Italian Meatballs

Recipe Development



I recently appeared on ChefsLine's weekly pod-cast at BlogTalkRadio. Actually, I appear on it weekly playing Ed McMahon to Jenn Beiser's Johnny Carson (she's not as funny as Carson, but knows a lot more about food). This started with the second show when her guest was late and I called in to give her someone to talk to. Since then I've been on the line for every show - just in case - but usually Jenn pulls me in for just a couple of minutes at the end of the show.

This past Thursday, though, her guest didn't appear and so it was Jenn and I. As usual she asked what I was coking that night and it so happened I was refining a recipe for Italian meatballs. I had begun a few weeks before with Marcella Hazan's recipe and included notes from other recipes I found on the Web. Thursday night was (I hoped) the last iteration.

You have relatively little "sauce" for the meatballs, but it is so intensely-flavored you don't want much.

This led Jenn to ask me about how I develop recipes. For something traditional like Italian meatballs I begin by reading anywhere from half to a couple of dozen recipes. I think about what I like both in that dish and in general. Then I type out and print a recipe.

Next I make the recipe, tasting and adjusting elements as I go. I note the adjustments on the printed recipe. Then I eat the completed dish. Finally, I go back and adjust the written recipe to reflect what I actually did and below that add notes about what I want to change next time and why. This becomes the template for my next test.

I was right about this being the final meatball recipe. Instead of pasta, I ate it on sourdough bread as a sort of open-faced meatball sandwich. If you try it you will find you have relatively little "sauce" for the meatballs, but it is so intensely-flavored you don't want much.

Italian Meatballs
Makes 18 meatballs, 6 servings.

1 lb. ground beef
1/2 lb. ground pork
1/2 cup fresh bread crumbs (sour-dough recommended)
1/2 cup milk
2 Tbsp. finely chopped yellow onion
2 Tbsp. finely chopped Italian parsley
2 tsp. finely chopped fresh Rosemary
1 egg - beaten
4 Tbsp. freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano
1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup dried, finely ground bread crumbs
4 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 cup red wine
15-oz. can diced tomatoes
6-oz. can tomato sauce
2 lg. garlic cloves - minced

Combine beef, pork, fresh breadcrumbs, milk, onion, parsley, rosemary, egg, Parmigiano Reggiano, and nutmeg. Form mixture into balls the size of ambitious golf balls (about 1 1/2 inches in diameter) and roll in dried breadcrumbs. Place on a baking sheet, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for 1 hour or as long as 8 hours.

Heat oil in a sauté pan over medium-high heat until oil begins to sheet.

The meatballs will have flattened so re-round each meatball by rolling between you palms. Add half the meatballs and brown on all sides. Reserve browned meatballs on a plate lined with a paper towel and brown remaining meatballs. Add to plate and drain off all oil.

Return sauté pan to heat and add garlic. Cook for 30 seconds, stirring, then add wine and deglaze the pan. Reduce wine to a couple of tablespoons and add tomatoes, tomato sauce, and reserved meatballs. Bring to a vigorous simmer, cover, and reduce heat to low. Simmer gently for 30 minutes.

Serve on toasted bread.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | meatballs | italian meatballs | italy

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Pancetta, Yet Again

This is my second (and much more ambitious) batch of pancetta. As with my first pass, this is based on the recipe in Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking, and Curing by Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn. Someone (and I seem to have lost the email) suggested I do the drying in a wine fridge. I happened to have access to one and tried it — the results, as you can see, are gorgeous. Sadly, now I need to buy my own wine fridge.

Ever wondered what to do with pancetta?

Sauté with some garlic and minced anchovies until the fat renders. Add fresh spinach or blanched broccoli rabe, kale, or chard. and cook three or four minutes.

Add sautéed pancetta to risotto, polenta, or even grits.

Use a bit of ground pancetta in stuffed mushrooms.

Mix sautéed pancetta with chopped fresh tomato and shredded cheese as a topping for bruschetta.

Toss chopped, cooked pancetta in a salad.

Make a sandwich using several thin, grilled slices.

It's wonderful stuff.

Technorati: Food | photo | kevin d weeks | seriously good | pancetta | pork | italy | bacon | pork belly

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Grilled Pork Tenderloin

Living Small — but not too small



This has been a tough month financially. My two most regular clients have been on hiatus and although my one-off business (dinner parties, picnics, that kind of thing) has continued to improve, food costs have been eating me alive.

I've always had a problem managing food costs. My attitude is I want to eat the best food I can find and that attitude extends to my clients as well -- I want to serve them the best food I can find. But food prices have risen a lot this year (cutting into profits from my regular clients who have a fixed, per-service, price) and although I cost the menu for a one-off before quoting a price I've done a poor job of estimating direct subsidiary costs.

Tonight I plan a wonderful cold broth based on fresh ice cubes and to go along with it some moldy asiago.

"Direct subsidiary costs?" Ok, just for the hell of it, here's how I classify food costs. Note: this is my working approach, not my accounting approach. (Just in case some IRS dude sees this and tries to hang me on it.)

Direct costs are the costs of all the fundamental elements of the meal. Meat, vegetables, fresh herbs, heavy cream, canned stock when I don't have homemade. These items compose the bulk of the meal.

Pantry costs are the ingredients of a dish that I amortize over multiple clients. Dried herbs, oils, vinegars, flour, wine, and on and on. I figure these constitute 25 percent of total food costs for my personal chef service clients.

Direct Subsidiary Costs are where I really get burned. These are expenditures associated directly with a meal, but they only apply to one-off meals. They're for things like flowers for a table setting, radishes for a garnish, or nice paper napkins for a fancy picnic. I never think of them while I'm planning the menu and concentrating on the food and recipes and burners and oven space and the 100 other things needed to serve a fancy meal precisely at 6:30 PM on a Monday evening. No, I think of these things when I'm in the store buying the ingredients or the night before as I'm working out the cooking schedule and figuring out what equipment I need to lug to the site.

Direct Subsidiary items are non-essential from the flavor standpoint, but essential for creating a perfect experience for the client. My Monday night dinner party cost me $15 in unanticipated direct subsidiary costs. A 23 percent cost increase over my estimate. Damn! I've got to do better.

All of this is to say I'm broke again after a decent spring and early summer. So I've been eating out of my freezer as much as possible. A good thing as it's time to scrub my refrigerator again. Hiding in the back I found a pork tenderloin from Laurel Creek Farms.

Laurel Creek is owned and worked by a fellow named Tracy Monday. I'd guess he's in his early forties. He's a short and rotund fellow with a slow, but ready, smile; a soft voice; old Southern manners; and the bib overalls that would make him a complete cliché if you didn't shake his hand and feel the callouses. He exudes honesty like parmigiano regiano exudes flavor crystals.

I've been saving the tenderloin for a special occasion, and I guess not starving to death would have to do. So I moved it to the fridge to thaw and gave some thought to how to cook it. I finally settled on marinating it in wine, olive oil, rosemary, thyme, and a touch of lemon juice. Once thawed, the tenderloin got 24 hours in the marinade, was patted dry, and went on a hot grill for 2 minutes per side (I figure the cylindrical tenderloin has four sides). As you can see it was nicely pink in the center and I only needed a fork to cut it thanks to Tracy.

To go along with it I blanched some broccoli rabe then sautéed it in olive oil with pancetta, garlic, and anchovies. I also repeated the Potatoes Parmigiano recipe because I had a few taters left and it's so damned good.

Tonight I plan a wonderful cold broth based on fresh ice cubes and to go along with it some moldy asiago. And, well, there are a few tomatoes I got at the farmers' market yesterday and a cucumber. Checking freezer... Hmmm... Wonder what I can do with raw pig fat? Oh, I know...

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin weeks | seriously good | pork | essay | italian | grilling

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Cece Fritos

Ciao! Cece?



I’ve seen it argued that the most important dish in a meal is the dessert. This argument is akin to the idea that it’s best to have the last word in a debate, it is what people leave remembering. I think there’s a lot of truth to this thought, in both debates and meals, but the alternative assertion, that the first statement in a debate sets the terms, also has an element of truth and, in turn, the first thing served at a meal sets the terms for the meal.

Fortunately, at a meal, the cook can set the terms of the debate as well as making the last arugument. When I have a dinner party, or teach a cooking class for that matter, I like to have a munchy or two sitting out for people to snack on as they arrive. It gives them something to do right off the bat, covers my ass if I run late on the meal, and a well-chosen canapé or hors d’oeuvre sets the tone for the rest of the meal.

At a meal, the cook can set the terms of the debate as well as making the last arugument.

I haven’t posted many recipes for appetizers, hors d’oeuvres, or canapé because I seldom have time to take photos when I’m hosting a party or teaching a class. The number of such recipes certainly doesn’t reflect the number of such dishes I’ve made over the past four years. But I taught a class on Italian cooking last week and began with this recipe. When I had un-cooked cece left-over I brought them home and made a small batch. Too small a batch, sadly, because I could have easily eaten an entire can’s worth.

They’re so easy to do that even making them at the very last minute is practical, which is good because they’re best when eaten still warm from the skillet. They’re also messy — a greasy finger food — so provide plenty of cocktail napkins.

Cece Fritos (Fried Chickpeas)

2 cans chick peas/garbanzos (15oz cans)
1/4 c olive oil
2 tsp garlic powder
3 tbsp thyme leaves
1 1/2 tsp cumin
salt and pepper to taste

Drain, rinse, and dry the chick peas. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. Add the chick peas and cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until the peas begin to pop.

Drain chick peas on a paper towel and sprinkle with seasonings, taste, and adjust seasonings.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin weeks | seriously good | appetizer | munchy | chickpeas | garbanzos | italian

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Focaccia

I was about 12 or 13 the first time I tried baking bread. I produced two whole wheat bricks. I tried again a number of times over the following few years but without any great success. I did produce some decent English muffins — although nothing as good as those I made using the No-knead Bread Dough.

Then in 1981 I'd just gotten out of school and while I was trying to find a real job I decided to make sandwiches and sell them door-to-door at offices...

You can read the complete post at A Year in Bread.

Technorati: Food | recipe | bread | focaccia | italy

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Pork Chops Florentine

alla Fiorintina



A few weeks ago Doc/Rev Biggles of Meathenge posted a photo of a gorgeous grilled pork chop. Then a week ago I received the August 2007 issue of Cuisine at Home that offered a recipe for "Pork Chops Florentine-Style." This was just too much. I haven't eaten a grilled pork chop since last summer and it was clearly time to do it again.

The recipe in Cuisine at Home intrigued me. Bistecca alla Fiorentina is a famous dish made with a thick T-bone or Porter House steak. I started doing research on it.

In this country we associate "Florentine" with spinach and cream sauces because of dishes such as Eggs Florentine or Chicken Florentine. The origins of this association aren’t clear, but according to one tale Catherine de Medici (yes, of those Medicis) brought spinach to the French Court and in honor of her Italian heritage, she called any dish containing spinach alla Fiorintina: "of the Florentines." Apocryphal or not, it probably was the French, those irrepressible arbiters of culinary terminology, who applied the term to any dish including spinach and cream. But no cuisine, particularly not one with the history of an Italian region behind it, can be so neatly encapsulated in a single preparation.

According to Lidia Bastianich, "[Steak Florentine] seems to have its origins with the many people from Northern Europe who fell in love with the countryside around Florence and decided to move to Tuscany. In fact, so many English relocated to the Chianti area that is has been dubbed 'Chiantishire.'" At any rate, ideally the beef for
Steak Florentine is from the Chianina cattle of the region, which were used primarily as draft animals and could be so large that a single steak might weight 6 pounds.

As I expected, the recipes were all over the map. If anyone ever tells you "this is the absolutely authentic and only way" to prepare a dish, put your boots on, the manure is getting deep. But lemon juice and olive oil were common ingredients in most of the recipes. So I took that as a given. The recipes were divided between marinating or not. I decided to marinate. I also decided not to include any acid in the marinade.

The two chops I had were grass-fed Berkshire hog and grass-fed meat tends to be tough. Marinating in acid would have made the meat even tougher. So instead of juice I elected to use lemon zest. To make sure the lemon got into the meat I heated the olive oil to a low simmer and infused it with the lemon zest, fresh oregano, and garlic. That was some damned-fine tasting oil.

Braciola di Maiale alla Fiorentina (Florentine Pork Chops)
Serves 2.

2 bone-in rib chops, at least 1 inch thick
1 cup olive oil
zest of two lemons (reserve lemons)
2 cloves garlic — minced
3 sprigs fresh oregano
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper

Combine olive oil, lemon zest, oregano, garlic, salt, and pepper in a small skillet and cook over medium heat until it begins to bubble around the oregano sprigs. Remove from heat and let cool. Pour into a ziplock bag, add chops, and refrigerate for at least eight hours — turning occasionally to distribute marinade.

Remove pork from fridge an hour before cooking to warm up.

Build a hot fire in the grill. When the coals are ready, remove the chops from the marinade and dry on paper towels. Cook on each side for about 2 1/2 minutes over direct heat — until mahogany brown. Move chops off the direct heat but with the bone facing the heat and cover the grill and cook for four minutes more.

Serve with lemon wedges.

I had tabouleh with these chops — a perfect accompaniment. The flavors from the marinade are mild, but detectable, especially with a squeeze of fresh lemon juice on top. Encourage your eaters to season generously with salt and pepper. Encourage your eaters to gnaw the bones as I did, searching for that last delectable morsel.

Technorati: Food | recipe | italy | italian | steak | pork | pork chops | florentine

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Paisano: Saltimbocca

Jump in the Mouth



Saltimbocca is an Italian word meaning "jump in the mouth" and is the name of a Roman dish classically made with veal, prosciutto, and sage. It's also sometimes made with chicken or pork and cheese is a frequent addition. I've had it a few times made with either chicken or veal and although it was good, I can't say it jumped in my mouth.

This past Saturday I taught a class on Roman cooking and decided to see if I could really make Saltimbocca jump. The first thought that occurred to me was adding a few red pepper flakes – sort of a literal interpretation of "jump." But after a bit of thought I decided that was too literal and would detract from the flavor of the sage. What I wanted to do was to keep the classic flavors, but somehow boost them without altering them.

I decided to go with chicken breasts for the class. Although I have access to flavorful, humanely-raised veal it's expensive and the food allowance for the class wouldn't allow for it. The first thing I decided to do was marinate the chicken in Pinot Grigio with fresh sage for four hours. This would up the wine and sage flavors.

Next, I decided to briefly fry the prosciutto to intensify it's flavor. And lastly I decided to add a tough of anchovy paste and a squeeze of lemon to the sauce.

Anchovies are a natural source of glumates, which enhance savory flavors. The goal wasn't to taste the anchovies, but add just enough to lurk in the background adding deeper and richer savor to the dish.

Although this added four steps to a simple dish, the additional effort is almost nonexistent and this version does do a little skip, hop, and jump with each bite.

Chicken Saltimbocca
Serves 4.

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts – pounded to 1/2 inch thickness
1 cup Pinot Grigio
2 sprig fresh sage – crumbled
3 tablespoons olive oil
2/3 cup flour
3 tablespoons minced fresh sage plus four sage leaves for garnish
8 slices prosciutto
4 slices provolone
1/4 teaspoon anchovy paste
2 tablespoons butter

Place wine, sage sprig, and chicken breasts in a ziplock bag and marinate for 4 hours, turning occasionally.

Heat oven to 375F.

Heat oil in a sauté pan over medium-high heat. Briefly cook prosciutto, about 5 seconds per side.

Remove chicken from bag, pat dry, and season with salt and pepper. Dredge chicken in flour, shaking off excess, and then brown both sides in the sauté pan. Set sauté pan aside but don't clean.

Place chicken breasts on a foil-lined baking sheet and cook in the oven for about 15 minutes. Top each breast with minced sage, two slices of prosciutto, and a slice of cheese. Cook for another 5 minutes until cheese melts.

In the meantime, deglaze the skillet with the wine, discarding the sage and reduce by 1/2. Stir in anchovy paste and lemon juice. Remove from heat and stir in butter.

Plate the breasts and drizzle each with sauce.

Technorati: Food | recipe | saltimbocca | chicken | italian | paisano

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Italian Sausage

Sausage is a Shallow Curve



There's something counter-intuitive about the phrase learning curve. Back when I had a real job programming computers for a living the term came up a lot in reference to users learning a program and most folks seemed to think a shallow learning curve was best. The intuition is that shallow is easy and steep is hard because shallow hills are easy to climb and steep hills are hard. But the learning curve's axes are time and amount learned, effort doesn't come into it. This means that a steep learning curve represents a lot learned over a short period of time. Steep learning curves are good.

Yesterday afternoon I made four pounds of Italian sausage — about two pounds more than I should have because it's not great sausage. I made so much because I'm an optimist (or pretend to be) and because I used the recipe in Charcuterie by Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn (click here for my review). Charcuterie is one of the two best books on food that I bought last year and one of the best cookbooks (if you can call it that, it's more a primer than a simple collection of recipes) I've ever purchased. Despite earlier travails with sausage, I was sure this book would steer me right because it had on everything else I'd made from it. Nope.

Nobody seems more obsessed by diet than our anti-materialistic, otherworldly, New Age spiritual types. But if the material world is merely illusion, an honest guru should be as content with Budweiser and bratwurst as with raw carrot juice, tofu and seaweed slime. ~ Edward Abbey

After making it I tried a sample and it was almost flavorless. The fennel seed, coriander seed, basil, and oregano were way in the background. There wasn't even enough salt in it. The only spices that came out as I hoped were the peppers. There also wasn't enough fat, but I can't really blame the book for that lack. Cuts of meat vary in their fat content and the pork butt I bought had been trimmed too closely and I should have added more.

Based on the sample I'd cooked and eaten, I went back and doubled the fennel, coriander, basil, oregano, and salt. The second sample was much better, but still not great.

But here's where you run into the real trick of sausage making. I could have tweaked the mixture again, but doing a third mix on the batch would have seriously overworked the meat, destroying the texture. Also, I wasn't sure what was needed. Thinking back, I suspect I needed some caraway seed, but I'm not on a first-name basis with caraway seed, or fennel seed either, for that matter. Or mace or anis seed. Finally, the spices in sausage need at least 24 hours to meld properly so today the flavor will be different from yesterday. However, I don't know how it will be different.

To make excellent sausage I need to know the seasonings well and know how they'll interact over time.

So I have four pounds of not-so-great Italian sausage. It'll be fine for cooking with, and in fact that's what I planned on doing with it, which is why instead of stuffing it in casings I made up 1/4 pound balls, but it'll be a while before I get to try making Italian sausage again. And it looks like my sausage learning curve is more shallow than I'd like.

Technorati: Food | italy | sausage | charcuterie | essay

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Pancetta

A Face Only a Cook Could Love



How can something so ugly taste so good? But it does. It tastes extraordinarily good.

Last December I made pancetta using a recipe in Michael Ruhlman's and Brian Polcyn's Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking, and Curing. I ordered a pork belly from my local rancher, rubbed the cure into it, and let it rest in the refrigerator for two and a half weeks. Then I rinsed the cure off, rolled it up and tied it, and let it age for another two weeks in a cool closet. Finally it was ready and I cut off a

Anybody who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography. ~ Robert Byrne

piece and cooked it -- as I said, extraordinary. Far better than any pancetta I've ever eaten. It's also easy to make in a home kitchen. The hard part is the waiting.

Inevitably I had to try cooking with it so I peeled and diced a couple of parsnips and sautéed them with diced pancetta for lunch — awesome!

I've included an adaptation of the recipe for making pancetta below, but I recommend buying the book.

Pancetta
2 - 3 pound pork belly — skin removed

2 cloves garlic — crushed
1 teaspoon pink salt (curing salt with nitrite)
1 tablespoon dark brown sugar
1 tablespoon black pepper
1 tablespoon juniper berries — crushed
2 bay leaves — crumbled
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 reaspoon dried thyme

Combine all ingredients except pork in a small bowl.

Trim the belly so that it forms a neat rectangle of fairly uniform thickness.

Rub the cure into the both sides of the pork belly, place in a large zippered plastic bag, and refrigerate for one week. Without removing the belly from the back, massage the curing mixture into the meat again. Refrigerate for another week. At the end of that time check the meat for firmness at it's thickest point. If it's still soft, refrigerate for another couple of days until firm.

Remove the belly and rinse off the cure with cold water (you don't need to be obsessive about cleaning it) and pat dry. Sprinkle the meat side with another tablespoon of black pepper. Roll very tightly, meat side in, and tie with twine at on to two inch intervals. Hang in a cool (50 - 60F), dark place — ideally with 60 percent humidity — for 2 weeks.

Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for up to 3 weeks or freeze for up to 4 months.

Technorati: Food | recipe | pancetta | pork | bacon | charcuterie

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