Rosted Salsify and Jerusalem Artichoke Soup

This is a soup I invented a couple of weeks ago. I tried it out at a friend's soup fest, and it worked, so it has earned a place on my Christmas menu.

Salsify might be hard to find, but it is a vegetable well worth knowing. When it is peeled and parboiled in acidulated water (in a pot you don't care about since it leaves a gluey stuff that is hard to remove), it can be sliced and sauteed in butter with some garlic. It has a subtle, oyster-like flavor. For this soup I roasted it, peel on, and scraped the pulp into the soup pot.

As for proportions, use your own judgement. I did not measure the amount of stock, nor did I count the number or weight of the Jerusalem artichokes, although I know I started with a kilo of salsify (actually black salsify, which is all I can get) and roughly the same amount of Jerusalem artichokes. I probably used about two quarts of chicken stock.

Roast the salsify on parchment on a baking sheet at around 375 for about 30 minutes, or until they are soft. Meanwhile peel your Jerusalem artichokes and throw them in the pot of stock. Add a peeled potato (or two or three if they are small). Scrape the insides of the salsify into the pot. Simmer for 40 minutes, or until the potatoes are soft. Puree and return to the pot. Add a splash of white wine vinegar, and salt and fresh cracked pepper to taste. Add about half a cup of heavy cream. A cup will do if you want it richer. Adjust for acidity and salt.

Now, you can serve it as is, although you might find the color kind of greenish drab. I topped each bowl with a slice of parboiled heart of cardoni, and for Christmas I will drizzle each bowl with a red bell pepper coulis (slightly char peppers. Seed and throw in blender with some olive oil and salt. Strain) and thyme oil (thyme and EVOO in a blender). Bring up to heat and serve with rounds of sweet baguette that have been brushed with EVOO and toasted.

Stuffed squash

Earlier this summer someone gave us a zucchini that resembled one of the Body Snatchers pods. I cut a third of it off and shredded it. After making a double batch of zucchini bread, as well as still having a generous pint of shredded zucchini, I figured I had better come up with something for the remaining two thirds of the monster.

So, I browned some ground beef, smoked some eggplant, chopped the eggplant finely, made a big trough in the zucchini, chopping the removed bits, sauteing the eggplant and zucchini with a diced onion, seasoned the whole thing with spices, put it in the zucchini and baked it. It was good, but needed a little refinement.

The other day we were once again the recipients of free squash. I assumed that it was of the summer squash family. It wasn't. I had to scoop out stringy stuff with seeds, and spent quite a bit of time thinning the walls. Fantastic squash, by the way. It worked better than the zucchini.

I did the same basic treatment (I had smoked a couple of eggplants the other day, so they were ready to go).

First, I oiled the sqaushes with EVOO and started their baking in a 400 degree oven.

I chopped up the squash that had been removed from the walls.

I browned some ground beef (two pounds was more than enough for two squashes) and transfered (without draining, you Puritanical perverts. Sheesh. Down the drain with the best parts?!? Not on your life) the meat to a work bowl. Then the squash got the treatment in olive oil (EVOO, natch), with late additions of garlic and the chopped eggplant.

Into the bowl. Then a diced onion: translucent. Bowl gets dumped back into skillet.

Then the seasonings:

Big pinch of dried oregano
Pinch of dried mint
Lots of cinnamon
Lots of cumin
Half a teaspoon of sweet pimenton
Generous pinch of lavender blossoms
Sprinkle of turmeric
Dash of allspice
Pinch of fennel seeds
A dash of the secret ingredient (I will give you a hint: it contains anchovies and tamarind and comes from England)
Salt and freshly cracked black pepper

When it all tasted right, the stuffing went into the squash shells and the whole thing went into the oven.

We ate it with a green salad with organic, heirloom, vine-ripened (what did you expect? Oh, I decided to save ten cents and go buy factory farmed wretch bombs at the Unsafeway? Give me a break) tomatoes, toasted pine nuts and pecorino romano shavings. I served a Rhonesque California table wine from Soledad called Red Flyer (one of the Trader Joe's staples).

The Perfect BLT

I have been eating BLT's recently. Not just any BLT's, but the perfect BLT's. Actually there are some variants, but the three things that must be in order are:

1. Good bread. The old stand-by, sliced sour, is OK, but I am finding that Trader Joe's Shepherd's Bread OR slices of a brioche loaf are even better. The bread should be toasted lightly. Mayonaisse (it must be Best Foods/Hellman's or homemade (better)) ONLY on the side with the lettuce. What is it with these relativists who think that condiments can go on either side of a sandwich? It's just disgusting. Here are some simple rules:

A. Condiments which may go on the meat side are mustard and ketchup and their derivatives. Meat side condiments should not go on the lettuce/tomato side. Lettuce should not have mustard on it. Pickle relish is just yucky and should be avoided altogether.

B. Condiments which must go only on the lettuce/tomato side are mayonaisse, aioli, and other members of the cold emulsion family. Putting mayo on the meat side of a hot burger is beyond disgusting. Chutneys are meat-side condiments.

C. Pickle slices may go on the meat side, although they are not bound by law to. So-called bread and butter pickles are only fit for a narrow range of sandwiches, and never, I mean, never on a burger. Raw onions also have about as much a place on a burger as ordination does on a woman. Yuck. Hideous. Grotesque.

D. Cheese is the proper ambassador between the meat and the lettuce-tomato side of the sandwich. In the absence of cheese, Romaine lettuce will do, so long as the layer of meat is adequate to insulate lettuce leaf from mustard. In a hot sandwich, the cheese should be melted with the meat.

E. Onion Rolls are an abomination, as are any bread products featuring chips of burnt garlic.

F. Use a dedicated knife for each condiment. Those who would take a knife that has been in mayo and dip it in the mustard are perverts.

Oh yeah, this was a recipe about the perfect BLT...

2. Good bacon. Amazingly hard to find. Try an old-fashioned butcher. I have been eating great bacon from Taylor's Market in Sacramento, but I also advocate the Little City Butcher in San Francisco, as well as the Trader Joe's uncured applewood smoked bacon. I am suspending my endorsement of the Niman Ranch uncured bacon until they bring back the old formulation (and, lucky them, I live within walking distance of their headquarters. I bet every business wishes that its most annoying customer lived that close. "So, Bill, still $%#$ing with the bacon formulation? Let me know when you go back to doing it right!"). Fry it gently to the point between crisp and limp (the elusive al dente of bacon).

3. Tomato. Organic, flavorful variety, vine ripened. Never refrigerated. Why bother with imported tomatoes? Might as well eat wet styrofoam.

4. Lettuce. Melanie insists on iceberg, and I can see it. Crisp, cool, juicy, offering a good textural contrast to the other ingredients. The other day I used a really good mesclun: radicchio, curly endive, dandelion, mache, etc. It was fine, but all those subtle flavors were a little lost. So I went to straight chicories: endive and radicchio. WOW! Today I went with heart of romaine. I think that is the perfect balance between texture and flavor. Amazing results.

5. Cut the sandwich in half. Part of the joy is the look of the layers at the cut.

6. Drink beer with sandwich and leave out the chips. They get in the way.

Suggested summer menu (with recipes!)

1. Bread and tomato salad. First make croutons by heating up some extra virgin olive oil in a pan. Gently fry a peeled clove of garlic and add your cubes of day old French or Italian bread (my favorite are rustic baguettes) and a generous pinch of dried thyme. When the bread is toasted, transfer to a bowl, sprinkle with sea salt and freshly cracked pepper. In another bowl add diced tomatoes. IF your tomatoes are not of the highest quality (heirloom, organic, fully ripe, locally grown, in season), then don't bother with this recipe. Your croutons will be better used in a Caesar salad. Add an equal quantity of croutons to the tomatoes, a splash of high quality balsamic vinegar, and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. Garnish with ribbons of basil or fresh thyme leaves. Serve right away or let the juice of the tomatoes soak into the bread cubes for some time.

2. Pasta al pesto. Toast a handful of pine nuts. Pound them to a paste in a mortar and pestle. Add three medium cloves of garlic and a pinch of salt and pound together. Gradually add in basil leaves, which may be coarsely chopped first to make them fit easier. After you have pounded the first handful, add the juice of half a lemon and a generous splash of extra virgin olive oil. Keep pounding. Add another handful of basil. Keep pounding. At about the third or fourth handful of basil you should add the juice of the other half of the lemon and a little more oil. Keep pounding.

Pound.

Pound. Add basil.

Pound.

Think that it will never be a paste, that there is too much basil for the size of the mortar and pestle, think that you should have just settled for doing it in the blender, think that perhaps it would have been better to go out and just buy some pesto. Pound. Add. Pound. When the pesto is pounded to your satisfaction (I allow some leafiness to remain, although some folks insist on an almost aioli-like consistancy), taste and adjust for salt, remembering that the cheese has yet to go in it.

Now, if you are making the pesto for later, simply cover it with plastic wrap and stick it in the ice box. If you are using it today, grate some reggiano parmiggiana (come on, you just pounded pesto by hand - why louse it up with cheap cheese?) into it and pound some more. Taste and adjust.

Cook up a pound or two of pasta (I tend to like less sauce than most, so I figure that a bunch of basil yields pesto for two pounds of pasta, although most Americans will probably want the ratio of one to one) in salted water (don't add oil to the cooking water - that's barabaric) to al dente. Drain (but never rinse! More barbarism) and TOSS in a bowl with the pesto, until it is evenly covered. If you stir the pasta, rather than toss the pasta, give yourself a sharp slap to the back of the head.

3. Grilled Italian sausages. Self explanatory. Grill. Squeeze lemon juice on them. Eat. Yum.

Serve this menu with a light red wine, or even a good dry rose (especially if eating outdoors).

Cherries and Pork

I was asked for a Rainier cherry recipe. First, I will say that I prefer the more intense cherry flavor of bings, but Rainier have a pleasant sweetness that can be useful in pork cookery.

First, you will need to pit a bunch of cherries. It is tedious, and there are gadgets that make it go better, or you can use household indentured servants (children) to do the task, provided they are old enough to use a knife properly.

Rub a pork loin with salt and pepper.

Then, brown your pork loin in butter. Transfer to a plate.

Add a finely chopped onion, a couple of peeled cloves of garlic, and fry gently in the fat.

Add the cherries and a pinch of carraway seeds and fry for a minute.

Return the pork to the pan, add a splash of white dry vermouth, cover and cook over low heat until the pork is done to your liking.

Let the pork rest 10 minutes before slicing. Meanwhile, reduce the cooking liquid, remove the garlic, finish with port and softened butter.

Slice the pork, and cover with the sauce. If you want to be fancy, you can puree and strain the sauce before the butter enrichment, but I like the chunks of fruit and cooked onion in mine.

Serve with good bread, a good pinot noir, and a green salad.

Nocino Alert!

We had a friend over for dinner, and in the rush to get everything ready, I forgot to remind you that the Feast of the Birth of St. John the Baptist is traditionally the day to pick walnuts to make nocino. You pick them green, before the shells are fully developed. You can scan my site to find the recipe, but please remember to use only the zest of the orange. A little pith will bitter the batch! A reader found out from experience (on a particularly large batch, too). Only the orange part. None of the white part. Pick 21 walnuts per batch. Next Easter you will have a great digestivo!

If you did not do it today, you probably have about two weeks before the shells are too developed. Last weekend I was looking at a tree in Amador County, and it was definitely ready for nocino making.

Savory Goat Cheesecake with Smoked Salmon and Balsamic Onions

Recipe time. I know that I have neglected with the recipes part for some time, but I haven't really been too excited by any new recipes for awhile (at least nothing that is worth writing out - one thing we have been doing is making lemonade with orange blossom honey instead of sugar, and that is quite pleasant, but a recipe for it? Nah. Too much depends on the lemons. I could say use X cups of honey for Y cups of lemon juice, and it will turn out that your lemons are more acidic, so just use your taste).

Anyway, this one isn't Cheddar-on-Trout, which is supposed to be lovely this time of year, certainly worth a detour from the Cotswolds, but it does break the prohibition on combining fish with cheese.

First, the crust:

Peel about four russet potatoes. You will only use three, but you will nibble on about a potato worth of yummy fried potato bits, so allow for it. Shred the potatoes with the shredding disc of your food processor.

In a large bowl mix with an egg or two, salt and pepper.

Heat up at least a half inch of oil (I used a mix of canola and EVOO) to frying hot. Plop (gently - avoid burns) a mound of potato into the oil and spread it out. As it fries, stir it so that it does not become a giant potato pancake. When the bits of potato are deep golden brown, remove them with a slotted spoon and put them on a plate spread with paper towls. Resist the tempation to snack on too many of them, but it would be futile to tell you to completely avoid them.

Now, this is important: do not allow any of the little bits to burn. It is better to toss out the oil and all the little particles every third batch (I was careful and extended it to four or five, but it is better to be careful) than to allow the oil to darken and for little bits of charcoal to make it into your crust.

When the bits are cooled spread a generous layer of them on the bottom of your springform pan.

Preheat oven to 250 degrees.

Balsamic Onions

Thinly slice an onion. I don't think it matters all that much what kind, they will be different but they should all work. If you can slice paper thin and have a sharp knife, go ahead and do it by hand, as there is something fun about holding up a super thin slice of onion and thinking, hah! I did that! Otherwise use a mandoline or a food processor.

Put the onions in a skillet with a half cup of water, a pinch of salt, a generous splash of balsamic vinegar, and a teaspoon of sugar. Bring to a boil, cover tightly and hold over low heat for ten minutes.

At the end of ten minutes, remove the cover, add a Tablespoon of sugar (more if you are using standard yellow onions), another splash of balsamico, and raise the heat to high. Cook out the water and remove the onions to a bowl as soon as the sugar starts to brown.

The filling: Beat 48 ounces of chevre (Californian or Canadian work fine), 8 oz of sour cream, a generous splash of heavy whipping cream, and 6 Tablespoons corn starch together. Add four eggs and beat in.

Assemble. Above your crust, spread a generous inch of filling. Layer the onions. Spread some more filling. Layer with slices of smoked salmon (preferably wild). Cover with filling. Place in 250 degree oven for an hour (if you assembled in advance and put it in the icebox, add half an hour for a cold cheescake). Then turn the oven off, without opening the door. Keep it in the oven for another hour. Remove. Cool on a rack for two hours. Use a wet, thin-bladed knife to loosen the edges, and carefully remove the spring-form pan. Chill for three hours.

Serve with a Robert Mondavi sauvignon blanc or a Bonny Doon Vineyards Malvasia Bianca and a lightly dressed salad.

Spring Vegetable Soup

Carefully clean and trim a pound of leeks. Slice them very thinly, using the tender green parts as well as the white parts. Throw them in the cauldron.

Add a pound of washed and quartered new potatoes (I used Yukon golds, but reds will do fine).

Add two or three large fennel bulbs, trimmed and cut into chunks.

Throw in a bunch of fresh asparagus, cut into one inch segments.

Cover with chicken stock and water and drizzle extra virgin olive oil over it.

Bring to a boil and simmer for 40 minutes.

When the potatoes are tender to the fork, puree in small batches in the blender and press through a medium chinois. Enrich with cream, salt and pepper to taste, and a dash (to taste) of white wine vinegar. Return to heat and gently bring back to serving temperature.

Serve with a drizzling of herb infused extra virgin olive oil (finely mince parsley, rue, thyme, savory and a couple of leaves of lovage and steep overnight in a good finishing grade extra virgin olive oil) and garlic rubbed thyme toasts (cut thin rounds of sweet baguette, brush with goose fat or olive oil and toast. Rub with a cut piece of garlic and sprinkle fresh thyme on them. Float them in the soup).

Limoncino or Limoncello...

First, I am not sure if there is a difference between "limoncello" and "limoncino." I use them interchangeably to mean a sweet digestivo made from a clear alcohol base, lemon zest and simple syrup.

The first consideration is the type of lemons. My favorite to use are the Meyer lemons, which grow in abundance on backyard trees in the Bay Area. The Meyer is a cross between a lemon and a mandarin (or other sort of orange thing) and is sweeter and more nuanced than the bright Eureka or Lisbon lemons. However, any lemon will do, and as you get good at this, you might start blending them (I imagine that 75% Meyer and 25% Lisbon would be interesting, a little punchier than the straight Meyer, but with the orange notes that make Meyer so delicious).

However, Meyers do not ship well, so if you don't grow them or know someone who does, you will probably not be able to buy them (unless you live in an area where you have no need of buying them, because they are free all over).

So, pick out five lemons (preferably organic, especially since there is really no reason to apply pesticide to lemon trees, and you want nothing but the lemon oil to be leached into the alcohol). Wash them gently and peel them with a vegetable peeler. Use a sharp knife to remove every little bit of pith, which will make your limoncello bitter). Put the zest in a clean (and I mean CLEAN) mason jar.

Add your alcohol (pure grain alcohol, grappa or vodka: 1 7/8 cups pure grain, 2 of grappa, 2 1/8 of vodka). Seal the jar, and put it in the sun for a couple of weeks.

Make a simple syrup of 2 1/2 cups sugar to 2 cups of water with a pinch of cream of tartar or a dash of corn syrup (optional, but it inhibits problems later) by bringing to a boil, then simmering for ten minutes. Allow the syrup to cool (I have had mason jars break when I added insufficiently cooled syrup to cold extractives).

Filter the lemon extract through cheesecloth layers, return to the jar and add the syrup. Shake it vigorously, and let it sit for another two to three weeks (or months, even better). Bottle it (if you need your mason jar, or have made quadruple batches, as I do), and keep a bottle in the freezer (sometimes, depending on what alcohol you used and the temperature of your freezer, you might have to spike it with some grappa to keep it from freezing).

Serve small glasses of chilled limoncello after meals or drizzle it over berry sorbet or over poundcakes. You can make girly drinks with it, too, but please don't tell me about it!

Strawberry Margaritas

I can't believe I am doing this.

Pink food. You must have caught me in an exceptionally good mood.

Start with a strawberry limeade (the other night Melanie, who was the real brains behind this recipe, used Trader Joe's strawberry lemonade): puree strawberries with lime juice and simple syrup (or sugar) to taste.

3 (or 4 or more, to taste) parts strawberry limeade
2 parts 100% blue agave tequila (silver is best for margaritas, but I usually have reposado around, because I prefer that for straight tequila drinking, so we used that. DO NOT use bad tequila (Cuervo Gold and the like), only real 100% blue agave.
1 part orange liqueur. Sometimes I use triple sec, recently we have been using Patron Citronage. Once I was out of all else so I had to use Grand Marnier. It was interesting, but not so interesting as to merit the expense of Grand Marnier, which is best shown off in the sauce for my chocolate souffle)

Shake over ice and serve up in chilled glasses garnished with a sliced fresh strawberry, a slice of lime and salted rims.

If you all want recipes for Cosmopolitans, though, you will have to bark up a different tree.

Anyway, I have spent too much time online just doing this recipe. I have another recipe request in the combox (note to Felicia: I am not the family baker, so I will have to consult with Melanie and/or my cookbook library), but there is no way I can get to it until I get back Sunday night (and the Lepanto League meeting might make much writing on here pretty light until Monday).

Also, for pink food, the topping of tiramisu di tonno (tuna tiramisu) is pink. Search the archives for that recipe. It might sound weird, but it is the best recipe I have ever created. I will try to think of more as I lounge by the pool and watch baseball in the Arizona sun, I mean, work hard this weekend. As in hardy har har!

So, have a good weekend everybody! Go A's!

Pink Recipes

I have had some folks find this blog looking for "pink recipes."

Now, there are several ways to take this:

1. Recipes that feature the color pink, for instance, grapefruit granita.

2. (really 1a.) Recipes for medium rare meat.

3. Recipes that are slightly left leaning, but not so left leaning as to be called "red recipes." An example would be Healthy Choice premade meals.

4. Recipes that are improper for men: for instance, a Cosmopolitan.

Now, if you are looking for number one or two, I am happy to help. Number three is not really my thing, and for number 4, you have to go somewhere else completely.

Why Women Can't Cook and How Stinging Nettles Can Help That

I should probably subtitle this "Why Men Can't Cook Either," because the flip side of saying that (most) women can't cook is NOT that (most) men can. The sad fact is that most people can't cook to save their lives.

Now, I know some optimistic sorts who say, "well, if they can heat up a hotdog, why, they are cooking!"

Nope.

Cooking, to mean anything, must involve the transformation of raw ingredients into satisfactory edibles.

Cooking prowess can be divided into stages:

1. Following exact directions with a basic command of culinary technique.

2. Modifying existing recipes based on experience with a variety of ingredients.

3. Creating brand new recipes.

4. Improvising brand new recipes.

5. Total culinary virtuosity: improvising brand new recipes with improbable ingredients (if you have read Tony Bourdain, foie gras with a Starburst candy reduction should immediately come to mind).

Now, the reason that most people cannot cook is that they have no interest in it. Fair enough. I have little interest in matters of cloth. It was a milestone for me to be able to sew on a button. Therefore I don't do it. I don't have to do it. Melanie is much more skilled at this stuff, and if the project baffles her, her Grandma Helen can fix just about anything. And, as those who know me can testify, I am not above wearing clothing that should have been given burial at sea years ago.

So, I have never really had a need to learn to wield needle and thread, and, until I do, I will never get to step one.

However, all men must eat, and few men can afford (or should want to) eat at restaurants three times a day. Women often get the job of cooking out of default, and they do the best they can, which is about as good as a sewing project of mine is.

Men will simply not bother, figuring that if the Chinese can live off of Chinese food, why, so can they. And at $1.50 for a good tub of chow mein, who can blame them? But women will try to do it, even if they are not good at it.

Which brings us to the problem of armies of bad cooks in dresses.

But you press on, you read recipes, you learn to fold and dice and so on, and you get about seven dishes down, and, with one day a week eating out and one day a week getting someone else to make one meal, the family can eat reasonably well.

This is a recipe for getting more and more bored with cooking, and starting to resent the whole thing (unless you can cultivate a proper sense of duty, which can overcome a lot of boredom).

However, in cooking, duty is second best. The best is to learn to love the adventure of combining ingredients, to get to step four (let's face it, few will ever become virtuosi, and how often do you find yourself with only foie gras and Starburst Fruit Chews anyway?).

I have been thinking about how to instill the love of raw ingredients in people who are not by nature foodies, but would like to see cooking as something other than a chore. My first inclination is to suggest shopping at farmers' markets, but there is a problem with that. First, it does not take long to run into the initiated elite at the farmers' markets, especially in areas like the Bay Area, and that is intimidating. You don't want to cheerfully explain a modest discovery you have made to a co-patron only to find that you have been instructing the head buyer for Chez Panisse how to make a turnip puree.

It is not that the initiated elite foodie will be necessarily rude, but often foodies are on a mission and may be short (I generally try to be as helpful as possible when encountering the weekly, "what is that and what are you going to do with it?" which is a question that can be a lot of fun to answer, unless I see said Chez Panisse buyer moving towards a favorite vendor, knowing full well that we will be after the same ingredient).

Also, farmers' markets can attract hippies, and hippies smell of patchouli, which is definitely off-putting.

So, my advice to those wanting to move to the next level of cooking (and to have some fun at it, too) is to forage. First, you get to learn some botany, which is a blast. Second, nothing is quite as satisfying as miners' lettuce salad that you picked yourself in the woods. Third, it is free. And I like free.

So, with that in mind, and having been in the woods recently, let me introduce the theme for the week: stinging nettles.

Stinging nettles, as their name implies, sting on contact. They have little micro-thorns (that are more like hairs) that are armed with formic acid. The micro-thorn gets under the skin and delivers a nasty, albeit short-lived sting. The good thing is that the sting goes away when the nettles are plunged into boiling water. Just a minute and the sting is gone.

So, don some gloves, bring a bag and some clippers and head to the woods!

Plunge those babies in boiling water and start to get a feel for their taste, their texture, their smell.

Then, make a simple risotto:

1. Heat 2 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil with 2 Tbls butter and 2 Tbls goose fat (or just do 3 and 3 with the butter and olive oil).

2. Gently fry 3 oz of pancetta and two peeled garlic cloves.

3. Fry a finely diced onion (or large shallot) for a minute or two.

4. Add a finely diced carrot and a finely diced stalk of celery. Fry gently for a couple of minutes.

5. Add two cups of arborio rice and stir until the grains look pearlized.

6. Add a cup of dry white vermouth and cook down until the moisture is out.

7. Add ladlesful of hot broth, keeping the level of the liquid above the rice, until the rice is al dente.

8. Just before the rice is done, add the nettles. Warm them through.

9. Finish with 2 or 3 more tablespoons of butter, salt, pepper, and pecorino romano cheese.

10. Serve with fresh shavings of pecorino romano and a light young red wine.

Next up: nettle frittata!

Orange roughy in green curry

Cut the orange roughy into serving size pieces (I shoot for two or three bites per piece). Dredge them in flour, mixed with salt and pepper.

Fry the pieces in batches in peanut oil in your wok. Remove the pieces and drain on paper towels. When the last batch is done, discard the oil and wipe the wok.

In a little more peanut oil, stir fry sliced onions, chopped garlic and crushed lengths of lemon grass. Add the creamy top of a can of coconut milk and cook for another minute. Then add a spoonful or two of green curry paste (if you buy the stuff from Thailand, watch out as it can be super spicy) and cook for a minute more. Add the rest of the coconut milk, a handful of thinly sliced rounds of lemon grass, and a handful of finely chopped cilantro. When the sauce is simmering, add the fish and simmer together briefly.

Serve over fragrant (jasmine or basmati) rice with ice cold beer or Thai iced tea (the only iced tea I really like).

Serve fried bananas or fresh mango slices over coconut rice pudding for dessert.

Shrimp and Shitake in Black Bean Sauce

In a hot wok, heat up some peanut or canola oil.

Stir fry a sliced onion.
Add chopped garlic and a stalk of lemon grass, cut into two inch segments and smashed with the edge of your knife.
Add sliced shiitake caps (and the finely chopped stems).
When they are done, transfer to a bowl.
Add more oil.
Stir fry peeled shrimp (I reserve the shells to make a quick shrimp stock for seafood risotto).
Add the vegetables, a splash of dry sherry, and a big dollop of black bean sauce.
Simmer briefly and finish with finely chopped cilantro.
Serve with short grain (you want it to be sticky) rice and cold beer.

Sweetbreads with Chestnuts and Port Wine sauce

Last night I was up until 3:45am. I was up a few short hours later. I have not taken a nap. I am a bit worried about my general health, though, as there might be some blood in my espresso-stream. It is 12:23 and I am still not tired, and I have had a busy day.

Normally I cannot use espresso as a substitute for sleep. It just doesn't work. Partly because caffeine does not seem to keep me up at all, unless I am well-rested, in which case I don't really need it anyway. I generally have my last two shots of espresso right before bed. What gives tonight?

Oh well, I might as well post a recipe, since my latest art posts have become way too long and rambling, and will require substantial editing to turn them into something of interest to the general public.

Speaking of General Public, are any of my readers fond of them, too? I mean, they, like Fun Boy Three and several others, were not nearly as good as their former Two Tone band, but they knew how to craft a good pop tune.

But I digress.

I am going to talk about glands.

Sweetbreads, for those of you who do not know them, have nothing to do with Pao Dolce, the wonderful fluffy stuff that my local linguica factory bakes on Friday. They are the Thymus glands of calves. When properly prepared, they are delicious.

For this recipe, you start by trimming and soaking them according to Julia Child's recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Then you parboil them in acidulated water (again, following the master recipe). When they are ready, you cut them into bite sized pieces and saute them in butter. Add cooked chestnuts (canned are fine), deglaze with port, reduce and add creme fraiche. Finish with a dash of port, and salt and white pepper to taste.

Now, one time my variety meats supplier slipped in brains with the sweetbreads (they were frozen and carelessly marked). Technically you can do the same thing for brains as you can for sweetbreads, except brains have too soft a texture, if you ask me.

So, there you have it: a variety meat that I will pass on.

Next up: tripe, glorious tripe!

Penne with Duck Confit Sauce

OK, there is no better way to get Variety Meats Week off to a roaring start than by posting a non-variety meats recipe! Yippeee!

I made duck confit for the dinner party the other night. I highly recommend doing this, because it takes a minimum of work and yields a ready-to-eat marvel that will keep for several weeks. Basically you buy duck legs (with the thighs attached), and you salt them with herbs and spices overnight, then you slowly cook them in rendered duck or goose fat or home-rendered lard (DO NOT use the horrid hydrogenated stuff that is shelf-stable). What happens is that the fat replaces the water in the salted meat, and you can keep the confit, packed in the duck fat, for three weeks. To serve you crisp up the legs on a hot skillet.

We had two legs of confit left, not quite enough for a meal for the three of us, but enough to be used as a base for pasta sauce.

First, trim the meat from the bones and chop into bite sized pieces. Then, fry them in a skillet (no need to add fat, because even if you are meticulous about scraping the fat off the legs, there will be plenty) with a clove of crushed garlic. Deglaze with dry white vermouth and cook down. Add creme fraiche and a crumbled bay leaf and let simmer. Finish with reggiano parmiggiana and freshly cracked pepper. Toss your almost ready pasta in the sauce and finish cooking the pasta in the sauce over moderate flame.

Here is what I didn't do, but would have made the dish much better (it was good, but had room for improvement):

Sliced arugula into thin strips and tossed that in the pasta, along with some chopped parsley.

Next time!

Mushrooms!

Spring has certainly sprung here in the Bay Area. It might be a false alarm, but I hope not. If it really is upon us, then watch this spot for green garlic, asparagus, and so forth. If the groundhog lets us down, then, well, more root vegetables and citrus fruit.

The other day we had dinner with a couple of other families, and one of them made some excellent dishes, including these little quesadillas with mushrooms.

I wanted to try to make them, but wanted to first strike out on my own before I broke down and asked for the recipe. Mine came out very good, but they were different (I do need to work on my tortillas, though):

Saute some chopped brown mushrooms in goose fat with some crushed garlic, a generous pinch of Mexican oregano, a dash of ground cumin, and half a chopped chipotle. Deglaze with dry sherry, cook off excess moisture, and finish with creme fraiche.

Heat up your tortilla and put a spoonful of the mushroom mixture on it. Top with melting cheese and cover with another tortilla (our friend folded her tortillas over, but mine were too thick and crumbly - like I said, I need to work on these). Flip midway. When the cheese is melty, serve with homemade guacamole and other salsas.

Thanks, Secret Agent Man

I found an email telling me that Secret Agent Man had mentioned my blog. I was not prepared for this, so all I can say is "thanks!" Now I have to live up to his description.

For those of you who are visiting for the first time, Welcome. I should warn you that you will probably be disappointed, because if you come for food, the next thing you know I will be ranting about Abstract Expressionism (fer, by the way) or harpsichords (doubly fer) or disco (agin. agin. agin.), and you will wonder, "but he was supposed to talk about food!"

Just think of the poor folks who come here hoping to learn about the art scene in the Bay Area, only to find that I rarely make it to first thursdays and all that.

On this blog, I does what I likes and I likes what I do, but hopefully not in Mr. Van Dyke's wretched Cockney accent.

The best way to steer me to whatever topic you are interested in is to prod me with an email or a comment. I can't guarantee anything, but it is the best way. Then again, beware what you ask for. You might want to know what I think of Domenico Scarlatti and I might just tell you (so fer that I can't express it in words). A month later I might still be nattering on about it.

As I have mentioned in the past, long posts happen when I am pressed for time. When I am at the rough draft stage, I have Kerouacitis. I type fast and edit little. When I have time, I edit and re-edit and re-edit and so forth. I can't say that all the editing improves anything, but it's what I do. Right now I have a pressing newspaper deadline, so this little forray into blogdom will be long. Feel free to skip whole paragraphs (or grafs as newspapermen like to call them).

The funny thing about writing is that I used to really want to be a professional writer. When I was in high school I took over the Creative Writing and Fine Arts Club and installed myself as dictator. On a lark, I said that I would give up my power when Alfredo Stroessner was out of power. The SOB was tossed out in a coup about a month later. So I relinquished my post to one friend, took it back, give it to another friend, took it back, and then gave it up on graduation. But I really wanted to be a professional writer.

The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to be a professional writer. In fact, I began to think that there should not be professional writers, that writing should be something reserved for the leisure classes, etc. I particularly took a disdain to newspaper writing.

Now I write for newspapers.

Does it live up to my high school expectations? Well, yes and no. In many ways it is exciting. I get invited to all sorts of fun stuff, I see my bylines posted in the windows of restaurants (although not in the windows of restaurants that really should post my reviews, as a warning to potential victims, I mean, customers). I have become a better speller (which should tell you how bad I used to be).

What is it like to get checks in the mail for stuff I write? Well, it is better than not getting checks in the mail. And I am a bit of a whore: the bigger the check, the happier I am with the piece written, although I still keep up with the relatively low-paying newspaper work, because it is fun to have my writing turn up in that many households. A marketing research report might pay as much as a year of newspaper writing, but it ends up getting read by maybe a dozen people, and what fun is there in that?

What would be my ideal writing gig? Besides writing compulsory broadsides to be read over loudspeakers during compulsory morning calisthenics, or at Friday Afternoon Sessions in which folks are required to come to the local piazza and drink their Cinzano or Cynar while listening to my little sermons, it would probably be something like Herb Caen's column, but with more of a food focus, and an absolute banishment on calling any vodka-based concoction a martini (the last time I had a vodkatini was at Mr. Caen's memorial service. I did it in his nonor and have not forced myself to abandon my beloved gin since).

What would be the worst writing gig? Movie critic. If it were all about writing on 8 1/2, Wings of Desire or Singing in the Rain, fine, but to have to actually sit through and then write about the latest summer blockbuster would just be too much. I would rather cover school board meetings.

Of course in high school I wanted to make a living writing poetry. I was also a Marxist, so you have to understand that reality and I were on very casual terms at the time.

I rarely write poetry anymore, because it takes its energy from the same part of my brain that I use to paint, and that is the priority. Once in awhile I start a poem, but then the images take over and I end up painting the thing. The ideal poem does the same thing as a Diebenkorn Ocean Park painting, and, since I am a much better painter than poet, I cut to the chase.

So the poor blog gets the brunt of my ramblings. It is my little fiefdom, my Legoland (to use the words of a friend of mine who has a sentimental attachment to democracy and seems to think that he would end up in a re-education camp in the Keilholtz Dictatorship), the Keilholtz Star Times and Register Undemocrat.

Even though the aesthetic of the blog is influenced by the Fiesta Brava (many thanks to my fantastic webdesigner), what I have in mind is more like the Teletubbies or The Prisoner. When you read this, picture the baby in the sun with my grinning mug and the little bronze speakers that pop up from the flowers as my official mouthpieces. When you have read enough and should be getting ready for bed, it is my voice that says, "time for Tubby bye-bye!"

The irony is that I am the only one in the family who likes the Teletubbies. The family toddler finds them boring (or too close to home), so I have to watch them late at night, when everyone sane is in bed. So I watch and scheme and watch and design uniforms for my elite guardsmen and watch and write way too much in the blog...

Anyway, for those of you who are looking for food, let me offer this fast and yummy recipe:

Boached Fish

Boaching is a hybrid of poaching and baking. Basically it is poaching with less liquid, or humid baking with white wine.

You take filet of ling cod or other such fish. You salt and pepper it and coat it in Extra Virgin Olive Oil and pat it with chopped winter savory. In your pan you sprinkle diced shallot, then place your fish on it, sprinkle more shalllot, a crumbled bay leaf, thinly sliced garlic, and thin slices of lemon. Give it a light drizzling of dry white wine or dry white vermouth. Bring it to a simmer on the stove and transfer it to a preheated 350 degree oven. Cook until it is done. Serve with a salad and a chilled Mateus.

Cauliflower Puree

I forgot to post this last night.

Take as much cauliflower as you need. Wash it, trim it and divide it into small florets, in the usual manner. Steam the florets until tender. Transfer the steamed florets into the bowl of your food processor and moisten with cream and, extra virgin olive oil, add some reggiano parmeggiana and fresh cracked pepper and whirl away. If it looks dry, add more olive oil. When it is done, remove to your serving bowl and stir in a large clove of pressed garlic (for some reason garlic can take on a funny taste when subjected to the spinning blades of the food processor - I think it has to do with the heat and friction, but I am not quite sure and have not set up the proper experiment to decide what it is). Since the cream and stirring may have cooled the puree, go ahead and give it a blast in the microwave oven.

Even if you do not like cauliflower, you will probably like this, and it is super easy.

The Dry Manhatten

For those of you who do not like sweet cocktails, the dry Manhatten might be the perfect answer. There are some philistines who insist that a dry Manhatten simply has less sweet vermouth in it. They are wrong, and I can pull out a stack of bartenders' manuals from various ages and can prove it. A dry Manhatten is made with dry vermouth:

2 parts bourbon or rye
1 part extra dry vermouth
2 dashes bitters

Shake over ice and serve in chilled glasses. Garnish with an olive OR a twist. Unlike a sweet Manhatten, this one is satisfactory if served on the rocks (oh, I have had plenty of sweet Manhattens on the rocks, but that drink was meant to be served up).

Warning: be careful ordering this one at bars. Many young whippersnapper bartenders will botch this drink.

A sweet Manhatten or a dry Manhatten can be converted into a Rob Roy or a dry Rob Roy by substituting Scotch for the bourbon or rye. This is an abomination. If you are using a single malt you are assaulting and battering a fine whisky. If you are using some rotgut blend, well, why would you want that stuff soiling your bar anyway? I don't get it. Scotch was meant to be drunk with only a splash of spring water and perhaps a single ice cube.

Bourbon, on the other hand, with its inherent sweetness, lends itself much better to mixing.

Another thing that baffles me is the proliferation of pseudo martinis. Folks, if it has fruit juice or chocolate in it, call it something else. For that matter, if it has vodka in it, call it something else, like a vodkatini. A martini should be gin, a splash of water (for the stuff sold in America, which is too high in alcohol), a hint of vermouth (I am not one of these people who waves the gin in the direction of Turin and calls it a dash) and an olive or twist, depending on the gin. If you use cheap gin, add more vermouth. Even Seagrams can make a good martini, but you have to chill it to something approaching absolute zero and will probably be up to three to one for the vermouth.

A sweet martini, with a capful of sweet vermouth added to the gin (and even a dash of bitters), is an interesting change of pace, although once you go there you are approaching the Negroni territory, which is a different cocktail.

About as far as I will allow a drink to get from the martini is the Venetian martini, gin with Antica Formula and sweet vermouth, served with an orange twist.

A dirty martini is wrong. Just wrong. A dirty vodkatini, with plenty of vermouth, on the other hand, can be interesting, on occasion. The last vodkatini I had was at Herb Caen's memorial, but I only had one in his honor and switched to gin for the rest of the evening.

The most interesting variant on a martini that I have had was the mescalini, a drink with mescal (you know the stuff, with the worm at the bottom of the bottle) and lime juice. I liked it, but Melanie found it foul. I think you have to be the sort who likes Islay malts to enjoy this one. It had an almost peaty taste to it, like Laphroiag.

I better stop here, because the next logical step is to discuss pulque, and that is an essay in and of itself. Let me end by saying that I would like to make some pulque, and would appreciate any advice from those who have made it themselves.

Manhatten Recipe

Someone came by here, as often happens, looking for a Manhatten recipe. I could not believe that I do not have one posted, as I am quite proud of my Manhatten. The recipe was from my great uncle, who made a great Manhatten, even though he did not put bitters in his (I found out from another uncle who is also a bartender that bitters and whatnot were ommitted from many recipes in the 1950's when cocktails made a comeback and barkeeps had to save time. No excuse, I say). Bitters are important, and make it a greater Manhatten, although let's not call it that, because people might think we are talking about Staten Island, and we are not talking about Staten Island (which is really greater New Jersey)

2 parts bourbon (or better, rye)
1 part sweet red vermouth
2 dashes Angostura bitters
1 dollop of the juice from your cherries (the best are the Italian candied cherries, but you can use standard maraschino cherries, too)

Put all of the ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice and shake vigorously until chilled. Serve up in chilled martini glasses and garnish with a cherry (essential) and a slice of orange (optional, but very nice). Drink two before dinner (or one if you are a lightweight). If you drink three, don't come whining to me about the consequences. I warned you.