out the fryer. We took our plates outside to sit in the sun, attacking the chicken with our hands. The dessert that followed was just as good–homemade palmiers, coconut and blueberry bars, and the famous Louisiana praline (nothing but sugar, pecans, vanilla, and butter). All of it was sweet enough to make your teeth curl. Two outfits and two meals down.

The wedding was at 4pm, so we had a bit of time to explore the town and drive by the big, majestic homes of a Southern town that hasn’t exploded like my hometown of Atlanta, whose growth has encroached upon the once large and luscious lawns. We then changed to make it to the church on time. Like a true Episcopalian service, the processional was longer than the ceremony, leaving me enough time to tear up but not enough to cry. Then, we headed back to our place, as that’s where the reception was to be held.

We drove up to a big brass N’awlins band playing. It was much colder than everyone had expected, so many of the in-town women broke out their fur coats as we stood outside to wait for the bride and groom to arrive. We all grabbed glasses of champagne, as well as the (warmer) spicy crawfish beignets and espresso cups of mushroom soup splashed with cognac. We finally migrated to the back of the house, to the tent, so that we could all get warm under the heaters, and be dancing, imbibing, and eating.

The father-of-the-bride had chosen the wine–a Crucillon garnacha that is big and fruity, with a little kick. It’s his favorite because it’s both good and affordable (even though they don’t sell it in his town). My mom got him hooked. Different stations were placed around the edge of the tent–pasta with shrimp and taso (a Louisiana sauce based on the type of sausage of the same name); wheels of cheese; mini-burgers; grits with a crawfish cream sauce; and lamb and beef tender. The cakes were cut and passed around. The groom’s cake was a black forest cake, made predominantly of meringue, while the wedding cake was made of layers, alternating white and red velvet. Everyone ran around, tasting and dancing, until the band quit playing so they could head back to Houston. Three outfits (and a coat) and three meals.

Sunday morning brought Sunday brunch and a last chance to get together and say goodbye before the bride and groom left for their honeymoon and the before the guests headed home. This meal–the most simple of all–was the most divine. The furniture in the bride’s family home had been cleared out for the most part and replaced with little dining tables. Everyone headed toward the dining room buffet and stocked up on grits, green beans, and grillades. I had never heard of grillades before yesterday, but this spicy round steak stew, when served over grits, is the most delicious hang-over cure ever. Especially when followed by lemon squares. Too bad we had to get on a plane after that…although it’s probably better for my waist-line.

Oh, and for the record, that’s four outfits and four meals. In a two day span.

**for more information on Louisiana cuisine, check out John Folse’s “The Encyclopedia of Cajun and Creole Cuisine.”

Getting creative with beets

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Since I’ll be changing apartments in a week, I’ve been trying my hand at creating new recipes based on the things that I have lying around in my kitchen. One such ingredient is canned beets…what the heck are you supposed to do with those!? I’ve never been a huge fan of beets and don’t really know how to use them outside of a salad, but as of yesterday I had two cans in my kitchen (stocked by Giorgio’s mother back in August). As I am not one to waste, I decided to see what creative and edible invention I could come up with.

I decided to make pasta. We were having a few people over for dinner, and homemade pasta is always a hit. While Giorgio kneaded the pasta dough, I drained one of the cans of beets and threw the contents into the food processor. After adding a bit of salt and ricotta, I pressed “puree.” The result was a thick, deep purple mousse–beautiful on the eyes but still a little harsh on the palate. I kept my fingers crossed as we rolled out the dough and cut circles into it using the beet can.

From the time the pasta dough is kneaded, you have to work fast as you manipulate it. To make ravioli or agnolotti (stuffed pasta in the shape of a half-moon), you must add the filling, being careful not to overfill, and seal the edges with water before it starts to harden. Otherwise, it is more likely to come apart in the boiling water. A teaspoon of the beet mousse went onto every pasta cut-out. I then wet the edges with a bit of water and pressed the sides together, creating little half-moons. Some stuck to the surface as I tried to transfer them to the drying cloth–these, I had to sprinkle with extra flour to absorb the moisture.

While the pasta dried, I assembled the rest of the meal. I washed and sliced the endives, added a bit of gorgonzola, and topped the salad with some oil and balsamic vinegar. With the first course ready to go and the table being set, I peeled a few pears to roast in the oven in a pan full of watered-down orange juice. I made a makeshift double-boiler to melt butter and chocolate chips, to which I added some stiff egg whites. When the water started to boil for the pasta, I sat everyone down at the table, basted the pears, served the salad, and tossed the agnolotti into the water.

The endive salad was a light precursor to the main course. The agnolotti came out beautifully–the flavor of the beets was more subdued, balanced by the sage and walnut butter which I had drizzled on top. We poured a bit of Valpolicella into the glasses to enjoy alongside our meal. After we cleared our plates, having sopped up the extra butter with bits of baguette, I served the pears, topped with the chocolate glaze. All in all, a delicious meal made with the things I had lying around the house–canned beets, sage leaves, walnut pieces, flour, eggs, pears, and chocolate chips–and every course left me wanting to lick my plate clean.

a trastevere favorite “frittata di spinaci,” new york style

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So it appears as though I’ve been on sabbatical–from writing, not eating. Between working and traveling, I’ve had little time to sit down to write an entire blog. In fact, I haven’t even had time to go to the grocery store, which is saying something as not only is it one of my favorite past-times but there is one directly under my house. Last night, the almost-empty fridge led me to scrounge around the reserves, and I ended up making a very Roman dish (the Romans are, after all, known for there use of gli scarti, leftovers or more specifically offal).

I pulled out the egg carton, with its blaring expiration date for the following day, and set out the three remaining eggs to bring them to room temp. Then, I looked in the freezer and pulled out the lone package of frozen spinach, left over from when Giorgio’s mom restocked our kitchen in August. After heating water in the steamer, I placed the green block in the pot to speed up the thawing process (I hate boiling vegetables when not making a broth, as the nutrients remain in the water). As the ice melted, I began to grate the little parmigiano that we had left on the rind and added a bit of pecorino romano.

In a pan, I sauteed a few shallots that were hanging around (I didn’t even have a real onion!) and a few cloves of garlic. I beat the three eggs in a bowl, added s&p, the cheeses, and the spinach, after dousing it in ice water and squeezing out the liquid. All of it went into the pan together, and since there weren’t enough eggs to make a real frittata, I ended up making more of a spinach scramble. I threw a few hamburger buns under the broiler as we set the table. We sat down at the table, and after pouring the last drops of a bottle of Picco del Sole Cannonau (a miracle of a $12 Sardinian red wine that goes with everything, from fish to pork to the night’s eggs), we dug in. The meal was short, but oh-so-sweet…sometimes, as they say in Italy, the simplest things are best.

Now, I just have to go restock.

the ultimate wine tasting for beginners

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My mom and dad were up this past weekend to celebrate her birthday, and as is typical of our family, we celebrated with a lot of food and even more wine. From cheese souffles to Giano’s cheesecake, from duck confit to hamburgers, we ate our way through New York.
The weekend’s highlight was a last minute wine tasting at the Italian Wine Merchants, off of Union Square. We had finished brunch with some of my friends at Veselka (heavy-duty Ukrainian fare, with round-the-clock breakfast specials) and were happy not to eat again until dinner. We decided to walk the girls up toward Union Square so they could take the train back uptown, but on the way, it began to drizzle, then to pour. They ducked underground, and we took refuge in the wine shop.
I had read about the Saturday class series because Dad had told me to check out a book “Passion on the Vine” by Sergio Esposito–who happened to be one of the owners of the shop (along with Mario Batali and Joe Bastianich). The store itself is beautiful, with one bottle of each type of wine displayed alone in its wooden box along the wall. The rest of the inventory? It resides in a 180,000 bottle capacity cellar below the main level–as we found out, their primary business is wine distribution. From the door to the back of the store, the wines increase in price, from the Primitivo to the magnum bottle of Barolo. The listings, however, aren’t outrageous, as IWM deals directly with the vineyards.
At the back of the store, behind the display of wines I cannot afford but covet anyway, there is a large kitchen and entertaining space. On Saturday, it was outfitted with tables–each place set with 8 glasses–for the day’s class. (Beyond that space is the in-house salumeria, where they create their own versions of the classic salumi.)
Since we had nothing better to do in the rain, we signed up for the Introduction to Italian Wines. We had a front row table, by the map of Italy, the chefs, and Steve the speaker. As the tasting began, we began to drink–and eat. Most every glass come with a regional pairing, for Italian wine (as Steve kept repeating) is meant to be drunk with food. Round 1 was a Murgo 2004 Brut, a Sicilian bubbly made from the Nerello Mascalese grape. It was semi-dry, a good party wine across many palates, but when paired with prosciutto and melone (cubed by our personal chefs), it acquired a crisper, drier flavor. The second wine, also paired with prosciutto and melone, was rather unmentionable–a slightly sweet and fruity screwcap Tocai Friuliano, made by Joe Bastianich…no wonder it was included.
We started on the reds with the third wine, a Villa Mangiacane 2003 Chianti Classico. Chiantis tend to be very acidic to cut through Tuscany’s regional dishes, hearty fare that includes the bistecca alla fiorentina and pappa al pomodoro. Not usually my favorite, and even when paired with the delicious porcini mushroom ravioli, this Chianti didn’t bowl me over. The fourth wine came alone, and we were happy for the break. It was a Rocche dei Manzoni 2000 Barbera Sorito Mosconi. Now, the barbera grape is the most common grape of the Piedmont region (even though the nebbiolo is more famous), but only recently has it become a wine of note, having gained credibility as a more complex wine. This particular wine had been allowed to age for eight years, which is rather unusual for any barbera–the result was a smooth, rich red, completely delicious and a little too drinkable :)
With the next four wines, we moved into unknown territory for me–both in varietals and in price. But I’ll save that for another time.

Quick and East After-Work Dinner Party

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Because I knew I’d have very little time to prepare a big, extravagant dinner, I simplified my menu for an after-work dinner party last night. And thank goodness I did–by the time I got back to the house from work, with groceries in hand, I was left with an hour to get everything together.

I enlisted G to make the prosciutto sticks. We had bought some flavorless grissini (breadsticks) a few days before, but rather than toss them, I thought I’d give them a little kick by wrapping prosciutto di parma around them and serving them as appetizers. In the meantime, I got to work on dessert–homemade biscotti di prato, also known as cantucci. Usually, these hard little almond cookies don’t appeal to people, precisely because you often feel as though you might crack your teeth on them. When I was living in Florence a few years ago, however, I picked up a recipe that makes slightly soft, morbido cookies, all the flavor without the crack. It took a good half hour to knead the dough–it’s meant to be very dry, but that often means that the dough doesn’t come together easily. Once it became elastic enough to hold its own shape, I rolled it into little logs, brushed a little egg on top, sprinkled them with sugar, and threw them in the oven.

The rest of dinner was a snap. I washed the lettuce, which G spun (a little too enthusiastically for my little spinner!) I then made the Parmigiano vinaigrette, and once we were all seated at the table, I threw the pecorino romano into the pan. Had the triangles been equally thick, they would have melted evenly, but alas I had to pull some from the pan earlier than others, leaving a slightly gooey mess. Although they weren’t as pretty as I would have liked, once sprinkled with honey and walnuts, they were a big hit. I had visited the wine guys the day before, and two of my guests picked up their suggestions for me–an Orvieto Classico and a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo (Vallevo, from the Adriatic coast). Both went quite well with the cheese, holding their own structure and flavor, while not overpowering the strong flavors of the sheep’s milk cheese.

As a dessert lover, I was especially pleased with the reaction to my biscotti. I had pulled them out of the oven when they were just golden to cut them on the diagonal. I let them sit for awhile, but when I set them on the table, there was barely enough time to make the espresso before the whole plate was gone (and I had been expecting to take a few to work!) They turned out perfectly–slightly soft, moist center; slightly sweet; perfect with the coffee. Maybe I’ll go into business with those!