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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