From the Feb. 9, 2014 New York Times Magazine 

It’s been such a long time since my last appearance here that I don’t really know where to begin. Aside from the general rustiness—and associated writer’s block—that seems to have set in after an absence of so many months, there’s the challenge of condensing into a few readable paragraphs what has undoubtedly been one of the most momentous periods in Alfredo’s and my life. When I last logged on we were eagerly awaiting the arrival of our first child, so it will come as no surprise to learn that this emotion-packed period began with the birth of our daughter Carolina just after midnight on January 14th. Like our pregnancy, the delivery itself was smooth and drama free; our surrogate went into labor at about 8:30 pm on the night of the 13th—news that prompted a comedy of classic Daddy panic as we prepared to get out of the house and race to the hospital—and just four hours (and two big pushes later), Alfredo and I were gazing speechlessly into the beautiful face of the new center of our universe.

For me at least that speechlessness continues to this day—I still don’t have the words to fully answer when people ask what the delivery was like for me, or how it feels almost five months later to be a Dad. “Wonderful” and “amazing” are the easy answers to both questions, but it barely scratches the surface of an experience that is so layered and complex. For one thing there’s the miraculous quality of watching a new life emerge before your eyes, witnessing someone you have only imagined from grainy ultrasound images (a miracle all its’ own) suddenly appear before you—a head, then a shoulder, then a torso, until these various slime covered parts take on the unmistakable proportions of a tiny human, a tiny human that you helped to create. It’s an awe filled experience that’s hard to put into words without falling back on the various clichés we’ve all heard a thousand times before (and which I’m trying hard to avoid here). But my feelings around being a parent are no easier to sum up. Of course there’s the joy, and the delight, and the tidal wave of love that’s unlike anything else you’ve ever experienced, but there’s also anxiety, and fears (there are many), and the at times difficult realization that coming home from work and simply flopping down on the sofa is no longer an option, at least not if you hope to have any kind of relationship with your offspring.

I think we’re doing okay, though, figuring things out as we go along and asking lots of questions of the experienced nannies helping us through this process. Most importantly, Carolina seems to be healthy and happy. She’s very generous with her smiles (which take up the entirety of her face when something delights her, which is often) and she’s the perfect baby color—all pink and rosy. That’s actually a big deal for us and brings me to another reason why I’ve been away so long: Carolina’s health.

This presented itself as a major issue at about the eight-week mark, when our pediatrician became alarmed about Carolina’s jaundiced eyes and skin-tone. We’d noticed this too, of course, but being new parents and having been told in the first days of Carolina’s life that jaundice was normal for babies, we assumed the same was true here. I also knew that breast milk can cause the condition, and as our surrogate was pumping and shipping breast milk to us from the west coast, I figured that was probably the culprit here. Our pediatrician thought the same but just to be safe she decided to draw some blood (not a pleasant experience with an eight-week old baby) and run a few tests to confirm our theory. A few hours later she called with the lab results, which revealed that the condition was not caused by some outside factor like breast milk, but that it was the “direct” form of jaundice—in other words, there was a problem with Carolina’s liver.

How serious we didn’t yet know but our pediatrician wasn’t wasting time (itself cause for anxiety), so the next morning we raced to her office for more blood-work. This revealed still more alarming data, thus launching seven days of increasingly terrifying events: a sonogram, a liver biopsy, a multitude of scary phone calls, and finally a five-hour surgery. The problem—initially treated as a distant, worst-case scenario, then growing ever more likely until it became our terrifying, unavoidable reality—was something called biliary atresia, a rare, life-threatening condition that affects about 1 in 10,000 kids, most of them girls. In addition to jaundice we learned that white or putty colored poop is an indicator, both a result of the insufficiently formed biliary tree not allowing the body to eliminate bile. And adding to the stress was the fact that the one surgical option available to correct the problem—the Kasai Procedure—was only successful some of the time, that it worked most often when performed before the baby is 10 weeks old, that we wouldn’t know whether the liver was functioning as it should until three months after the surgery, and that even if successful Carolina would require constant monitoring throughout her life. So not only would we need to move quickly to beat the 10 week cutoff, we would need to prepare ourselves for living with our anxiety for the foreseeable future. Welcome to parenthood.

Needless to say the impact of all this was the emotional equivalent of a nuclear blast: crushing devastation, coupled with a primal impulse to just keep on going. We held it together when we had to—when we were with the baby or were meeting with her doctors—but succumbed to our emotions anytime we were alone, or whenever a friend or family member made it okay to let go, which was often. I can’t recall a time I cried as much or as powerfully as I did through this experience, the kind of racking, heaving emotion I’ve only seen in movies. Still, we willed ourselves to stay optimistic; this was challenging (why is it that in situations like these the mind is compulsively drawn to the worst-case scenario?) but it was something that felt critically important if we were all to get through this. And it helped that we had so many of our friends and family supporting us—cooking for us, holding our hands, offering hugs and comfort. When you are so afraid that every part of your body runs cold, the comfort that comes from simply having loved ones around is enormous, and incredibly sustaining. I don’t know how we would have gotten through this chapter without it.

We also did a lot of (for us) uncharacteristic things like going to church and speaking with a rabbi. I’ve quietly practiced Nichiren Buddhism for the past few years but raised the pitch in the days leading to the surgery, organizing prayer sessions at my apartment and putting out the word to various SGI organizers that there was a two-month old girl in need of prayers. And Alf did the same through his friends and family in Miami, calling on the Catholic community there (the “God squad,” as he calls them) to lend their support. Ultimately we had people around the globe calling on a higher power, in any number of religions, to help Carolina pull through.

So that was comforting too, as was the fact that we had a dream-team of surgeons and specialists at Columbia Presbyterian overseeing things. Between that and the fact that we already knew Carolina to be a strong baby with a powerful spirit, we felt reasonably confident, at least in our most rational moments, that she would pull through the surgery and be just fine. And so far that is exactly what’s happened. The surgery itself, which took place two months to the day after her birth, went off without a hitch, and about seven hours after tearfully handing her over to the surgical team, we were reunited with a smiling (if very groggy) Carolina in the recovery room. And her recovery, which would typically have kept her in the hospital for up to five days, went so well that she was sent home after three. Since then we have watched her grow stronger, fatter, and pinker. And while for many weeks it seemed that the whites of her eyes would never loose their greenish tinge that too has faded over time, to the point where you have to look very hard to discern anything other than purest white. Of course, these were just the visual clues—to be certain that the surgery had worked we would have to test her bilirubin, something we did six weeks after the surgery, and which revealed that her numbers had indeed dropped significantly. We weren’t yet where we needed to be (we test again in a week, and I confess that I am nervous), but the decline was at least a clear indication that the surgery had been successful.

And so life, blessedly, has returned to normal… more or less. I still scan Carolina’s face for any signs of jaundice and always feel the grip of anxiety whenever I enter the pediatrician’s office, but the fact that she’s so content and appears so healthy gives us both a lot of confidence. Which means that I can return to some of the things I pushed aside over the past few months—like this blog! Not surprisingly there hasn’t been a huge amount of time or energy for cooking over the past few months, so in lieu of preparing a complete dinner I’ve gotten into the habit of picking up a prepared entrée somewhere (a roast chicken, meatballs, whatever) and whipping up some roast vegetables or a salad to go with it. Still, I haven’t completely abandoned the concept of cooking dinner. Last Saturday we had a small group of friends over and I grilled steaks (first on the gas grill, which conked out on me mid-way through, then in a cast-iron grill pan on the cook-top), which I served alongside roasted asparagus and these wonderful, rosemary-infused roasted cherry tomatoes.

I’ve also been playing with the attached recipe for braised fish, which ran in the New York Times Magazine in February. Back in those chilly days of mid-winter the recipe appealed to me for its hearty approach to preparing fish—one that’s closer in spirit to a pot roast than it is bouillabaisse. But what I’ve found is that it’s equally enticing in warm weather, since the dish is composed of a variety of vegetables (onions, carrots, potato, fennel) paired with a flaky white fish—monkfish tail, halibut, or swordfish—and enlivened with red wine, paprika, thyme, and an optional pinch of saffron (which I recommend). In other words, just the sort of light, boldly flavored meal that’s perfect for these late spring days.

It’s also wonderfully simple, which more than ever is a prerequisite for any cooking endeavor I undertake these days. To start, pour three tablespoons of olive oil into a Dutch oven placed over medium-high heat. Once hot, lay the fish (lightly salted and peppered) in the pot and let it sizzle in the oil undisturbed for a total of five or six minutes, until it’s nicely browned. Set this aside, browned side up, then add the vegetables and herbs to the pot—along with a little salt and pepper—and stir occasionally until the onion begins to soften, about five minutes or so. With the onions no longer crunchy it’s time to add a few tablespoons of tomato paste and a teaspoon of paprika, a combination that imbues the dish with a reddish hue and a faintly smoky flavor. After a few more minutes of stirring—long enough for the tomato paste to darken a little—pour a half-cup of red wine into the mixture and allow it to cook down to the point where it almost disappears (and its flavor has been absorbed by the accompanying vegetables).

To this fragrant base you then add two and a half cups of beef or chicken stock (I’ve tended to use chicken stock, for no other reason than it seemed a more natural match for the fish), bring to a boil, and allow the mixture to reduce by about a third—a process that should take roughly ten minutes. Once complete, lower the heat to a simmer and cook until the vegetables are almost tender, also about ten minutes. At which point it’s time to reintroduce the star ingredient—the fish—nestling it on top of the vegetables and making sure that the browned side rests just above the liquid. This should then be cooked undisturbed for another ten or fifteen minutes, until both the fish and the vegetables are tender.

Once everything is fully cooked, transfer the fish to a cutting board and slice it into thick chunks. Spoon the vegetables into shallow bowls, lay the sliced fish across the vegetables, and ladle the broth over everything, making sure to first adjust the seasoning. This last point is an important one as I have found on a few occasions—especially those where I did not use saffron—that the broth needed an additional kick. Still, even without that correction the broth and vegetables have a wonderful, mellow flavor—a hint of paprika, the tang of red wine, and the natural sweetness of all those vegetables (especially the fennel, which is a quiet scene-stealer here).

And then there’s the fish itself, essentially a sponge for all the goodness mentioned above. That said, I’ve found the delicate flavor of monkfish or halibut to be better suited to this preparation than swordfish—I liked its meaty, dense texture, but found the flavor to be overpowering in the company of the other ingredients. Also, for those interested in lowering their starch intake, try swapping out the potatoes for a similar quantity of Cauliflower (cut into 1-inch chunks). I won’t pretend that I wouldn’t always rather bite into a potato than a chunk of cauliflower, but the latter does an excellent job of providing the necessary heft here, while also soaking up all the wonderful flavors of the broth. As healthy concessions go, it’s a pretty painless one.

Either way, this recipe is a winner and one I hope you enjoy. For myself I’m very happy to be back on this space. I realized as I was writing this that one of the barriers keeping me from returning to the site was the knowledge that I couldn’t do it without sharing with you all what’s been going on. That was more than I could face, at least until we were breathing a little easier. I’m so thankful that we are now,  and that I’ve finally slain the dragon that was this posting.

I’ll be back soon.

Ingredients:
—3 tbs olive oil
—1½ to 2 lbs monkfish tail, halibut steak or fillet, or swordfish, as thick as possible and preferably in one piece
—Salt and pepper
—1 onion, chopped
—2 thyme sprigs
—1 pinch saffron (optional)
—3 medium carrots, cut into 1-inch chunks
—1 small fennel bulb, cut into chunks
—1 lb potatoes, cut into 1-inch chunks
—2 tbs tomato paste
—1 tsp smoked paprika (pimentón)
—1/2 cup red wine
—2½ cups beef or chicken stock (TRG note: I used chicken)
—Chopped fresh parsley for garnish

Directions:
—Put the olive oil in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When it is hot, sprinkle the fish with salt and pepper, and add it to the pot. Cook, undisturbed, until it is well browned, 5 or 6 minutes. (If you’re using halibut fillet and it has skin, brown the non-skin side.) Transfer it to a plate, browned side up.
—Add the onion, thyme, saffron, carrots, fennel, and potatoes; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally until the onion begins to soften, about 5 minutes.
—Add the tomato paste and smoked paprika, and cook, stirring, until the tomato paste darkens a bit, 2 or 3 minutes. Add the wine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot, and let it bubble away until it almost disappears.
—Add the stock, bring to a boil, and let it bubble vigorously until the liquid reduces by about a third, about 10 minutes. Adjust the heat so the mixture simmers; when the vegetables are nearly tender—about 10 minutes later—nestle the fish, browned side up, among the vegetables; keep the browned crust above the liquid. Cook, undisturbed, until the fish and vegetables are tender, 10 to 15 minutes.
—Transfer the fish to a cutting board and divide the vegetables among shallow bowls. Slice the fish and put it on top of the vegetables. Taste the cooking liquid, adjust the seasoning, and ladle over all, garnishing with the chopped parsley before serving. (TRG note: As an alternate serving suggestion, slice the fish into large chunks then gently fold into the sauce and vegetables before ladling into bowls.)

Serves 4

The post 06/11/14 • BRAISED FISH “STEW” appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Fine Cooking, issue 57

Well folks, it’s been nearly two weeks since my Achilles’ surgery and I’m happy to report that I’m pain-free and back in “the boot.” This is an infinitely more appealing option than the splint I left the hospital in as it allows for the possibility of airing your foot out once in a while, and of wearing something other than gym shorts and sweatpants. Regrettably, however, I’m still required to keep all weight off my right foot, which, of course, means crutches. These have taken some time to get used to, and though I’m still feeling pretty limited in my movements, I’ve actually gotten pretty adept at navigating the world on them (even stairs!). Of course, mastering the crutch walk also means learning to slow yourself down, recognizing that things which used to take maybe two minutes (brushing your teeth, putting a shirt on a hanger, loading a plate in the dishwasher) are now potentially hazardous activities and will therefore take roughly four times as long—if you’re lucky. Still, life has resumed a degree of normalcy, even if the most complex cooking tasks I’ve taken on have been limited to protein shakes and green salads. I’m hoping that in the coming weeks I’ll become sufficiently adept on the crutches (and comfortable standing on one foot for longer periods of time) to tackle more demanding dishes—and to photograph the process, as I must do for this site. Until then, however, I still have a few shoots in my inventory to work with—done in the weeks immediately preceding my tennis mishap—like this one for roasted salmon with crème fraîche and tarragon.

The recipe is actually a long-time favorite, pulled a decade or so ago from the pages of Fine Cooking. In fact, I’m surprised it’s taken me this long to bring it to you. The only explanation I have for this is that the dish is one I tend to be drawn to in spring and early summer, and as such represents a fairly small window within which to act. Of course, there’s nothing to keep you from making it at any time of the year—none of the ingredients are seasonal or challenging to find—it’s just that there’s something about the soft pink of the salmon and the bright flavor of its accompanying crème fraîche sauce (given a little zip thanks to the addition of vermouth, sautéed shallot, lemon juice, and tarragon) that makes it seem particularly well suited to these gentle, celebratory days of early summer. In both flavor and temperament it’s a dish that brings to mind one of those mainstays of the season—salmon with béarnaise sauce (a sauce that features many of the same ingredients).

It’s also considerably easier than this classic, with none of the potentially hazardous challenges of making a butter sauce. That’s due in large part to the fact that this version essentially prepares itself in the oven, while cooking alongside the salmon. To start you simply whip the crème fraîche with the lemon juice and tarragon, then sauté the minced shallot in a portion of the butter and the ½ cup of vermouth. Once the butter/shallot combination has cooked down to something thick and shiny (a few minutes will do it) remove the pan from the heat and gently lay in your salmon filets, which have previously been salted and peppered. Pour the crème fraîche mixture over the salmon, cover with a buttered round of parchment paper (buttered side down, to ensure the fish stays nice and moist during its stay in the oven), then slide into a 350˚ oven for 20 minutes or so (or slightly less, depending on how fast your oven is—this is not a dish you want to overcook).

Once the fish has lost its translucent quality, remove the pan from the oven and gently place the filets on a plate (one of those extra large fish spatulas comes in super handy here), keeping them warm under tented foil. All that remains is to thicken up the sauce slightly over medium heat (again, a few minutes will do it), whisk in the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter, and you’re done. Garnished with a little fresh dill or chives, and served alongside some sugar snap peas, and you have the perfect warm weather meal. A dish worthy of a special occasion, for sure, but also one with the ability to simply make a warm summer evening that much more special.

Happy summer!

Ingredients:
—3 tbs fresh lemon juice
—2 tsp finely chopped fresh tarragon
—8 oz ( scant cup) crème fraîche
—1/4 cup unsalted butter; more for the parchment
—2 tbs minced shallot
—1/2 cup dry vermouth
—4 skinless salmon fillets (6 to 7 oz), preferably center cut
—Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
—Minced fresh dill or chives for garnish

Special equipment:
—Parchment pape

Directions:
—Heat the oven to 350˚.
—Cut a piece of parchment paper to fit inside a large ovenproof skillet, sauté pan, or flameproof baking dish. Lightly butter one side of the parchment.
—Combine the lemon juice, tarragon, and crème fraîche in a small bowl and set aside.
—Melt 2 tbs of the butter in the pan or baking dish over medium-high heat. Add the shallot and vermouth and reduce to a glaze; remove from the heat. Season the fillets with salt and pepper and arrange in a single layer in the pan. Pour the crème fraîche mixture over the salmon, cover with the parchment butter side down, and bake until the salmon is just opaque throughout, 18 to 20 minutes. Don’t overcook!
—Transfer the salmon to a plate and keep warm. Put the pan over medium heat and reduce the sauce until it’s thick enough to lightly coat a spoon. Remove from the heat, whisk in the remaining 2 tbs butter, and adjust salt and pepper as needed.
—Put each salmon fillet on a warm dinner plate and spoon the sauce over each. Garnish with dill or chives.

Serves 4

The post 06/26/13 • SALMON WITH CREME FRAICHE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Sept., 2007 Fine Cooking (click here to view the recipe)

In the last few weeks I’ve begun to notice a subtle shift in peoples’ attitude towards the summer. Gone is the air of anticipation that was everywhere in May and June. So, too, is the vibe of communal celebration that marked the month of July, when people across the city seemed to be gathering at outdoor cafes until the wee hours reveling in the long days and warm nights, or racing out of the office early to catch a train for a three- or four-day weekend somewhere. No, that sense of collective excitement has clearly burned away, leaving in its place something a little more, well, resigned—resigned that the season of fun and freedom is quickly winding down, to be replaced by one of renewed commitments, and responsibilities, and scheduling. In fact, just yesterday someone asked me, “How was your summer?” Was my summer?! I quickly reminded him (and myself) that it wasn’t over just yet, that there are still some warm nights and long weekends to be enjoyed. All the same, I can’t deny that I, too, hear that end-of-summer drumbeat.

Which in its way makes this week’s posting for linguine and clam sauce all the more timely. After all, there are few things that offer a greater concentration of summer-y flavors than this simple pasta dish. Of course, unlike anything made with sweet corn or heirloom tomatoes, it’s a meal that can be enjoyed more or less year-round, but for me there’s something about the briney, garlicky combo here that makes this especially right when the weather gets warm. Come July, it’s a dish I start to crave.

That said I should probably acknowledge that there are those who still hold to the rule that shellfish should only be eaten during those months with an “R” in their name—which is to say, never from May through August, the very period we’re focused on. Obviously it’s a dictum I don’t follow (nor, I might add, do any of the other folks lining up for fried oysters or clam-bakes this time of year), largely because the toxicity concerns associated with this period are pretty much absent these days if you’re purchasing from a reputable fishmonger. (If you’re harvesting yourself, however, beware of toxic blooms in your area.)

So assuming I haven’t scared you away with all that, let me bring to your attention what in my estimation is a quite wonderful, not to mention easy, version of this classic dish. It’s one I pulled out of a back issue of Fine Cooking, and no doubt it’s the recipe’s traditional, by-the-book quality that drew me to it in the first place, as it reminded me of the dish my dad would invariably order when I was a kid and we’d have one of our occasional family dinners at his favorite red sauce establishment in South Philadelphia. I wasn’t so interested in clam sauce in those days (if memory serves, lasagna and garlic bread were my two fixations back then), but the smell of the garlic and white wine-infused broth seems nonetheless to have made a lasting impression on my brain, since any close approximation of that restaurant’s preparation tends to take me right back to those long ago family meals. This recipe does just that, while also improving on my earlier experience of the dish in one, key way: the clams are removed from their shells prior to being tossed with the pasta. It’s a change that, for some, may detract from the dish’s overall plate appeal, but that makes for an infinitely, and undeniably, more pleasant eating experience, as well.

To start, heat half of the olive oil along with the red pepper flakes in a three-quart saucepan for 20 seconds or so—just long enough for the flavor of the flakes to infuse the oil. Next add the wine, two tablespoons of the chopped parsley, and half of the minced garlic, and cook for another 20 seconds, a period during which your kitchen will start to smell about as mouth-wateringly delicious as you can imagine, since there are few fragrances more intoxicating than those of the above ingredients as they’re exposed heat. This is just the beginning, however, as the clams—the dish’s star ingredient, after all—are next up. It’s an addition that infuses the sauce with its all-important briny quality, and one that proves the perfect counterpoint to the various other dominant flavors at play here—namely the wine, the garlic, and the parsley. So after thoroughly scrubbing the mollusks in cold water (skip this step and you risk a mouthful of sand and other grit) it’s time to introduce them to the wine mixture.

Since the point here is to steam the clams, once they’ve been added to the pot you’ll want to keep them covered, checking every few minutes for any that have opened, and removing these to a separate dish (it can take as long as six minutes for all of the clams to open; if any don’t by that point, throw them away—they’re no good.) Once all the clams are steamed, set the broth aside and remove the mollusks from their shells, cutting the meat in half or even fourths if they’re very large. The sliced clams can then be returned to the broth (along with any juices that may have accumulated on your cutting board—this is good stuff!), and the shells discarded.

Two more simple steps to go: the first is to add your pasta (I prefer linguine but angel hair will also work) to a large pot of salted water, then letting it cook to the point where it’s tender but still offers a little give when you bite into it. For the linguine this can take anywhere between six and nine minutes, though it’s much shorter for angel hair. Either way, be sure not to overcook, as the noodles will be exposed to some additional cooking in the final moments of preparation, and you’ll want the final product to retain some of its firmness (otherwise known as “al dente,” a quality whose importance can’t be overstressed). Once done, be sure to hold on to a ¼ cup of the pasta broth before draining—you may not need this (I didn’t) but if the final mixture of pasta and clam sauce seems too dry for your taste, you can always use a little of this to loosen things up.

The other step, and this can be started while the pasta is underway, involves first heating the remaining olive oil in a large (ten- or twelve-inch) skillet, then sautéing the rest of the garlic and chopped parsley for a minute or so, or until the garlic is just soft. Set this mixture aside until the pasta is ready, at which point the noodles, along with the clam mixture, can be added to the garlic/parsley combo. Toss all this over low heat for a minute or so (that final cooking stage I mentioned earlier), add a little salt and pepper as needed, throw in a bit of that reserved pasta water if you think it’s called for, and you’re good to go. It’s a concentrated shot of summer during these waning warm months, not to mention an effective reminder of their laid back attitude when the cold weather sets in.

Ingredients:
—24 littleneck clams
—6 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
—1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
—1/3 cup dry white wine
—5 tbs finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley, plus a few whole leaves for garnish
—3 large cloves garlic, minced
—Kosher salt
—8 oz linguini or spaghettini
—Freshly ground black pepper

Directions:
—Scrub the clams under cold water and set aside. In a heavy 3-qt saucepan, heat 3 tbs of the oil over medium heat. Add the pepper flakes and cook briefly to infuse the oil, about 20 seconds. Immediately add the wine, 2 tbs of the chopped parsley, and half of the minced garlic. Cook for 20 seconds and add the clams.
—Cover and cook over medium-high heat, checking every 2 minutes and removing each clam as it opens. It will take 5 to 6 minutes total for all the clams to open. Transfer the clams to a cutting board and reserve the broth. Remove the clams from the shells and cut them in half, or quarters if they’re large. Return the clams to the broth. Discard the shells.
—Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the pasta and cook until it’s almost al dente, 6 to 9 minutes. Don’t overcook.
—While the pasta is cooking, heat the remaining 3 tbs olive oil in a 10- or 12-inch skillet over medium heat. Add the remaining 3 tbs chopped parsley and the rest of the garlic and cook until the garlic is just soft, about 1 minute. Set the skillet aside.
—When the pasta is done, reserve about ¼ cup of the pasta cooking water and then drain the pasta. Add the pasta, the clams, and the broth the clams were cooked in to the skillet. Return to low heat, toss the pasta in the sauce, and simmer for another minute to finish cooking it, adding a little of the pasta water if you prefer a wetter dish.
—Taste for salt and add a large grind of black pepper. Serve immediately, garnished with the parsley leaves.

Serves 2 to 3

The post 08/23/12 • THE HAPPY CLAM SAUCE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the May/June, 2012 Cook’s Illustrated  (click here to view the recipe)

There are certain foods or ingredients I tend to stay away from, not because I don’t love them, but for the simple reason that they rarely if ever live up to expectation. Maybe if I’d grown up on a chicken farm I’d feel that way about eggs, but as a city boy the variety I find at the supermarket tastes much as I expect them to. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about crabmeat. This is more or less the fault of my stepmother, Gerda, who, on my first trip to her family’s summer house in northern Maine when I was a kid, introduced me to fresh crabmeat (as in crabmeat that’s been removed from its shell that same day, versus the more common variety that’s frozen, thawed, and later sold as “fresh”) and, in the process, essentially ruined my chances for ever finding any future satisfaction in the shellfish. Even then (we’re talking the mid-1970s here) a small container of the sweet, flaky meat was expensive enough that it was viewed as something very special indeed, and shared with us kids only sparingly. So I did what any budding gourmand would do—I stole it out of the fridge. Still, my lingering impression is that I never got enough of the stuff.

All this has created something of a paradox for me: the thing I could never get enough of as a child is also the thing that’s never good enough as an adult. Okay, I’m being overly dramatic here, but you get the idea. And here’s another thing—because the quality of that freshly caught Maine crabmeat was so high, it would have been viewed as a crime to do anything more with it than spoon it on a plate and eat it up with a little mayo (spiked with a bit of gin and mustard, as I recall). In other words, there was no place for cooking with crabmeat in this scenario, which is too bad, because the pleasures here can be mighty high as well. So I guess if there’s an upside for me to the inferior quality that’s generally available it’s this: I feel no qualms about baking it, frying it, or tossing it with something else.

Which brings me to this week’s recipe for that ultimate summer entrée—crab cakes. The recipe comes from the current issue of Cook’s Illustrated, and appealed to me for several reasons. First, it’s blessedly free of filler—the breadcrumbs, the eggs, the mayo used to stretch and bind the various ingredients present beneath the crab cake’s seductive, crackly exterior. What’s more (and this is the second reason for those of you counting), true to form the writers at CI found a way to address the principal failing of most any crabmeat that isn’t straight-from-the-shell fresh: namely an off-putting, slightly fishy odor. And third (and perhaps most importantly) they’ve devised a way of omitting the flavor-flattening fillers mentioned above while still fashioning a tidy crab cake that won’t collapse when introduced to a fork—this thanks to a secret ingredient that also serves as a stand-in for the subtle sweetness missing from all but the freshest crabmeat. All tolled, a pretty neat trick, no?

Let’s start with the recipe’s fishy odor fix, since it’s essentially the first step here—though clearly not one you need to take if you’re working with straight-from-the-shell crabmeat, or if yours simply happens to smell clean and fresh. Either way, it’s a good trick to know as the same technique can be applied to any number of strongly-scented foods (gamey lamb comes to mind). It’s a head-smackingly simple move, involving little more than letting the crabmeat soak in a cup of milk, covered and chilled, for twenty minutes, then gently removing the liquid by pressing the meat against a fine mesh strainer. In other words, give the offending ingredient a milk bath! And for what it’s worth, the finished crab cake was sampled by none other than my friend and frequent cooking companion, Dennis (that’s his thumb you see above)—a food enthusiast who rarely eats seafood of any kind due to a sense of smell that rivals my Labrador Retriever, Sid’s—and he picked up not a trace of fishy odor. (To underscore the point, he went on to eat three of the crab cakes, something I can assure you he would never do just to be polite!)

Of course, it didn’t hurt that the crab cakes were firm and bouncy, and had plenty of that mild, sweet flavor you look for in fresh crabmeat. This last quality was one noticeably absent when I first sampled the crabmeat (it kind of tasted like nothing at all), and one that I can only attribute to the recipe’s addition of a shrimp “mousseline”—a fancy word for what here is essentially four ounces of shrimp (peeled and deveined) that have been pulsed in a food processor along with a small amount of heavy cream—an addition that imbues the cakes with a quiet hit of sweetness while also binding everything together. That binding property is called into play almost immediately, as once pureed, the shrimp is transferred to a bowl and mixed with small quantities of previously pulsed celery, onion, and garlic that have been subjected to a quick sauté, then given twenty minutes or so to come to room temperature. And to this mixture is added the mustard, the hot pepper sauce, some lemon juice, and the all-important Old Bay seasoning (because, of course, it wouldn’t be a crab cake without Old Bay), before the crabmeat itself is introduced. And just to make sure the crab mixture maintains its shape when cooked, the formed patties (eight of them, each roughly a ½-inch thick) are placed on a parchment lined cookie sheet, covered, and refrigerated for a half hour to become fully firm.

Once chilled, the cakes are coated with panko breadcrumbs that have previously been toasted over medium-high heat for five minutes or so. And because half of the crumbs were crushed with a rolling pin, you can rest easy that they’ll adhere to the cakes’ surface during the frying phase—key, as without them there would be none of that glorious golden brown shell that’s one of the undisputed pleasures of crab cake-eating. As for the cooking process itself, this is simple enough, though two things do bear emphasizing. The first is that you’ll want to fry the cakes in two stages (four at a time), as a crowded skillet will make the delicate process of flipping the cakes a particularly frustrating one (unless you flip with all the precision of a sharp-shooter at target practice, you’ll need some room to maneuver here). And to ensure that the cakes don’t fall apart when aloft, you’ll also want to tackle this with two spatulas instead of one, something that’s far less daunting than it sounds. Also, although the recipe doesn’t suggest this I found it’s best to keep the first four warm by covering them loosely with foil, since each batch takes about ten minutes to fry—critical moments in the life of a crab cake as they’re best eaten when still carrying some of the heat of that frying pan.

Served with a simple Remoulade Sauce made of mayonnaise, capers, and a few other ingredients (see recipe below) and you have the makings for a perfect summer meal—one featuring crab cakes that are sweet, moist, and with just the right amount of crunch. Of course, it goes without saying that you want to use the freshest, best quality crabmeat you can find, but if you don’t find yourself near a wharf in northern Maine and the straight-off-the-boat variety isn’t in the cards then the tips offered here go a long way to making sure you’ll end up with something very nearly as wonderful.

Ingredients for the crab cakes:
—1 lb lump crabmeat, picked over for shells
—1 cup milk
—1½ cups panko bread crumbs
—Salt and pepper to taste
—2 celery ribs, chopped
—1/2 cup chopped onion
—1 garlic clove, peeled and smashed
—1 tbs unsalted butter
—4 oz shrimp, peeled, deveined, and tails removed
—1/4 cup heavy cream
—2 tsp Dijon mustard
—1/2 tsp *hot pepper sauce
—1 tsp lemon juice
—1/2 tsp Old Bay seasoning
—4 tbs vegetable oil

*NB. Technically this is the same thing as Tabasco, though because this brand is aged in wooden casks it may have a slightly different flavor than others labeled simply as “hot sauce.”

Ingredients for Remoulade Sauce:
—1/2 cup mayonnaise
—1/2 tsp capers, drained and rinsed
—1/2 tsp Dijon mustard
—1 small clove garlic, chopped coarse
—1½ tsp sweet pickle relish
—1 tsp hot sauce
—1 tsp fresh lemon juice
—1 tsp mined fresh parsley leaves
—Salt and pepper to taste

Directions for crab cakes:
—Place crabmeat and milk in bowl, making sure crab is totally submerged. Cover and refrigerate for at least 20 minutes.
—Meanwhile, place ¾ cup panko in small zipper-lock bag and finely crush with a rolling pin. Transfer crushed panko to 10” nonstick skillet and add remaining ¾ cup panko. Toast over medium-high heat, stirring constantly, until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Transfer panko to shallow dish and stir in ¼ tsp. salt and pepper to taste. Wipe out skillet.
—Pulse celery, onion, and garlic in food processor until finely chopped, 5 to 8 pulses, scraping down bowl as needed. Transfer vegetables to large bowl. Rinse processor bowl and blade and reserve. Melt butter in now-empty skillet over medium heat. Add chopped vegetables, ½ tsp. salt, and 1/8 tsp. pepper; cook, stirring frequently, until vegetables are softened and all moisture has evaporated, 4 to 6 minutes. Return vegetables to large bowl and let cool to room temperature. Rinse out pan and wipe clean.
—Strain crabmeat through fine-mesh strainer, pressing firmly to remove milk but being careful not to break up lumps of crabmeat.
—Pulse shrimp in now-empty food processor until finely ground, 12 to 15 pulses, scraping down bowl as needed. Add cream and pulse to combine, 2 to 4 pulses, scraping down bowl as needed. Transfer shrimp puree to bowl with cooled vegetables. Add mustard, hot pepper sauce, lemon juice, and Old Bay seasoning; stir until well combined. Add crabmeat and fold gently with rubber spatula, being careful not to overmix and break up lumps of crabmeat. Divide mixture into 8 balls and firmly press into ½”-thick patties. Place cakes on rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment paper, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
—Coat each cake in panko, firmly pressing to adhere crumbs to exterior. Heat 1 tbs. oil in now-empty skillet over medium heat until shimmering. Place 4 cakes in skillet and cook without moving them until golden brown, 3 to 4 minutes. Using 2 spatulas, carefully flip cakes, add 1 tbs. oil, reduce heat to medium-low, and continue to cook until second side is golden brown, 4 to 6 minutes. Transfer cakes to platter. Wipe out skillet and repeat with remaining four cakes and remaining 2 tbs. oil. Serve immediately, with lemon wedges and Remoulade Sauce (recipe below).

serves 4

Directions for Remoulade Sauce:
—Pulse all ingredients except salt and pepper in food processor until well combined but not smooth, about ten 1-second pulses. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
—Transfer to a bowl and serve.

The post 06/21/12 • CRAB CAKES THAT SING appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from The Gourmet Cookbook, Vol. II (1972) 

Sometimes a craving demands immediate satisfaction. In the case of a donut, or a piece of chocolate, or even a pastrami sandwich, often the easiest way to resolve this condition is by getting yourself to the nearest quality purveyor, loading up, and moving on—freed, at least temporarily, from that distracting state otherwise known as desire. There are certain occasions, however, when there’s no substitute for making it yourself, either because the experience of assembling and cooking is key to scratching this particular itch (I’d include chocolate chip cookies here), or simply because no one can make the item in question quite as satisfactorily as you can. This recipe for soft-shelled crabs falls into the latter category. It’s an adaptation of a recipe my mom has used for as long as I can remember, and one that she, in turn, adapted from a phonebook sized collection put out by Gourmet in the early ’70s. Tellingly, she’s always claimed that once she found this recipe she gradually gave up ordering soft-shells in restaurants, for the simple reason that no preparation ever came close to this one. I have to agree with her.

That being said, a few words about soft-shelled crabs are probably in order. The first relates to the period within which they’re available, one I’ve always thought of as a few short months straddling late spring and early summer, but that a quick search of the Internet revealed to be considerably longer—stretching all the way through September, or beyond. And a handful of minor details you may, or may not, be interested in: the best variety come from Maryland; that “soft-shell” is actually an immature shell exposed by the molting of the original one (making me think I might now be singled out by PETA for promoting their consumption!); and only the blue crab is suitable for eating at this stage.

The one other fact you need to know is that the arrival of warm weather often sets off in me a soft-shell hankering. That has certainly been the case this year, but with a slight variation—what I was after was a sandwich.

That sandwich piece presented a few questions, namely what kind of bread to use and what sort of condiments (if any) were called for. But let’s circle back to those details a little later and begin with the most important component of all—the crab itself. Having partaken of my mom’s recipe over the course of many years, I knew this treatment would be just the ticket here. For one thing, it doesn’t try to transform the crab into something else but simply aims to elevate its texture and flavor with a little breading (breadcrumbs mixed with a dash of chili powder, for some subtle heat), a quick sauté (8 minutes total), and a light saucing. This last is a simple mixture made up of tarragon vinegar, fresh parsley, and a dash of Worcestershire sauce, all of it swirled in the same pan in which the crab has cooked, thereby integrating the buttery residue from the sauté into the sauce. It’s a bright zesty combination that this circa 1972 recipe defines as “á la diable” (defined as a basic butter sauce enhanced by wine, vinegar, shallots, and seasonings), and that I credit with this dish’s lip-smacking success. (So lip smacking, in fact, that my mom’s one change to the original recipe was to double the quantities for the various ingredients needed for the sauce, changes reflected in the details listed below.) In combination with the crab’s natural juices and fresh from the sea flavor, it’s a mingling of flavors that’s sort of miraculous—the sort of thing that can start you thinking about how much you’ve always loved Chesapeake Bay, even if you’ve never been there.

As for the sandwich, after rejecting both potato and brioche rolls as being too bready, I landed on an English muffin—flattened with a rolling pin and moistened with a shallot and herb butter. Both details were ones I picked up from another old Gourmet recipe, this one found in a 1981 edition of the magazine, and they proved just the ticket to complete the recipe. Unlike a burger or a grilled chicken sandwich, the pleasing texture of the crab here calls out for a more low-lying package—one that won’t muffle what’s essentially this sandwich’s greatest selling-point: its crunch. That quality is precisely what the grilled English muffin provides, sandwiching the crab between layers of bread that only enhance the crackle. What’s more, thanks to the muffin’s famous nooks and crannies, it manages to trap all those previously mentioned juices without getting soggy. (By the way, that rolling pin exercise is for no other purpose than to enlarge the muffin’s proportions to match those of the crab, so if you can find the extra large muffins they sometimes sell for hamburgers, go for those and skip this step.)

Either way, once grilled and lightly browned, each side of the cut muffin is brushed with a mixture of melted butter, a little lemon juice, and a few tablespoons of minced shallot and parsley. Admittedly, given the sauce already spooned across the crab, some might argue that this is a case of gilding the lily. To my way of thinking, however, it’s the perfect compliment to both the bread and the crab, offering one more note of tangy richness to frame the uniquely summery flavor of the crab. Between this, its irresistible crunch, and the bronzed, seductive glow of the sautéed crab, the combination is pretty exceptional—the kind of meal that can haunt you days, even years, later. Come to think of it, is that a craving I feel coming on?

Two final notes: The quantities listed below assume one crab per sandwich, and one sandwich per person. If you’re planning to serve the crab as an entrée, however, figure two crabs per person. (As written, the recipe can easily be doubled.) Lastly, to avoid the spattering (and associated ducking and weaving) that can occur when sautéing the crabs, puncture the legs and claws of the crab with the tines of a fork before introducing them to the frying pan.

Ingredients for crabs:
—6 soft-shelled crabs (cleaned and washed by the purveyor)
—1/2 cup fine dry bread crumbs
—1 tsp chili powder
—1/2 cup butter, melted
—2 tsp tarragon vinegar
—1 tbs finely chopped parsley
—Dash Worcestershire sauce
—Lemon (for serving)

Ingredients for bread:
—6 English muffins
—1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
—2 tbs lemon juice
—2 tbs fresh parsley, minced
—1 tbs minced shallot
—Salt and pepper, to taste

Directions:
—Warm a serving platter in a 350˚ oven. Mix breadcrumbs and chili powder in a shallow bowl. Set aside.
—Split English muffins and flatten with a rolling pin. Grill in oven, turning once, until crisp and lightly browned (about ten minutes). Meanwhile, place butter, lemon juice, parsley, shallot, and salt and pepper to taste in a small saucepan and heat over low heat, stirring occasionally, until butter is just melted. Set aside.
—Pat crabs dry, puncture legs and claws with the tines of a fork (to eliminate popping and spattering while cooking), and dredge in breadcrumb mixture. Melt butter in a 12” sauté pan and sauté the crabs back side down for 5 minutes, then turn and sauté for 3 minutes longer. Place crabs on a heated serving platter and set aside.
—In the same pan as you cooked the crabs (and without wiping out the pan) add the tarragon vinegar, the chopped parsley, and the Worcestershire sauce to the pan juices and brown bits. Mix well and spoon evenly over the crabs.
—Brush split sides of the grilled muffin with the reserved butter and place 1 grilled crab between the two halves of bread. Serve with lemon wedge.

Serves 6
(Note: If not using the crab for sandwiches, plan on two per person—just double the crab related ingredients above and cook in two batches, with the first six kept warm on the heated serving platter.)

The post 05/24/12 • THE SOFT-SHELL SELL appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the July, 2007 Gourmet (click here to view the recipe)

I don’t know about you, but when I see fish on a menu — any kind of fish — I tend to glaze over. This doesn’t make much sense because I actually like fish; I have no seafood phobias and I often cook fish at home. What’s more, when scanning a restaurant’s options, I’m often looking for an alternative to red meat (which is always the first place my eye goes when deciding what I’m going to eat). Still, it’s the rare occasion when the server comes over to take my order and I say, “I’ll have the halibut,” or “the snapper,” or whatever fish option happens to speak to me, if one does. The reason is simple: I’m usually disappointed with the seafood that comes out of restaurant kitchens. This is probably unfair to whoever’s manning the stoves there, because as often as not the dish is perfectly acceptable, even good. The problem is that when I sit down to a meal I want something with a little gusto, something that won’t leave me pushing away from the table still feeling hungry. For whatever reason, that’s usually not what the waiter delivers.

So except on those rare occasions when the menu copy lists ingredients I know promise big things on the flavor front, and when previous outings to the establishment in question have shown that the serving sizes there will satisfy even my gluttonous tendencies, the solution has been simply to make it myself, in my own kitchen. There I know that the portion size can be adjusted according to the appetites of those eating, and I can concentrate my efforts on recipes that call into play the sorts of things that deliver the big flavor payoff I’m after. The recipe I bring to you here is a perfect example. It’s one I pulled out of Gourmet several years ago and it never fails to satisfy my carnivorous tendencies.

For one thing it calls for filets of mahimahi, a sturdy white fish that’s meaty without being steak-like, and that has a mildly sweet flavor (making it ideal for those worried about small bones or put off by a surfeit of “fishiness”). And, as an added bonus, it also rates high with environmentalists, since their populations tend to grow quickly and are therefore resilient to fishing. In any case, the filets are placed on a foil-covered pan alongside a quantity of cherry tomatoes and some chunks of red onion, all of it moistened with olive oil and seasoned with a little salt and pepper, and then slipped under the broiler for fifteen minutes or so. And that’s the heavy lifting portion of the exercise. Seriously.

Now some of you may have picked up on the word “broiler” above, an element that, of course, means we’re talking about broiled fish here — the stuff of so many uninspired school lunches and coffee shop dinners. That for me is one of the pleasures of this recipe. Because while broiling may be a method of cooking that’s come to mean dry and flavorless where fish is concerned, as this recipe proves, it is possible to blast a piece of fish a few inches beneath a heat source and still end up with something moist, flaky, and compulsively eatable. But I’m getting ahead of myself — it’s not time to unfurl the napkin just yet.

So back to the cooking… While the fish is in the oven you’ll have ample time to whip up the vinaigrette that’s drizzled over the fish, and that, like phase one of this simple recipe, takes mere minutes to prepare. This comprises just a small amount of red-wine vinegar mixed with some black or green tapenade, a little pepper, and a small amount of olive oil, and yet it’s so much more — a perfect example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. Credit the winning combination of the tapenade with the oil and vinegar for this, the result of which is wonderfully tart and tangy, yet not overly so. As such it’s the perfect counterpoint to the simple flavor of the broiled fish and to the natural sweetness of the caramelized vegetables, lending the whole thing a bright, zesty flavor that’s as sunny as it looks on your plate.

The recipe suggests serving the fish on a bed of plain or Parmesan flavored couscous. Both are good accompaniments to this Mediterranean-inspired dish, though for my money, you’re better off with the Parmesan option — the mellow saltiness is just the thing in the company of the other flavors on your plate. (A number of brands, such as Far East, offer a version that comes with a Parmesan seasoning packet, or you can make your own by simply tossing the cooked couscous with a 1/3 of a cup of fresh Parmesan cheese, along with a tablespoon each of lemon juice and olive oil.) Either way, this is likely to end up as one of your all-time favorite fish recipes. It’s certainly one of mine. And the fact that it takes mere minutes to prepare means I don’t have to wait until the weekend rolls around to enjoy it.

Ingredients:
—1 medium red onion, cut lengthwise into ½ inch thick wedges
—3/4 lb cherry tomatoes
—6 tbs olive oil, divided
—4 (6 oz) skinless mahimahi fillets (1 inch thick)
—1 tbs red-wine vinegar
—2 tbs black or green tapenade (olive paste)

Directions:
—Preheat broiler and line a large shallow baking pan with foil.
—Toss onion and tomatoes with 3 tbs oil, ½ tsp salt, and ¼ tsp pepper in lined baking pan, then spread evenly in one half of pan.
—Pat fish dry and sprinkle with ¼ tsp each of salt and pepper, then arrange, skinned side down and spaced apart, next to vegetables in other half of pan. Drizzle fish with 1 tbs oil and broil 4 to 6 inches from heat until vegetables are charred and slightly wilted and fish is just cooked through, 12 to 15 minutes.
—Meanwhile, whisk together vinegar, tapenade, ¼ tsp pepper, and remaining 2 tbs oil.
—Serve fish and vegetables over couscous. Stir pan juices into vinaigrette and drizzle on top.

Serves 4

The post 03/08/12 • FISH DINNER WINNER appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Sept., 2011 Food & Wine

Last night I ate an amazing meal at a little restaurant in the West Village called Buvette. It’s a narrow spot and generally pretty crowded at dinner, which means I almost never get to go since the scale of the place and the fact that you typically have to wait for a (tiny) table are two realities of eating there that Alfredo can’t abide. Alf is the perfect dinner companion in most ways, but you don’t want to be standing beside him in a confined space waiting for food — trust me on this. So I’ve earmarked Buvette as a place for those evenings when I’m on my own with no other plans, which brings me to last night. Sometimes there’s nothing better than a solo meal at a bar!

That’s especially true when the food is as good as Buvette’s. Jody Williams is the chef-owner here, and she makes the kind of food I aspire to — elemental, homey, and full of flavor. I actually hate the word “homey” because it gets thrown around so much, but it applies here, since the food that comes out of Williams’ kitchen is the sort that might be created by any skilled home chef . . . especially if that chef lived in France. Initially I ordered the coq au vin and some stewed lentils, but then caught sight of the foie gras terrine spread across thick slices of grilled country bread and crowned by apples stewed in Sauternes, and had to have that, too. All this might sound very sort of turned-out (French can do that) but it wasn’t. What it was was casual and delicious — delicious in the way that really good ingredients that have been cooked with care and enhanced with other good ingredients (wine, bacon, butter . . . more butter) are delicious. I’d go back tonight if I could.

The recipe I’m bringing to you today did not come from Williams, nor is it French, but it is fuss-free and flavorful in a way I think she would appreciate. I pulled it from this month’s Food & Wine, and even though I’ve made it a couple of times now, I continue to think about it (in fact, this might be dinner tonight). And here’s why: flavor. Big flavor (or the lack thereof) is one of the reasons I so rarely order fish when eating out. Fish options on many restaurant menus often seem to have been created with the simple goal of satisfying those diners who like things mild, bordering on the bland. That scares me away, along with a fear that I won’t get enough to eat, since restaurant servings of fish also trend to the spa-like. I don’t have to worry about either of those issues when I make it myself.

Big flavor certainly didn’t seem like it would be an issue with this dish, one that calls for three pounds of tomatoes, cooked down with garlic, red pepper flakes, saffron, and a handful of fresh oregano. This was, after all, a dish being billed as having “Sicilian flavor.” Maybe so, but I still found myself adding increments of salt and red pepper to the pan, right up until serving. The next time I make it I could even see incorporating a handful of pitted green olives into the mix for a little extra salt. But as I’ve said, I like things with a certain muscularity of flavor — I was looking for the zest of the tomato sauce to hit me over the head here. You may like things a little more subtle, though, so let your palate be your guide.

And regardless of how heavy or light you go with the seasoning, this dish is deeply satisfying in the way of a big bowl of spaghetti in tomato sauce, but also considerably lighter. Both cod and halibut (you can take your pick here, though for what it’s worth I’ve opted for cod each time I’ve made it) are a flaky white fish that hold up well with bold flavors. And tomato sauce is always satisfying in my book. For this sauce you start by cooking up the garlic and red pepper flakes in olive oil, then, just as the garlic is starting to go gold and fragrant, you add the chopped tomatoes and saffron. Once the tomatoes begin to cook down (about 5 minutes or so), in goes the oregano, as well as some salt and pepper. This cooks over moderate heat for 35 minutes, with little meddling from you, except for an occasional stir and a flattening of the tomatoes with the side of your spoon. Once that’s done the fish is tucked into the sauce and cooked, until its opaque throughout (about 12 minutes total).

The only other step involves making the rice, which serves as a base for the fish and is also ideal for sopping up all that sauce you’ve labored over. To make sure the various components are ready at the same time, you’ll want to add the rice to a pot of boiling water about five minutes or so before the fish goes into the pan, along with a few strips of orange zest, bay leaves, cloves, and a hit of olive oil. These give the starch a mildly exotic quality — very southern Italy, or even Morocco. Once done, the rice is drained and returned to the pot along with some salt and a little more olive oil. And you’re ready to serve: Spoon some of the rice into a wide bowl, then layer with the fish, a generous serving of the sauce, and sprinkle all of it with some chopped parsley and some more of that orange zest (grated this time). And that’s all there is to it. A simple, healthy meal that won’t leave you feeling shortchanged in either the flavor or full-belly departments.

Lastly, a few final notes regarding the recipe: Although only one cup of rice is called for here, when I made this initially I found there was barely enough to satisfy even three people (the recipe is meant to serve 4). So unless you’re planning on limiting your guests’ carbohydrate intake, I suggest doubling the quantity listed, as well as the various ancillary ingredients.

Also, saffron is a critical flavoring component here, so make sure yours if fresh and the best quality. I used this one from The Ingredient Finder with excellent results. It’s produced in Spain’s La Mancha region by a company called Pina, who take pride in providing what they describe as pure saffron, as opposed to some other manufacturers who frequently mix it with other parts of the flower, adding weight but little else. But whatever brand you’re using, and whatever you’re using it for, saffron should imbue your dish with a subtle, earthy flavor, and a signature yellow coloring. If you’re not getting those qualities, then it’s time to invest in your spice drawer.

Ingredients:

—6 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

—5 large cloves garlic, minced

—1/4 tsp crushed red pepper (more as needed)

—3 lbs tomatoes, coarsely chopped

—1/8 tsp saffron threads, crumbled

—5 oregano sprigs

—Salt and freshly ground black pepper

—Zest of 1 orange, in 1-inch wide stripes (you may want to double this), plus finely grated zest for garnish

—5 bay leaves (you may want to double this)

—3 whole cloves (you may want to double this)

—1 cup Arborio rice (you may want to double this)

—Four 4-oz skinless cod or halibut filets

—Chopped parsley, for garnish

Directions:

In a large, deep skillet, heat ¼ cup of the olive oil. Add the garlic and crushed red pepper and cook over moderate heat until the garlic is golden, about 1 minute. Add the tomatoes and saffron and cook over moderate heat until the tomatoes just begin to soften, about 5 minutes. Add the oregano and season with salt and black pepper. Cook the sauce over moderately low heat, stirring and crushing the tomatoes with a spoon, until the sauce is thickened and the liquid is reduced, about 35 minutes. Discard the oregano.

Meanwhile, in a large pot of boiling salted water, combine the orange zest strips, bay leaves, cloves, rice and 1 tbsp of the olive oil and cook until the rice is al dente, 15 to 18 minutes. Drain the rice, discarding the zest, bay leaves and cloves. Return the rice to the pot. Add the remaining 1 tbsp of olive oil and season with salt.

Nestle the cod in the tomato sauce and cook, turning the fillets once, until just opaque throughout, about 12 minutes.

Spoon the rice into bowls and top with the cod and sauce. Sprinkle with parsley and grated orange zest and serve.

The post 09/22/11 • COD WITH TOMATO SAUCE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From America’s Test Kitchen (click here for the recipe)

I’m not one of those people whose appetite goes into hiding when the temperature spikes and the air gets soupy. In fact, when faced with a 90-degree day and near 100 percent humidity, I’ve been known to run to the nearest Cuban restaurant in search of a plate of picadillo and some fried plantains. It was just that impulse that found me in the kitchen on a hot summer afternoon recently, assembling the various ingredients needed to make what many consider the national dish of Spain — paella. Like many of my favorite warm weather foods, there is nothing “light” about paella, but with its bright yellow color and abundant use of seafood, it’s also undeniably summery.

My introduction to paella came several decades ago. I was a junior editor at a travel magazine at the time and had been sent on a press junket to Barcelona — the sort of thing organized by tourist bureaus everywhere in the hopes of generating travel stories. For our group, that meant being wined, dined, and shuttled to every notable site in the vicinity, all on a carefully monitored timetable. It was a nice introduction to the city, but the memory that’s proved the most enduring has been that paella — one that was studded with bits of chicken, seafood, and chunks of spicy pork sausage, all of it held together by a mound of flavorful rice the color of sunshine. I was hooked.

I haven’t been back to Spain since that trip, but in the last twenty years I’ve eaten a lot of paella at a lot of restaurants, and none has come close to that initial experience. Some has had too little moisture — or too much; others have suffered from sub-par ingredients; still others have displayed a noticeable absence of saffron, costing the dish its signature flavor and all-important color. Given all this you might think I’d have given cooking paella a whirl myself, but something about making the dish has always held me at arms’ length. For one thing there was the issue of that special pan, a piece of equipment I always believed was critical to the process (and that I was resistant to allotting my precious kitchen real estate). But most daunting was the vague sense that to make paella one needed hours in the kitchen and miles of counter space — in other words, the sort of activity best left to the professionals. And then I discovered something exciting: I was wrong.

This realization came to me as I was combing the “America’s Test Kitchen” website recently and discovered their recipe for chicken and seafood paella. The first thing that caught my eye was that they’d eliminated the specialized paella pan, substituting it for a standard 6-quart Dutch oven. But reading on, I found that they’d also circumvented some of the more time consuming aspects of traditional preparations, so instead of seeding and grating a tomato, they suggested mincing a can of diced tomatoes. And that labor intensive lobster component? — eliminated entirely. Most importantly, however, their version retained many of the ingredients I love best in paella: spicy chorizo, meaty shrimp, chunks of chicken, and a scattering of mussels, arranged like tiny soldiers across the paella’s yellow terrain.

But the ATK recipe got me thinking: if I was going to take some shortcuts, couldn’t I simplify the red pepper step by substituting a good quality roasted and jarred variety, instead? True, it doesn’t take that much effort to chop and sauté a pepper, but in a recipe with as much prep time as this one, every minute counts (I also though the acidic quality of the jarred variety would be a good addition and bump up the other flavors). And just in case you’re beginning to think I’m lazy, I also decided to add two ingredients I recalled from my initial paella encounter — a handful of marinated artichoke hearts, which I buried in the rice before baking; and a few pieces of squid, which I sliced into rings and tossed with salt, pepper, olive oil, and some pressed garlic.

Also, while the ATK recipe calls for Valencia or Arborio rice I decided to go for a lesser-known variety known as Bomba. A friend had recently told me about this kind of rice and explained that while it can be more expensive, it tends to soak up more liquid, which is, of course, exactly what you want in paella. Supposedly this quality makes it the preferred variety of paella rice in Spain. I can’t speak to this claim with any certainty, but I do know that mine was perfect — each grain fat with the combined flavors of the sofrito, the chicken stock, and the white wine.

A few final comments about this recipe: although ATK has done a brilliant job of streamlining the cooking process here, this is still a time-consuming endeavor, with lots of chopping, scrubbing, trimming, and mashing before you even turn on the stove. The good news is that all the effort is on the front end, so once you slide the assembled paella into the oven, you can plop down on the sofa with your guests knowing that your work is pretty much done. What’s more, this recipe serves six (four in my house) so it’s great for a crowd.

Also, because most of the cooking in the ATK version is done in the oven, soccarat — the crusty browned rice that traditionally forms at the bottom of the pan — is absent here. For those that miss it, ATK has offered some tips on how to achieve the affect (just click on the link at the top of this posting and go to step 5 in the instructions). For what it’s worth, I didn’t bother and didn’t miss it, but either way, you can’t go wrong with this recipe. It’s exactly the sort of comfort food you want, regardless of the weather.

TRG’s modified chicken and seafood paella:

Ingredients:
—1 lb extra-large shrimp (21 to 25), peeled and deveined
—3/4 lb squid, sliced into rings (optional)
—Olive oil
—8 to 9 medium garlic cloves, minced or pressed through a garlic press (more if including the squid)
—1 lb boneless, skinless chicken thighs, each thigh trimmed of excess fat and halved crosswise
—Roasted red bell pepper (enough to equal one large pepper)
—12 oz marinated artichoke hearts (optional)
—8 oz Spanish chorizo, sliced ½ inch thick on the bias
—1 medium onion, chopped fine
(about 1 cup)
—1 can (14 1/2 oz) diced tomatoes, drained, minced, and drained again
—2 cups Bomba, Valencia, or Arborio rice
—3 cups low-sodium chicken broth
—1/3 cup dry white wine, such as Sauvigon Blanc
—1/2 teaspoon saffron threads, crumbled
—1 bay leaf
—1 dozen mussels, scrubbed and debearded
—1/2 cup frozen peas, thawed
—2 tsp chopped, fresh parsley
—1 lemon, cut into wedges, for serving

Directions:
Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position; heat oven to 350 degrees. Toss shrimp, ¼ teaspoon salt, ¼ teaspoon black pepper, 1 tablespoon oil, and 1 teaspoon garlic in medium bowl; cover with plastic and refrigerate until needed. Do same with squid rings if using. Slice peppers and set aside.

Add 1 teaspoon oil to Dutch oven; heat oil until shimmering but not smoking. Add chicken pieces in single layer; cook, without moving pieces, until browned, about 3 minutes. Turn pieces and brown on second side, about 3 minutes longer; transfer chicken to medium bowl. Reduce heat to medium and add chorizo to pot; cook, stirring frequently, until deeply browned and fat begins to render, 4 to 5 minutes. Transfer chorizo to bowl with chicken and set aside.

Add enough oil to fat in Dutch oven to equal 2 tablespoons; heat over medium heat until shimmering but not smoking. Add onion and cook, stirring frequently, until softened, about 3 minutes; stir in remaining garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Stir in tomatoes; cook until mixture begins to darken and thicken slightly, about 3 minutes. Stir in rice and cook until grains are well coated with tomato mixture, 1 to 2 minutes. Stir in chicken broth, wine, saffron, bay leaf, and ½ teaspoon salt. Return chicken and chorizo to pot, increase heat to medium-high and bring to boil, uncovered, stirring occasionally. Cover pot and transfer to oven; cook until rice absorbs almost all liquid, about 15 minutes. Remove pot from oven. Uncover pot; bury artichoke hearts (if using) into rice. Scatter shrimp and squid rings (if using) over rice, insert mussels hinged side down into top layer of rice (so they stand upright), arrange bell pepper strips in a pinwheel pattern, and scatter peas over top. Cover and return to oven; cook until shrimp are opaque and mussels have opened, 10 to 12 minutes.

Let paella stand, covered, about 5 minutes. Discard any mussels that have not opened and bay leaf, if it can be easily removed. Sprinkle with parsley and serve, passing lemon wedges separately.

The post 09/01/11 • PERFECT PAELLA, SIMPLIFIED appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the April, 2006 Gourmet (click here for the recipe)

I seem to be eating a lot of spaghetti these days, and when I’m not eating it I’m thinking about it. For a long time I only ever thought about it and never ate it, as once upon a time I subscribed to a strict no-carbs policy. I’m glad those days are behind me, but even though I now eat bagels, baguettes, potatoes, muffins, gnocchi, and pizza with abandon (I do follow an only-on-weekends rule where cookies are concerned, unless I made them myself in which case all bets are off), there’s invariably a moment before I take that first bite where I ask myself, “should I . . . ?” The answer is almost always “yes,” especially since starting this project, which has given me license to cook, and to eat, all sorts of good things I might never have allowed myself. Which probably explains why I can’t get spaghetti out of my head.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re helping me to assuage my guilt. For that I thank you, and in exchange I offer one of my all-time favorites — a bowlful of garlicky, buttery angel-hair pasta, dotted with a generous quantity of equally garlicky, buttery shrimp, all of it infused with the seductive flavors of olive oil, white wine, and just a hint of red-pepper flakes. We’re talking shrimp scampi here, of course, that classic of Italian-American cooking and a favored dish at so many red sauce establishments. In other words, this is a good trade.

This particular interpretation comes from the April, 2006 edition of Gourmet (R.I.P.), when the magazine was headed up by the illustrious Ruth Reichl, and when each issue would present me with at least a half dozen recipes that I had to try, urgently. Today those recipes fill two thick binders in my kitchen, though few are as dog-eared as this one. Funny, but I’m not even sure I knew what shrimp scampi was when I came across the recipe. I certainly knew the name of the dish and had probably even eaten it, but prior to landing on this version I doubt I could have told you how it was made or what ingredients it featured. All I knew was that it was going to be dinner, and soon.

I was curious, though: why “scampi?” Was this a variety of shrimp I wasn’t familiar with? A particular method of cooking seafood that features copious amounts of garlic? The name of a once illustrious Italian-American chef now lost to time? In fact, a little Internet digging (thank you Melissa Clark) revealed that scampi are tiny lobster-like crustaceans sometimes called langoustines, and that one cooking method popular among cooks in Italy is to sauté them in garlic, onion, olive oil, and white wine — in other words, a similar approach to the one used in making our American shrimp scampi. Apparently Italian cooks newly immigrated to the U.S. simply substituted scampi for the more readily available shrimp while retaining both names, thus giving life to the dish we now know as shrimp scampi. (And this concludes the historical portion of today’s posting).

Like so many creations born of home cooks’ ingenuity, shrimp scampi has lots of variations — it doesn’t always feature pasta, and often includes ingredients such as tomatoes, breadcrumbs, onions, and assorted herbs. Aside from the aforementioned capellini, the version presented here features none of those. In fact, what I liked about it was that it called into play relatively few ingredients, and that those that were used would create the kind of dish I was jonesing for — rich, a little decadent, and with enough garlic to ward off a family of vampires (four large cloves, so we’re talking serious protection here). I mean, who needs breadcrumbs or tarragon? Here was a scampi for purists!

That said, with just a handful of key players I knew I wanted to use the best quality ingredients I could find, which includes the shrimp (of course), but also the white wine and the olive oil. The recipe calls for just a ½ cup of dry white wine, so I cooked with a decent bottle and downed the rest with dinner. As for the olive oil, I used a Spanish variety called Romanico made from Arbequino olives. This had just the clean, peppery kick required to offset the acidity of the wine and the richness of the other ingredients (it’s also great as a dip for bread). It all worked beautifully — so beautifully, in fact, that a recipe meant to serve four only fed two of us, but then we’re greedy eaters.

One final note about the shrimp: the recipe calls for deveining, which is the most labor-intensive aspect of this otherwise speedy dish. Deveining, of course, involves cutting a ¼” or so sliver down the back of the shrimp and then using the tip of your knife to lift out the string-like vein. Why bother? Many don’t. Others, however, feel quite strongly about taking this extra step, both for esthetic reasons (a big black vein running down the hump of an otherwise pretty pink shrimp can be a deal-breaker for some) and for taste, as the vein can sometimes be a little gritty and bitter. There’s no clear consensus here, though for what it’s worth I did devein and will probably continue to in the future.

Also, unless you’re buying your shrimp straight from the deck of a fishing boat it will most likely have been frozen and then thawed prior to your purchase. As a result, America’s Test Kitchen suggests buying individually frozen shrimp and thawing them yourself. This will ensure less handling by the purveyor and ultimately more flavor for you.

Ingredients:
—1/4 cup Romanico olive oil
—1 lb peeled and deveined large shrimp (raw: 20 to 25 per lb)
—4 large garlic cloves, left unpeeled and forced through a garlic press
—1/2 tsp dried hot red-pepper flakes
—1/2 cup dry white wine
—1 tsp salt
—1/2 tsp black pepper
—5 tbsp unsalted butter
—3/4 lb capellini (angel-hair pasta)
—1/2 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Directions:
—Bring a 6- to 8-quart pot of salted water to a boil.
—Meanwhile, heat oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking, then sauté shrimp, turning over once, until just cooked through, about 2 minutes, and transfer with a slotted spoon to a large bowl. Add garlic to oil remaining in skillet along with red pepper flakes, wine, salt, and pepper and cook over high heat, stirring occasionally, 1 minute. Add butter to skillet, stirring until melted, and stir in shrimp. Remove skillet from heat.
—Cook pasta in boiling water until just tender, about 3 minutes. Reserve 1 cup of pasta-cooking water, then drain pasta in a colander. Toss pasta well with shrimp mixture and parsley in large bowl, adding some reserved cooking water if necessary to keep moist.

The post 08/18/11 • ULTIMATE SHRIMP SCAMPI appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Cook’s Illustrated Summer Entertaining, 2011 (click here to view the recipe)

One of the magical things about food is the way it can instantly trigger a memory or a feeling, much the way a piece of music can. Of course, depending on the particular circumstances of the meal in question that can be good, bad, or somewhere in-between — a reality I’ve been grappling with as I’ve tried (repeatedly) to write my review of this recipe for tuna burgers. You see, as I was cooking this particular dish I was also tending to my beloved fourteen year-old Labrador retriever, Lulu, who was suffering from liver failure and hadn’t eaten in over a week. As the hours ticked by it became increasingly clear that these would be our last days together, so most of my actions that Saturday were tied up with all the feelings I was having around having to say goodbye to this important member of our family.

Even so, I can say with confidence that, as with most dishes I’ve tackled from the Cook’s Illustrated group of titles, this one is a winner. A grilled fish burger can be an appealing alternative to ground beef, but the results are often dry and chalky — a far cry from the rich, delicately flavored piece of meat you started with. Not so with the CI version, however. True to form, the team there has worked and reworked the recipe until they hit on just the right equation, coming up with a burger that manages to achieve that seductive, charred exterior you look for when grilling, but without any of the stringiness or lack of juice that can be a fish burger’s downfall.

For the tuna burger recipe (CI also offers one here for salmon burgers) the key to achieving this first calls for chopping the fish into small pieces of about 1/8 of an inch, then making sure that the finished patties don’t stay on the grill too long (six minutes total, max). I personally found the chopping a tedious, time-consuming process, though it didn’t help that I had four hungry friends milling around the kitchen wondering when lunch would be ready, or that I was trying to keep an eye on Lulu, who was resting on her bed by the fridge. Still, the chopping step is key to maintaining the fish’s moisture, not to mention making sure the burgers hold together on the grill, so it’s well worth the effort.

And the rest of the directions couldn’t have been easier. These involved little more than mixing a variety of ingredients into the chopped tuna (minced garlic and ginger, a sprinkling of salt and pepper), then oiling the grill to ensure the patties don’t stick, as well as whipping up one of the three sauces the magazine recommends as an accompaniment.

Of these I opted for their creamy lemon-herb sauce (there’s also a chipotle-lime version, as well as a wasabi mayonnaise), as I liked that it called for a variety of herbs that you can mix and match depending on what looks and sounds the best to you. I happened to have some homegrown basil on hand, and so mixed that with a bunch of parsley I picked up at the market. With the addition of the scallion, lemon juice, and mayonnaise (Hellman’s, of course) also called for in the recipe, it made for a bright, refreshing accompaniment that featured just the right amount of acid to offset the richness of the fish. And, like the burgers themselves, it couldn’t have been easier to assemble. The sauce, a lightly grilled hamburger bun, and a crisp piece of lettuce was all it took to complete the dish.

The finished results were a major hit. I actually doubled the recipe as there were five of us (the recipe serves four), and our group devoured it all. It was a delicious meal, if a bittersweet occasion, and though Lulu declined the small piece of tuna burger I offered her (this from a dog who never met a snack she didn’t like) she did come out of the kitchen while we ate to sit in the sun and to keep us company.

Lulu died the next day, and though she didn’t actually partake of our lunch, I’ll always think of this as her last meal. It was a fitting one for a glorious, beloved friend.

Ingredients for the tuna burgers:
—1¼ lbs tuna steaks (high-quality)
—1 medium clove garlic, minced or pressed through a garlic press (about 1 tsp)
—1 tsp minced fresh ginger
—1/2 tsp table salt
—Ground black pepper
—Vegetable oil
—Hamburger buns and lettuce leaves (for serving)

Ingredients for the creamy lemon-herb sauce:
—1/4 cup mayonnaise
—1 small scallion, minced
—1 tbs fresh lemon juice
—1½ tsp minced fresh parsley leaves
—1½ tsp minced fresh thyme leaves
—1/2 tsp salt
—Ground black pepper

Directions for the tuna burgers:
—Chop tuna into 1/4- to 1/3-inch pieces. Using rocking motion with knife, continue to chop tuna until it is coarsely ground into pieces roughly 1/8 inch each. Mix with garlic, ginger, salt, and pepper to taste. Divide mixture into 4 equal portions (about 5 ounces each) and use your hands to press into compact patty about 1 inch thick. Place patties on parchment-lined baking sheet and refrigerate for at least 15 minutes.
—Turn on all gas grill burners to high, close lid, and heat grill until very hot, about 15 minutes. Leave all burners on high.
—Lightly dip a small wad of paper towels in vegetable oil; holding wad with long-handled tongs, wipe cooking grate. Grill burgers, covered, until browned on one side, about 3 minutes. Flip burgers with greased metal spatula. Continue grilling, covered, to desired doneness, about 3 minutes for medium-rare or 4 minutes for medium.
—Place on toasted hamburger buns, garnish with lemon-herb mayo (directions below) and lettuce leaves, and serve.

Makes four burgers

Directions for the lemon herb sauce:
—Mix all ingredients, including pepper to taste, together in a small bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and chill until flavors blend, at least 30 minutes.

Makes about 1/3 cup

The post 07/14/11 • LULU’S TUNA BURGER appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.