Red Beans and Rice

Secret Beans



Back in the early 90s I was making a batch of marinara sauce and something prompted me to add some anchovy paste to it. I'm not sure why. I wasn't an anchovy fan, but I followed my gut and ended up producing the best marinara sauce I'd ever made. I couldn't taste the anchovies directly (I only used a tablespoon or so) but the addition added both depth and richness to the sauce. Since then I've learned that what I was really doing was adding umami (MSG) to the sauce. When I began sharing my "secret ingredient" with others I learned it's an old Italian trick. So much for my originality.

But I have another trick I thought I'd share and so far I haven't found anyone else using it. It has to do with beans.

Acid makes beans tough by binding with proteins in the shells so avoid adding acid to beans before they've softened completely.

Most recipes for dried beans involve either soaking them overnight or boiling them for an hour or so, and then throwing out the liquid. The purpose is to rehydrate the beans and the excuse for throwing out the liquid is to get rid of the oliosaccharides that cause gas. But these carbohydrates are broken down by long, slow cooking so given that most dried beans are cooked long and slow, throwing out the liquid does little beyond eliminating the water-soluble nutrients that are leached out and does nothing about the flatulence factor.

Second, many recipes argue against adding salt to beans before they're done with the claim that salt makes them tough. Sorry. No. It doesn't. Acid makes beans tough by binding with proteins in the shells so avoid adding acid to beans before they've softened completely — but salt is another matter. So here's my secret for great beans: treat them like rice, specifically risotto.

Risotto is cooked slowly in a flavorful broth so that the rice soaks up the flavor of the broth. The addition of salt not only provides taste on it's own, but through the process of osmosis salt draws flavor of the broth into the rice. With beans I cook them in broth or stock from the beginning. This means the flavors get sucked into the beans producing a much more savory result. I also salt the beans well at the beginning to enhance this process and get salt into the beans.

This past week I made a batch of red beans and rice. I'm providing a recipe, but pay more attention to the technique than to the ingredients. These beans were almost literally bursting with flavor.

Red Beans and Rice
Serves 6.

Broth:
Roasted ham shank
2 bay leaves
12 peppercorns
1 lg onion — peeled and quartered
2 carrots — broken up into 3 or 4 pieces
1 lg celery stalk — broken up into 3 or 4 pieces
handful of parsley
Beans:
1/2 lb red beans
~2 tbsp salt
Creole seasoning
1 tsp baking soda (optional)
1/2 lb Andouille sausage — slice 1/4-inch thick
meat from ham shank
1 md onion — finely diced
1 md stalk celery — finely diced
1/2 bell pepper — finely diced
2 lg garlic cloves — minced
2 tbsp oil or lard
2 tbsp tomato paste
1 tbsp Cajun seasoning
Serving:
3 c cooked long-grain rice
Diced red onion
Diced bell pepper
Cider vinegar
Hot sauce

Broth:
Place ham shank in six quarts of water with pepper corns and bay leaves. Bring just to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer gently for six hours — covered. Skim off any foam that rises to the top. Top up water as needed, you want to cook some away but you should end up with about 4 quarts of broth.

For the last hour of cooking add the onion, carrot, celery, and parsley. Again, skim off any foam that forms. Strain broth through a sieve and discard all solids except the shank. Allow the shank to cool, remove fat, cube the meat, and reserve. Because the shank was already roasted the broth shouldn't have much fat.

Beans:
Taste stock and add salt — it should be fairly salty because the beans will absorb so much of it and can stand a lot of salt. Add beans and Cajun seasoning and bring just to a boil. Immediately reduce heat to a gentle simmer, cover, and cook for at least three hours.

Again, you will have liquid evaporating. You want to end up with mostly beans but with plenty of sauce so add water as needed.

Taste and check the beans texture. They should be fairly tender at this point, if not add the baking soda (the soda is caustic and will soften the beans — cook another hour). Add additional Cajun seasoning if needed.

Once the beans are tender, heat the oil or lard in a skillet over medium heat and sauté the onion, pepper, and celery until translucent. Stir in the garlic, tomato paste, and Cajun seasoning and cook another minute.

Add vegetables, reserved ham, and sausage. Simmer for 30 minutes while you cook the rice.

Serving:
Spoon rice into a bowl, add beans, garnish with peppers and onions, serve with vinegar and hot sauce on the side.

Cornbread and beer are good on the side.

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Paisano: Lamb Taginewith Fig and Prunes

Name That Dish



The word "tagine" is one of those cases where a cooking vessel has lent its name to the food prepared in it. For example, there's good etymological evidence that the dish "chowder" is named for the French pot named "chaudree" (cauldron) and a "casserole" is (traditionally) a round or oval earthenware container in which a thick stew is made.

The tagine dish is traditionally earthenware and consists of two parts - a lower round dish with 2 to 3-inch sides and a much-larger tall volcano-shaped lid. The food to be cooked goes in the bottom dish with a bit of liquid which is traditionally set over charcoal. The lid creates a steamy environment for cooking where, over a few hours, the liquid is gradually reduced to create a rich sauce. It's really a brilliant bit of culinary technology.

A tagine (the cooking vessel) is used to create a tagine (the meal). The meals are typically lamb, kid, chicken, or vegetarian made with vegetables or fruit, perhaps olives, maybe preserved lemons and always spices.

Tagine, the vessel and meals, are Moroccan — meaning Arabic — meaning the spices can be surprising to Western palates.

Tagine, the vessel and meals, are Moroccan — meaning Arabic — meaning the spices can be surprising to Western palates. Mostly because Arabs use a lot of spices we've come to associate with sweet dishes: cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, ginger… Our Western association isn't unreasonable, these spices do indeed complement sweet flavors, but Arab cuisine often adds sweet tastes to savory dishes and so it's not unusual to find fruit or honey paired with chicken and accented with cinnamon and nutmeg.

I don’t own a tagine, so I can't claim this dish authentic (plus, I made it up and I'm not Arab) but it does capture the spirit of tagines both in flavor and technique. Couscous is a traditional starch with tagines, but potatoes also work well. I'd planned on including dried apricots (mish mish) in this dish, but discovered to my surprise I didn't have any on-hand.

Lamb Tagine with Fig and Prunes
Serves 4.

2 two-pound bone-in lamb shoulders
Salt and coarsely ground black pepper
3 tbsp olive oil
2 medium onions -- diced
4 large garlic cloves -- minced
2 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp paprika
1 tsp ground tumeric
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1 1/2 - 2 c chicken or lamb broth
4 tbsp tomato paste
2 c dried figs — stems trimmed off
2 c prunes
2 c dried apricots
2 lemons — zested and juiced

Heat oven to 275F.

Generously season shoulders with salt and pepper. Brown on all sides, one at a time, in a dutch oven over medium-high heat - adding additional oil if needed. Set aside.

Reduce heat to medium and add onions. Cook, stirring frequently, until translucent. Stir in minced garlic and all spices and cook one minute more. Add 1/2" of broth and deglaze pot.

Return lamb to pot and add remaining broth (it should come three-quarters of the way up the meat), tomato paste, fruit, and lemon zest.

Increase heat to high and bring just to a boil. Cover and place in oven. Cook 1 hour then turn meat over. Replace lid but leave some space so steam can escape. Cook 1 hour longer and turn meat over again. Note: At this point you may need to add a bit more liquid if it is less than half-way up the meat. Cook 1 hour longer, partially covered. Add lemon juice and serve.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | gather | main dish | lamb | moroccan

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Paisano: Lamb Steak with Gremolata

Keep it Simple



Simplicity. When I was a younger cook I sought out the most complicated, convoluted, and difficult recipes to explore. A recipe with dozens of steps was a challenge eagerly sought. An opportunity to expand my skills and knowledge. An opportunity to, let's face it, conquer a recipe. I reveled in my successes while my failures were only goads to keep trying. No, it's not in the same class as climbing Mount Everest, but the mind-set was the same.

I learned to make croissants almost worthy of a French bakery. Souffles of any sort (an early challenge) were something I could create while sleeping. Sauces of all sorts became mere gravy. And then, my interest began to lag.

Gremolata is a simple combination of parsley, garlic, lemon zest, olive oil, and salt and pepper traditionally served on Osso Bucco.

It lagged still further when I started cooking and writing about cooking for a living. I knew I would face burn-out and sure enough, I've been dealing with a certain kitchen lethargy for the past year. In the effort to regularly produce new dishes for my literary efforts and endlessly repeat favorites for my personal chef clients the whole cooking thing lost its real focus and I found myself ordering out for pizza, or making a quick run to the nearest BBQ joint when I needed to feed myself.

But a few of weeks ago, after a week in the hospital consuming hospital food and combating an infection that one doctor reacted to with, "Holey Molely!" I came home to recuperate and spent three days eating TV dinners (that my parents were kind enough to buy me) while I gained strength to do a grocery run. Still on the weak side, I went with easy dishes: baked penne with tuna, broiled trout, even chicken soup.

A couple of days ago I thawed out a lamb leg steak. I brushed it with olive oil and seasoned it with salt and pepper. Then I grilled it in a grill pan on the stove. In the meantime I made some gremolata.

Gremolata is a simple combination of parsley, garlic, lemon zest, olive oil, and salt and pepper traditionally served on Osso Bucco. It's particularly good on lamb, but also complements steak and chicken. Careful, though, the next morning you'll still be tasting it.

Gremolata
Makes enough for 2 servings.

Zest of 1 lg. lemon
2 cloves garlic - crushed
3 tbsp minced parsley
1 tsp olive oil
Salt and pepper

Combine all ingredients in a small bowl and allow flavors to meld for about an hour.

This article originally appeared on Gather.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | ingredient | lamb | main dish

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Paisano: Grape & Rosemary Focaccia

Slap Your Momma Good



I first made this focaccia for A Year in Bread (the recipe is adapted from one by Daniel Leader in Local Breads) and to my surprise fell completely in love with it. As a friend of mine commented: "It's so good it'd make you slap your momma." I liked it so much I started looking for occasions to make it for clients and family to share the joy.

The first opportunity was a picnic I catered for a real estate agent at a new resort. The resort was intended for people who owned horses and the lots were about 25 acres each. I served lunch at an open pagoda above a lake – hoity-toity to say the least. As expected there were leftovers, sadly there was no leftover focaccia.

As expected there were leftovers, sadly there was no leftover focaccia.

Since that time I’ve made it for other clients and for family events – always to raves. It’s one of those odd flavor combinations bringing together bread, fresh rosemary, ripe grapes, and sea salt in a union that is far better tasting than the sum of its parts. The bread is delightfully sweet, moist, and chewy. The rosemary is a perfect flavor pairing with the sweet grapes (an added burst of sweetness), and the coarse salt provides both textural and flavor contrast.

Grape & Rosemary Focaccia

1 c tepid water
1 tsp instant yeast
3 1/2 c unbleached all-purpose flour
1/3 c extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 tsp sea salt
Topping:
1 1/2 c red seedless grapes
2 tbsp chopped fresh rosemary
1 tsp coarse sea salt
additional olive oil

Pour water into the bowl of a stand mixer bowl and add yeast, olive oil, salt, and 3 cups of flour. Mix the ingredients on low (2 on a KA) using the paddle attachment on a Kitchen Aid until shaggy, then swap to the dough hook. Add additional flour as needed until a dough forms. Increase speed to medium (4 on a KA) and knead for 9 to 10 minutes.

Scrape dough out onto a lightly-floured board and shape into a ball. Note: I always knead the dough a bit by hand at the end to make sure it feels right. In this case the dough is moist, but not sticky (the oil accounts for this).

For this amount of dough, I typically use the mixer bowl for the fermentation phase. I wash it out and dry it, then lightly spray it with oil, shape the dough into a ball, lightly spray the top with oil, cover with plastic wrap and set aside to rise for 1 1/2 - 2 hours until doubled in bulk.

Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and brush lightly with olive oil. Scrape dough out onto baking sheet and let rest for 5 minutes. Oil your hands and then stretch the dough out on the baking sheet, if it resists, allow to rest for another five minutes and continue. The dough should end up about 1/2 inch (1.25 cm) and form a rough rectangle about 12 inches by 16 inches.

Using the balls of your fingers, press indentations into the dough, then drizzle a bit of olive oil on the top and, using your fingers, coat the top with oil. Press the grapes into the surface about 1 1/2 inches apart. Sprinkle with coarse sea salt and chopped rosemary. Cover with plastic wrap and allow to rise until double the height (45 minutes to an hour).

At this point I also began heating my oven to 375F (190C) and positioned a rack in the center.

Bake focaccia for 20 to 30 minutes, but do take your own oven into account. My oven tends to cook slowly for some reason (and yes, I have verified the temperature with a thermometer) and I baked the bread for 40 minutes until it was a golden brown and the grapes had shriveled slightly.

Cool for about 5 minutes on a rack, then dive in.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | bread | focaccia

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Paisano: Pan-Fried Chicken

Pan-Fried Goodness



Mummo, my mother's mother and the only grandmother I ever knew, made the best fried chicken in the world. The last time I saw Mummo was 30 years ago in her basement apartment in my uncle's house in Birmingham, Alabama. I had recently transferred to Tuscaloosa to manage a Pier 1 and came up for a visit and lunch. She asked what I wanted her to fix and I said fried chicken. She did and it was as wonderful as I remembered.

My mother's fried chicken was good, but uneven in execution and I have searched long and hard for a match for her mother's chicken. I came close on occasion, but could never replicate the results. In fact, I still can't for a whole chicken. But I have mastered frying chicken breasts or thighs.

Getting each piece of a whole chicken to the same degree of doneness for the same meal is an exercise in magic.

First, I should note that in my world chicken should be pan-fried. The best that can be said of deep-fried chicken is that sometimes it's edible. With pan-fried chicken the crust is a key element, but the chicken comes first and the wonderfully crackling crust when fresh from the pan morphs into an equally delicious, albeit slightly soggy element, on a picnic the next day. The key in both versions is restraint - not too much crust.

Another key is cooking the same pieces. Legs, thighs, breasts, and wings all cook at different rates. Getting each piece of a whole chicken to the same degree of doneness for the same meal is an exercise in magic - doable as Mummo proved, but magic. So I choose pieces rather than whole chickens. In this case I chose breasts.

I should note, smaller pieces work better than big ones. The breasts you see pictured were almost a pound each and it's hard to not over-cook the crust while getting the meat done. Six to eight ounce breasts or five to six ounce thighs work best.

Southern Pan-Fried Chicken
Serves 6.

3 lb bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts or thighs
oil for frying
Marinade:
1 qt. cultured buttermilk
1 tbsp hot paprika
2 tbsp salt
Coating:
1 c all-purpose flour
1 tbsp hot paprika
1 tbsp salt
1 tsp black pepper

Thoroughly mix marinade ingredients in a zippered plastic bag, add chicken, and refrigerate 12 - 24 hours, turning occasionally to ensure coverage.

Thoroughly mix coating ingredients in a zippered plastic bag. Remove two pieces of chicken from marinade, shake off excess marinade, then dredge in coating. Set chicken aside on a piece of foil and repeat for remaining chicken. Allow to rest for 30 minutes.

Heat oven to 200F.

Heat 1/2-inch oil in a large, straight-sided, lidded skillet over medium high heat. Once oil is hot, re-dredge 2 or 3 pieces of chicken in coating, shake off excess, and add to skillet (skin-side down if cooking breasts or thighs). Cook for four minutes or until a light golden brown.

Turn chicken over, reduce temperature to low, cover, and cook 15 - 20 minutes. (Ideally, cook until an instant-read thermometer registers 150F for breasts or 155F for thighs.)

Remove cover, increase heat to medium-high, and turn over again. Cook another 5 minutes until coating is crisp and mahogany brown. Drain on a plate on paper towels and place in oven to keep warm. Repeat for remaining chicken.

Note: Although cast iron is widely lauded as the skillet of choice for pan-fried chicken, I find stainless steel or aluminum work better. Cast iron is slow to heat and slow to cool and you really want a quicker response when you turn the burner down and up.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | chicken | fried+chicken

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Paisano: Jerked Shrimp

Being a Jerk



I spent two years in Eugene, Oregon — within 100 miles of the Pacific coast — and there was only one place in town where I could buy genuinely fresh fish, everywhere else it was frozen or previously frozen. But at least there was a place. I also spent three years in Nashua, New Hampshire, which was also within 100 miles of the coast. I never found fresh fish in Nashua. Then I spent two years in Sacramento, California. Yup, 100 miles from the coast and, yup, no fresh fish that I could find.

But here in Knoxville, Tennessee — almost 1000 miles from the nearest coast — I can buy fresh fish. Although the fish market does sell some frozen fish, mostly the seafood is fresh and straight from the Gulf of Mexico. They send a truck down to Mobile, Alabama twice a week to buy straight off the boats and haul it back up here. They opened a new store near me recently and, because I was teaching a class on cooking fish, I stopped in to see what they had.

Here in Knoxville, Tennessee — almost 1000 miles from the nearest coast — I can buy fresh fish.

I planned on concentrating on techniques so the menu I posted began with broiled tilapia with arugula pesto, then salmon in parchment, followed by poached snapper with a lemon cream sauce, and lastly grilled tuna with Romesco. But the store also had some gorgeous jumbo shrimp — so I bought a couple of pounds.

The menu posted for the class said nothing about shrimp, but in keeping with the philosophy of, "give them more than they expect" I always like to toss in an appetizer that I can feed the class almost immediately. In this case I decided to give them jerked shrimp as a starter. And while I was planning on jerking some shrimp I decided to make a jerk of, I mean for, myself.

Jerked Shrimp
Serves 4 as a main course.

1 1/2 lb jumbo shrimp — shelled
1 lg lime — juiced (2 - 3 tbsp)
2 tbsp unsalted butter
2 tsp Herbes de Provence
Seasoning:
3 tbsp hot paprika
3 tbsp garlic powder
3 tsp ground allspice
1 1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
3/4 tsp cayenne pepper (more or less, depending on preferred spice level)
1 tbsp kosher salt
3/4 tsp freshly ground pepper

Thoroughly mix all seasoning ingredients. You'll have more than you need, but it keeps well.

Place shrimp in a large zippered plastic bag. Add lime juice and 1 1/2 tablespoons of seasoning. Toss to mix and refrigerate for at least 1 hour and not more than 2.

Heat a skillet over medium high heat. Add butter and swirl to melt. Dump shrimp and juice into skillet and add Herbes de Provence. Cook about 1 1/2 minutes per side. Serve immediately.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | paisano | shrimp | seafood | main dish

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Paisano: Yogurt/Sumac Chicken

Strange Spice



I've no doubt given the impression that when I get together with the Paisano all we do is cook, but that's not true, sometimes we let other people cook.

I was attending a conference in San Francisco back in 1993 and gave Paisano a call in case he was going to be in the area. He was and invited me to a party. Microsoft happened to be having a party that same night for conference attendees, but I'd been to those parties before - free beer, wine, unbelievably bad pizza, and drunken geeks. It was an easy choice to make. The party was in Berkley but that and directions were all the old man would tell me.

One particular chicken dish caught my attention with a flavor I simply couldn't place

I'd rented a car because I was planning a side trip down to Monterrey over the weekend so around 7:00 I headed over the bridge to Berkley and after a couple of wrong turns I found the place.

Aside from a couple of other Euro-types like Paisano and myself, the rest of the guests (and the hosts) were middle-eastern. My friend knew I'd lived in Egypt for a year and thought I'd fit right in and, in fact, I did. There were people there from Iran, Egypt, Lebanon, Turkey, and I don’t know where else. They were all either students, grad students, or professors at UCB and the party was one in series that had been taking place every month or two for six years.

The food was awesome, but one particular chicken dish caught my attention with a flavor I simply couldn't place. So I started asking around and eventually found a young woman named FohzAn. It turned out the flavor was sumac, a deep red powder made from the sumac tree's berries. It's lemony in flavor, but instead of sour it seems slightly musty to me, which is what threw me. I also learned the chicken had been marinated in a mixture of yogurt, garlic, and sumac. I didn't get a recipe, though, and the dish eventually slipped my mind. Then I received a review copy of Zov: Recipes and Memories from the Heart by Zov Karamardian and flipping through it I found a recipe that took me back to that evening in Berkley. Zov's version is based on an Indian recipe, but it's close to what I remember, and note, I've tweaked the recipe a bit.

Sumac-Coated Chicken Kebab
Serves 4.
(Adpated from Zov: Recipes and Memories from the Heart)
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts cut into 1"x1" pieces
1/2 cup yogurt
1/4 cup finely-chopped mint
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
2 Tbsp. paprika
2 Tbsp. sumac
3 cloves crushed garlic
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. black pepper
1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp. nutmeg

Thoroughly combine all ingredients in a zippered storage bag and marinate in the refrigerator for 24 hours, turning and remixing 4 to 6 times while marinating.

Build a medium hot fire in your grill. Divide chicken pieces among 4 skewers. (Note: I can no longer use a grill, so I used my grill pan over medium-high heat.)

Grill kebabs for about 3 minutes per side over a fire or 5 minutes per side on a grill pan for a total of 12 or 20 minutes respectively. Serve garnished with mint chiffonade and lemon wedges. I served them on couscous with a salad on the side.

I'll be posting a review of Zov's book in the near future (after I've had time to check out a few more recipes), but I can tell you now that she has a passion for food and cooking that equals my own -- and her book is gorgeous.

Paisano is a fictional character created for my column on Gather.com and the events related here are a mixture of truth and fiction, The food, however, is real.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | seafood | shrimp | jerk

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Paisano: Rack of Lamb with Caramelized Onions

Bi-Polar Weather



Spring arrived here in Knoxville this past weekend. I was out running errands two days ago (Before Spring) and it was rainy and chilly. The lawns were still rather brown and although the daffodils, hydrangeas, and Bradford pear trees were blooming and a few trees had a green haze, it was clear spring hadn't quite sprung. Today when I went out the temperature was 73 and it was bright and sunny. The tulips were in full bloom, lawns were dark green, the dogwoods and redbud are almost in full bloom, and the trees with the green haze were almost covered with leaves. It's amazing how much difference a weekend makes.

I love this time of year, it completely makes up for the ugliness of a Tennessee winter, just as fall makes up for the heat and humidity of a Tennessee summer.

I love this time of year, it completely makes up for the ugliness of a Tennessee winter.

When I lived in Oregon there were two seasons, raining and not raining. When I lived in New Hampshire there were four seasons, but instead of spring they had mud (fall was nice, though). Central Califonia had dry-and-too-hot and somewhat-rainy for its two seasons. So although Tennessee has its drawbacks, the four distinct seasons are an advantage (even though winter is now much more like Oregon's rainy season than a proper winter).

While I was at the grocery (Before Spring) I found a half rack of lamb at a good price and, being the lamb lover I am, bought it. Today I found fresh asparagus from Georgia (meaning it was much fresher than the stuff from California) so I bought a pound of it and tonight I had a spring feast of roast lamb, steamed asparagus, and a green salad with a sherry vinaigrette.

Rack of Lamb with Caramelized Onions
Serves 4.

1 rack of lamb
1 lg. clove garlic — crushed
Salt and pepper to taste
1 - 2 tsp.ground rosemary
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 lg. yellow onions
1/4 cup red wine (I used Zinfindel)
2 tsp. minced fresh rosemary
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 tsp. sugar
1/2 tsp. salt

Remove lamb from refrigerator and rub with crushed garlic. Season generously with salt, pepper, and rosemary. Allow to warm on the counter for at least an hour.

In the meantime, heat butter in a sauté pan over low heat. Cut onions in half, peel, and cut into thin half-round slices. Add onions to sauté pan, sprinkle with salt and sugar and toss to coat. Cover pan and cook gently until a rich mahogany brown, stirring as needed to prevent burning.

Heat oven to 350F.

Add wine and rosemary to onions and increase heat to medium-high. Cook until the wine has almost completely evaporated. Set aside and keep warm or reheat in a microwave just before using.

Heat olive oil in a heavy oven-proof skillet over medium-high heat. Brown rack on all sides except the bone side. Turn bone-side down in skillet and place in center of oven. Cook until an instant-read thermometer reads 130 in center of rack. Remove from oven and tent with foil for 15 minutes. Slice into individual ribs and serve topped with caramelized onions.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | lamb | main dish | paisano

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Paisano: Schnitzel

Forgotten Tastes




About a month ago I purchased American Classics by the editors of Cook's Illustrated magazine. The book is a good modern reference to such traditional favorites as Chicken Pot Pie, Parker House Rolls, and Yellow Layer Cake done in the magazine's inimitable style of setting a goal and the experimenting until they achieve it. I don't always like their recipes, but I trust them and the investigation behind them.

One of the recipes I browsed was Crisp Pork Cutlets — something I haven't fixed in ages. So the other night I pulled a boneless pork loin chop out of the freezer and thawed it. I didn't follow the book recipe (although I'm sure I remembered parts of what I'd read) but instead followed my own instincts. The result was juicy, tender, and the essence of pork flavor.

Pork Cutlets

6 oz. boneless pork loin chop
1 egg — beaten in pie plate
1/4 c all purpose flour
sage, paprika, salt, black pepper
1/4 c sourdough bread crumbs — seasoned with sage, paprika, salt, & pepper
1 tbsp olive oil

Pound chop to about 1/4" thick and season generously with sage, paprika, salt, & pepper (I'm particularly fond of freshly-ground Lamphong black pepper which is both spicy and highly aromatic). Dredge the chop in the flour, coat with egg, and thoroughly coat with bread crumbs. (Note: seasoning the pork directly is much more effective than seasoning the flour and or seasoning the bread crumbs alone.) Set chop aside.

Heat a skillet over medium high heat. Add oil. Fry chop on each side until golden and crisp (about 2 minutes per side). Serve immediately.

I sauteed some frozen turnip greens in oil seasoned with curry powder to go with it. A great meal.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | paisano | pork

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Osso Bucco

Hole in the Bone



In the past three years I've seen veal shanks at the supermarket exactly once, last week. So of course I had to buy them.

It's been at least 20 years since I last made or had osso bucco, literally "hole bone." The name refers to the circlet of bone in the center of each section of cross-cut shank. After cooking, the marrow in the center of the bone falls out or is scooped out leaving a circlet of bone — a bone with a hole.

In the past three years I've seen veal shanks at the supermarket exactly once.

Historically the dish is from Milan and was veal braised with white wine, cinnamon, allspice, and bay (called in bianco) then served on rissotto alla Milanese and garnished with gremolata (a mixture of parsley, lemon zest, and garlic). These days the recipes are often less traditional. The "sweet" spices are skipped and tomato is added in some form. This modern version, which includes tomatoes from the New World, is most often served on polenta, made of corn from the New World.

I decided to go a step further and rather than using polenta, I made grits that I flavored with Parmegiano and Fontanella cheese and freshly ground black pepper. This is a wonderful meal on a cold rainy night.

Osso Bucco
Serves 2.

1 lb. veal shank (ideally one section, 3/4 to 1 inch thick)
Salt and pepper to taste
3 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
2 oz. pancetta &mdash diced
1/2 md. onion — finely diced
1 sm. carrot — finely diced
1 clove garlic — finely diced
1 bay leaf
1 sprig fresh rosemary
1 sprig fresh sage
1/2 cup veal stock
1/2 cup vermouth or white wine
1 Tbsp. tomato paste

Tie veal with twine to keep is from falling apart, season veal with salt and pepper, and then dredge in flour. Tie rosemary, sage, and bay leaf in a square of cheesecloth (a bouquet garni).

Sauté pancetta in a medium sauce pan over medium-low heat until browned. Remove to a plate with a slotted spoon. Increase heat to medium-high and brown lamb shank on both sides. Add to plate with pancetta.

Reduce heat to medium and sauté onions and carrots for five minutes until onions are translucent. Add garlic and cook one minute longer. Add vermouth (or white wine) and deglaze pan. Return veal and pancetta to pan, add veal stock, bouquet garni, and tomato paste to pan.

Reduce heat to low and partially cover pan. Barely simmer for one hour then serve.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | osso bucco | veal | main dish | italian | paisano

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Paisano: Guazzetto

Gesundheit!



Paisano and I were cruising through the meat department trying to decide what to fix for dinner when Paisano cried "GwaCHETto," to which I responded with a polite, "Gesundheit."

"No, no, no. Oxtails! GwaCHETto!"

"Ok, so what's that?"

Turns out it's a pasta sauce, or soup, or maybe stew made with oxtails, or fish, or maybe beef or pork ribs. I even found a recipe for frog legs. As I later learned, guazzetto as it's actually spelled means "splashed" and specifically splashed with wine and tomatoes.

Paisano cried "GwaCHETto," to which I responded with a polite, "Gesundheit."

So we bought the oxtails and returned to his friends' house and made guazzetto, pasta, and baby artichokes. Oddly — well, maybe not so oddly, he is the Paisano after all — he served the guazzetto over browned cubes of stale bread. Pretty damned tasty.

Guazzetto
Serves 6.

1 1/2 lb oxtails
1/2 oz dried porcini
2 tbsp olive oil
1 onion — finely chopped
1 carrot — finely chopped
3/4 c red wine
15 oz can diced tomatoes
2 tbsp tomato paste
2 tsp anchovy paste
2 bay leaves
1 whole clove
3 - 4 sprigs fresh rosemary
4 - 6 sprigs fresh thyme
2 c homemade beef or chicken stock or 2 c canned chicken stock
salt and pepper to taste

Heat oven to 275F.

Bring 1 cup of water to a boil, remove from heat, and add dried porcini. Allow to rehydrate for 15 minutes. Remove mushrooms and reserve. Strain the water the mushrooms soaked in though cheese cloth or a coffee filter and reserve.

Generously season oxtails with salt and pepper. Heat oil in a dutch oven over medium high heat and brown oxtails on all sides. Set oxtails aside.

Wrap clove, rosemary, thyme, and bay leaves in a small cheescloth sack ad tie with string.

Reduce heat to medium low and sweat onions and carrots for 10 minutes with a generous pinch of salt. Increase heat to medium high, add wine, and deglaze pot. Add all remaining ingredients including oxtails, mushrooms, and mushroom liquid. Add enough stock to just cover the oxtails.

Bring almost to a boil and transfer to a lower rack in the oven. Cook for three hours, topping up liquid with water or additional stock as necessary. Remove from oven. Remove oxtails and shred meat, reserving. Place pot on stove top and reduce to about 2 cups over medium-high heat. Add shredded meat and serve over polenta.

Paisano is a ficticious character.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | guazzetto | oxtails | italian | stew | braise | paisano

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Paisano: Duck Rillettes

For years I thought the Paisano was essentially a bum. A charming, well-groomed, erudite bum who could cook like a top chef, but a bum nevertheless. He spent most of his life wandering from place to place, he certainly didn't work for a living, and he seemed to survive largely on the generosity of others (including me). So it was a tremendous surprise when, shortly after moving to California, he invited me to spend Thanksgiving with him in Tahoe. Frankly, knowing he sometimes house-sat for friends, I assumed that was the case here. I had no other plans for T'day and hadn't been to Tahoe before, so I readily agreed.

I drove up on Thanksgiving, a glorious sunny day, forsaking the Interstate and instead taking a blue highway that wound slowly into the mountains. There'd been a couple of snows already, but the roads were clear and it was a delightful drive. I'd bought one of Charles Kuralt's books on tape and his warm baritone, telling of his travels across the country, was the perfect company. After a couple of wrong turns I finally found the place: a medium-sized, 1 1/2-story log cabin some distance out of town on the lake.

The rillettes were a revelation, how could something so simple taste so good?

The cabin had huge great room/dining area/kitchen dominated by a stone fireplace in which a fire was crackling noisily. The mantle featured a huge copper tray that I recognized as Arabic. Beside the chimney were five or six of shelves featuring a huge collection of ceramic and terracotta platters and bowls. The other walls sported a few impressionistic watercolors, which I subsequently learned were originals, not prints. A stairway led up to a loft and the second of two bedrooms.

As you might expect, the kitchen drew my attention. It sported a commercial (genuinely commercial) range, a large work island, a fridge, and a huge soapstone sink. The cabinets were stained green (as was all the trim in the house) and a similarly green door led into what I found was a walk-in pantry — thus sealing my complete envy. It almost goes without saying that the house smelled wonderful.

Paisano was making duck confit, or I should say, he'd just finished making duck confit. There were half a dozen legs cooling on a pan. Also on the counter was a pork loin — our Thanksgiving dinner. We sat and had a couple of glasses of wine and caught up, and that's when I learned the cabin belonged to him.

He told me it stood vacant much of the year, except for a housekeeper who kept an eye on it and dusted and vacuumed as needed. As we chatted I learned he kept the cabin because he needed a place to keep the few things he valued — the paintings (it turned he'd done several of them), his collection of platters and bowls, and a few other things. And also, despite his wanderlust, he found that he needed a home base where he could paint, and cook, and catch his breath. I also learned that my invitation to the cabin was an exceptional honor. It was his private space and he seldom shared it with others.

We started making dinner at about 4:00, the pork loin was browned in a cocotte (as Paisano calls it, a Dutch oven in my terms) and then he added milk and garlic. I steamed some beans to be sautéed with garlic, pancetta, and anchovies. Then I prepped Potatoes Anna while Paisano made Tiramisu for dessert. The last step was duck rillettes for an appetizer. I knew about rillettes but had never made or eaten them.

Rillettes are some kind of meat (rabbit, pork, goose, or in this case, duck) slowly cooked in fat and then pounded into a paste. Rillettes are an old method of preserving meat, very much a peasant dish in origin. It's served spread on bread or crackers.

Duck Rillettes
Serves 6 as an hors d'oeuvres.
Recipe adapted from Charcuterie by Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn.

8 oz duck confit at room temperature, about 2 legs
2 tbsp duck fat
1/4 c duck gelatin (from duck confit, a friend calls it "duck goo", it's the liquid that settles to the bottom when making confit)
plenty of ground black pepper
some salt, maybe

Place all ingredients in a stand mixer fitted with the paddle blade. Process at high speed until meat is completely shredded, scraping down sides of bowl occasionally. Taste and adjust seasonings. Serve on slices of baguette.

The entire meal was delicious, but the rillettes were a revelation. How could something so simple taste so good? Even when you factor in making the confit it's simple and easy. The champagne Paisano opened was perfect for cutting through the fat.

Note: Paisano is a fictious character and events presented may or may not be true.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | paisano | duck | duck rillettes | French | charcuterie

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Paisano: Senate Bean Soup

Legislative Legacy



I've been working on an article for NPR's Kitchen Window about bean dishes. One that I recall from my childhood is the famous Senate Bean Soup, which is served in the U.S. Senate dining room every day. The exact origins of the dish are unkown, but according to the official Senate Bean Soup Web site the original recipe is unknown, but one reputed original version contains mashed potatoes. However, the recipe served today doesn't include potatoes.

I never really cared for what my mother made (although as best I can recall she used the current version that now appears on the Web site). So recently I set out to see if I could improve it.

Senate Bean Soup is served in the U.S. Senate dining room every day.

First, both recipes published on the Senate site call for Navy Beans and these aren't a favorite of mine because I find both the texture and flavor somewhat chalky. My favorite white bean is the cannellini. This bean has a subtle sweetness and an almost silky texture.

Step two was hydrating the beans. In one case the recipe calls for a smoked ham hock and in the other for ham itself and a ham bone. Experience has taught me that the only opportunity you really have to flavor the beans themselves (as opposed to the liquid they're in) is when they're hydrating and soaking up liquid and whatever flavors that liquid contains — and as with pasta, if you want to salt the beans do it when they're soaking up liquid.

I decided to flavor the liquid with a smoked ham hock, salt (lots), dried sage, black pepper, celery, onion, and parsley. In effect, I made a stock.

For the final dish, I discarded the vegetables in the stock and added sautéed onions, country ham, and diced potatoes. The potatoes were primarily for visual and textural interest.

This was a great bowl of soup. Packed with flavor and with a marvelous texture.

Senate Bean Soup

1 lb cannellini beans
1 smoked ham hock
2 tbsp salt (seriously)
2 md onions
1 lg stalk celery — broken in thirds
2 tsp dried sage
1 sm bunch parsley
1/2 tbsp cracked black pepper
1/2 lb white potatoes — cut into 1/2" dice
8 oz country ham
freshly ground black pepper

Slice through the skin on a smoked ham hock in several places — this makes it easier for the hock to contribute flavor and to recover the meat at the end of cooking. Peel and quarter one of the onions.

Place beans, ham hock, celery stalk, quartered onion, salt, sage, and cracked pepper in a soup pot and add enough water to cover the beans by 2 inches. Over high heat, bring just to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover pot, and simmer for 3 hours. Check at two hours to see if you need to top up the liquid.

In the meantime, dice the remaining onion and country ham. Cook in a skillet over medium heat with a bit of oil or butter until the onions are translucent. Reserve.

When the beans have cooked for three hours, remove and discard the onion quarters, celery, and parsley. Extract whatever meat you can from the hock and add back to the pot. Add the diced onions, ham, and potatoes. Adjust liquid, and continue to simmer for 30 - 40 minutes until potatoes are done. Adjust seasonings and serve.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | beans | senate bean soup

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Paisano: Tuna Casserole

Fish Tale



I was probably 26 at the time. I wasn't married but was living with my then-future and now-past wife. She and I met when I was managing Pier 1 Imports in Knoxville and I hired her as assistant manager.

For some reason, Cindy set her sights on me and within six months of hiring her we were living together. I know. This stinks of ex post facto nepotism, but at one time each of my brothers also worked for me and there was never any doubt in my mind nor anyone else's that the personal connection meant my brothers and then Cindy were held to higher and not lower standards at work.

At any rate, because Cindy was my assistant our schedules were four hours out of sync on most days and we only ate together twice a week. On this particular day we worked the same hours and stopped at the store to get something to fix for supper and, as we wandered the aisles, I had one of those flashes when an entire recipe appeared in my mind at once. Of all things, it was for tuna casserole.

The sour cream adds a tangy note and it doesn’t require a canned soup.

I'd certainly eaten my share of tuna casserole at home and at school when growing up and although I ate it I didn't particularly like it. I didn't like the pasty flavor cream of mushroom soup gave it. I didn't like the crumbled potato chips or French-fried onions that usually topped it. I didn't like the flavorless cheese that was typical -- if cheese was used at all. But for some reason I suddenly had an urge for tuna casserole and knew exactly how to correct the errors I'd seen in it before.

I quickly talked Cindy into it (for the most part, Cindy, who became a fine cook, learned cooking from me) and we bought all the ingredients. As I recall we spent around $12 dollars. That was a lot of money for us -- store management was essentially blue-collar work and didn’t pay worth a damn. In fact, our income that year, including the year-end bonus, was less than $15k. I called the dish "Rich Man's Tuna Casserole" and it was everything I'd hoped for. We almost ate it all that night.

The recipe below is essentially the same with the exception that originally I used Campbell's Golden Mushroom soup and now make my own. (Although, on rare occasions I still fall back on the canned stuff). Oddly enough, it costs very little more to make now than it did then, which is good because currently I make very little more now (all things considered) than I did then.

Tuna Casserole
Serves 6.

1 lb fresh mushrooms (I like a mixture of button, shitake, and portobello) — sliced
3 5.5 oz cans tuna (packed in oil if possible) — drained
1 1/2 c pimento-stuffed olives — sliced in half cross-ways
2 tbsp + 3 tbsp unsalted butter
3 c chicken stock
1 tbsp ground mustard
1 tsp salt
1 tsp black pepper
2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
3 tbsp all-purpose flour
1 c sour cream
8 oz sharp or extra-sharp cheddar — shredded
3 - 4 oz Asiago, Parmigiano, Romano, or Pecorino — shredded
12 oz extra-wide egg noodles

Heat oven to 400F. Drain tuna and slice olives.

Reduce stock in a medium saucepan over high heat to about 2 cups. Whisk in mustard, salt, pepper, and Worcestershire sauce. Taste and adjust flavors. Set aside.

Place mushrooms in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat and sprinkle generously with salt. Cook, stirring frequently to prevent burning, with a wooden spatula. When mushrooms begin to brown and give up their liquid, add 2 tablespoons butter and continue cooking until mushrooms are well-browned. Deglaze pan with 1/2 cup of stock and add mushrooms and deglazing liquid to remaining stock. Simmer 15 minutes.

In another medium saucepan melt 3 tablespoons of butter over medium-low heat. Add flour and cook, whisking constantly, for 3 - 4 minutes. Vigorously whisk in hot stock and cook, stirring, until thickened. Add cheddar, a handful at a time, stirring after each addition until melted. Whisk in sour cream.

In the meantime, cook noodles according to package directions. Drain and return to pot.

When sauce is done add it, tuna, and olives to noodles and mix thoroughly. Pour into a large casserole dish and sprinkle with shredded Parmigiano.

Bake until top is browned and crisp -- about 25 minutes.

This casserole is richly flavored with a crisp/chewy crust. The sour cream adds a tangy note and it doesn’t require a canned soup. (Although, as I said, that works. Just use it to replace the mushrooms and stock mixture -- keep the cheese and sour cream.)

Technorati: Food | recipe | tuna casserole | casserole | tuna | comfort food | paisano

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Paisano: Treats on the 4th

Paisano: Treats on the 4th



A few years back when I lived was living in Eugene, Oregon I got a call from the Paisano the last week of June. It was an odd call. First he didn't really sound like himself — there was something funny in his voice. He sounded off. Second, he wanted to know if he could come for a visit.

Although I didn't know him as well then, I did know the Paisano never asks if he can visit and certainly never offers warning. He either shows up on my doorstep or calls me to come pick him up at the nearest airport, bus station, train station, or even gas station. On this occasion, he said if I didn't mind (didn't mind?) he would like to visit for a spell and thought he'd take the train up from California in a couple of days if that was Ok. WTF?

"In my family I am the baby so you must be my younger brother. When I am dying, bring food."

I said sure, come on. What else could I say? I picked him up at the train station on Sunday afternoon, July 2.

As usual I got a bear hug and kiss on both cheeks. As usual his baggage was a single military canvas duffle bag (no insignia, only the scar of a badge and a bleached section to leave you wondering which military). As usual his grey hair was a bit shaggy and his beard was immaculately trimmed. But on the drive back to my apartment he was a bit less ebullient than usual, his laugh a tad less hearty. When I asked if he knew how long he was staying he said he had to be in Vancouver at the end of the week.

July 4 was on a Tuesday that year, and I'd arranged to take Monday off to prepare for a party I was having on the 4th. I lived about half a mile from the University of Oregon stadium and each 4th the stadium hosts a big fireworks display — I had a near perfect viewing spot in my backyard. I figured we'd have a collection of munchies while watching the fireworks and then come back inside to eat dinner.

Sunday evening we talked about the party and menu. Paisano, as a matter of course, wanted to change everything, but gave up surprisingly easily when I resisted. So I told him I wasn't happy with the "bites" I'd planned on munching on while watching the fireworks and asked him to come up with something. We spent the rest of the evening tossing ideas back and forth and then went grocery shopping Monday morning.

I knew better than to push him about his problem. He puts Dick Cheney's secretiveness to shame. If I asked a direct question I'd get a direct answer — but maybe not a true answer. With the Paisano you listen between the lines and if he trusts you and wants to, he'll tell you. It took until Tuesday when we were prepping for the party for him to start talking.

With a chefs knife in a one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and array of ingredients spread across the counter, he began to talk.

His oldest brother, Michael, was dying of kidney disease in a hospital in Vancouver. They were close, but the connection didn't occur until Paisano was grown up, ten years was far too much distance to overcome as children. And, perhaps because the connection had come so late, it was particularly fierce. And now my friend was going to Canada to say goodbye. This was not something he was good at.

Eventually the guests arrived for my party bringing blankets and lawn chairs. Paisano immediately ditched me to handle the final dinner prep on my own while he served his hors d'ouevres, made new friends, and watched the fireworks.

Paisano made a half dozen meze or tapas, but these two were the most popular. They would be perfect to munch on July 4.

Stuffed Cherry Tomatoes

24 large cherry tomatoes
4 oz chèvre
2 tbsp mince basil (or oregano, chives, tarragon, …)
2 tbsp finely minced red onion
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp white pepper

Remove tops of tomatoes and core (a demitasse spoon is perfect for this task). In a small bowl combine all other ingredients then stuff into empty tomatoes. Serve at room temperature. (Note: these are best if the tomatoes are never chilled, but they can be chilled for picnics and such.)

Tuna Stuffed Eggs

6 hardboiled eggs — shelled and cut in half
1 can oil-packed tuna
2 tbsp finely-minced red onion
2 tbsp mayonnaise
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
2 tsp lemon juice
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp smoked hot Spanish paprika

In a small bowl beat together the egg yolks and all other ingredients until smooth. Spoon into hollowed out egg whites. Chill and serve.

The next morning when I woke my friend had already made coffee and had eggs ready for an omelet. He was back to himself again: "I told J.D. you might be late today and he said that was ok. We must go to the store again. I need to cook for Michael." J.D. was my boss and had been at the party the night before. Arranging my schedule with my boss (and without consulting me) was pure Paisano.

So we went to the store, came back and spent the day making Michael's favorite foods — "I can't cure him, but I can feed him" — and around 5:00 that evening I put the Pasisano on the train to Vancouver. When we parted he hugged me with particular vigor.

"In my family I am the baby so you must be my younger brother. When I am dying, bring food."

I will, brother.

Note: Pasisano is a fictional character created for a column published twice monthly on Gather.com.

Technorati: Food | recipe | paisano | deviled eggs | stuffed tomatoes | appetizers | hors d'ouevres | tapas | meze

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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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Paisano: Strawberry Shortcake

Paisano: Strawberry Shortcake



There was a large patch of gravel in front of the rickety, boarded-up roadside stand, a plywood structure smaller than my closet that it seemed would fall apart if you looked at it closely. I drove by it each day going to and from work when I lived in California and never gave it much thought – just part of the landscape. Then spring arrived and one day I noticed the stand was open. There was no sign indicating what they had, but there was someone in the shadows of the hut, so I pulled in to see what they had.

Inside there was an old oriental man somewhere between 40 and 104 years old and a woman somewhere between 18 and 40. In front of them were trays of strawberries. Small berries, the size of the end of my thumb, perfectly ruby red and ripe. And now that I could look, I noticed that the field behind the stand – perhaps two acres in size – was filled with strawberry plants. I bought a container and, back in the car and headed home, ate a berry, then another, then a third. They were the sweetest, most intense strawberries I'd ever had in my life. Unbelievably good. I had plain strawberries for dinner than night.

They were the sweetest, most intense strawberries I'd ever had in my life.

For a week they were open every other day and I bought a container every other day. For the next week they were open every day and I exercised great will-power and still only bought them every other day, for a final week they were again only open every other day. And then they were gone, the season over, the gravel lot deserted.

I mourned, but this is what seasonal eating is about. You get while the getting's good. And I got good.

A year later the Paisano dropped by while the stand was operating and I had the pleasure of introducing him to these glorious gems. He was suitably impressed – and impressing him isn’t easy to do. I bought two quarts and told him I was going to make him strawberry shortcake. He was horrified.

He asked me how, as someone who loved food, who understood respecting the food, as a person he had taken under his wing and taught to eat (conveniently forgetting the 40-odd years I'd been eating before meeting him) I could make that… and he lapsed into Hungarian or Romanian or whatever language it is he uses when he's cursing. (He won't tell me and I can't figure it out beyond it being Central European.)

Anyway, I finally got him calmed down and determined his experience with strawberry shortcake had involved commercial angel food cake and that nasty gloppy strawberry jelly the grocery stores sell. I told him this wasn't what I was making. I told him I was making strawberry shortcake like my momma made – but even better.

We got back to my place and capped then halved the berries. I added just enough sugar to bring out the juices, and a healthy dollop of Fra Angelica. Strawberries pair beautifully with nut flavors and the Fra Angelica (as well as Amaretto) highlights them delightfully. While I was prepping the berries, I put Paisano to work skinning a handful of hazelnuts.

We let the berries macerate for about three hours.

When I was growing up my mother made strawberry shortcake using the shortcake recipe on the back of the Bisquik box. I confess I still do that myself sometimes, but for this occasion I wanted to convince the Paisano that this was a truly worthy dish. So I used a scone recipe and, after grinding the hazelnuts into flour substituted them for part of the flour. So now I had hazelnuts in the berries and the shortcake.

I placed a warm biscuit on each plate, added berries, and then unsweetened whipped cream. Paisano, took a bite. Chewed it slowly. Then another bite. He raised his glass of wine to me and said, "Bella." This is the word he uses to say something is as beautiful as a woman, it's a special complement.

Strawberry Shortcake

Strawberries:
2 quarts strawberries – capped and halved or quartered, depending on size
2 - 4 tbsp sugar – depending on berries sweetness
3 tbsp Fra Angelica
Shortcake:
1 3/4 c all purpose flour
1/4 cup hazelnut flour
1/4 c sugar
1 tbsp baking powder
3/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3 tbsp butter – melted
1 c buttermilk

Prep the strawberries at least three hours in advance and as long as six hours before eating. Taste a couple of berries to get an idea of how sweet they are, then add the Fra Angelica and as much sugar as seems necessary. (Note: You do want to add some sugar because it draws the juices out of the berries.) Cover with plastic, and allow to macerate on the counter-top (refrigerating them will slow down the maceration and dull the flavor).

When ready to eat, heat oven to 450F.

To make the shortcake, place the flour, hazelnut flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a bowl and mix thoroughly. Add the buttermilk and butter and stir in. You’ll end up with a sticky dough. Flour your hands and turn dough out onto a well-floured surface. Using your hands gently pat out into 6 by 9 inch rectangle. Using a 3 inch biscuit cutter, cut out as many rounds as you can (you should end up with six). Place rounds on an ungreased cookie sheet, shape remaining dough into a round and add it to the sheet.

Bake until well-browned on top (if you wish, you can melt some additional butter and brush the tops) – 12 - 15 minutes. Cut hot cakes in half and set on plates. Drizzle with strawberry juices then distribute strawberries and top with whipped cream. Eat immediately.

And the Paisano? He was delighted. In fact he actually made me write down the scone recipe.

Technorati: Food | recipe | Paisano | desserts | strawberries | shortcake | gather

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