From the April, 2007 Food and Wine

Towards the end of last winter, as the days were getting longer and the damp, New York City chill was just beginning to loosen its pincer-like grip, I made a dish I’m often drawn to when it’s cold outside: beef stew. From this you might assume that stew is a particular favorite of mine, and it’s true that when said dish features a rich, robust sauce, a variety of bright, caramelized vegetables, and meat that’s as fork-tender as it is deeply flavored, I am indeed a happy man. Too often, though, whatever recipe I’m working with produces less than this desired combination—because the meat is tough, the vegetables mushy, or the sauce fails to deliver the zesty kick that’s such a critical component for me. And so over the past few winters I’ve tried a variety of stew recipes, all in the hope of finally achieving stew nirvana. It proved a frustratingly elusive state and one I’d all but given up on attaining until that day last February when, quite unexpectedly, I landed on the answer to my beefy dreams.

Of course, I knew the recipe I was trying held promise—for one thing it came courtesy of Jacques Pépin (via Food and Wine), the man behind any number of my favorite dishes. But it also called for an entire bottle of full-bodied red wine, an enticing mix of vegetables (baby carrots, cipollini onions, cremini mushrooms), and a handful of diced lardons, all ingredients that suggested the sort of deep, enveloping flavors I was after. What’s more, the combination suggested something more akin to the French boeuf Bourgignon than to classic American stew, which given my particular stew frustrations struck me as a good thing. Still, I’ve held promising stew recipes in my hand before only to have my hopes dashed when it came to the eating, so whatever anticipation I felt as I assembled my ingredients and got down to cooking was tempered by the suspicion that the finished product would likely fall short of my high standards.

Right from the start, however, things took an appealingly fragrant turn, when the beef was introduced to the melted butter/olive oil waiting in my cast iron pot, and later when the chopped onion and garlic were added to the proceedings. I don’t know about you, but on a chilly Sunday afternoon there are few smells more comforting—or mouth-watering—than that of beef, onions, and garlic sizzling in a pan of olive oil. And it’s a combination of cooking smells that only gets better when you add your bottle of red wine, along with a big sprig of thyme and a few bay leaves, to the pot. If comfort food had a signature smell this would be it: bright, zesty, and a little spicy. And it’s a medley of fragrances you’ll be enjoying for the next ninety minutes, since once the wine comes to a boil the pot is covered and moved to a 350˚ oven, where the sauce will thicken and reduce, and the meat will contract and tenderize.

Of course, no stew would be complete without those all-important vegetables, which here are cooked separately and added to the stew just before serving—a neat trick that protects against the buzz-kill of mushy vegetables. To start, simmer the pancetta in two cups of water for 20 minutes, a process that leaches some of the saltiness from the cured meat and keeps it from overpowering the flavors of the other ingredients once it’s introduced to the mixture. The pancetta is then sliced into lardons and added to a skillet along with the onions, the mushrooms, and the carrots, as well as a tablespoon of olive oil, a ¼ cup of water, and a little seasoning (a large pinch each of salt, pepper, and sugar).

Once the liquid comes to a boil (this will be quick, as there’s not all that much water or olive oil to heat) cover the skillet and simmer until most of the liquid has evaporated—including the additional volume released by the mushrooms. This is followed by a quick sauté (about four minutes), or until the vegetables are tender and nicely browned. That said, if you’re not able to find baby carrots (there were none to be had on my most recent foray, the photos of which are presented here) and are using a larger variety, in addition to cutting them into bite size pieces, you may need to extend the simmer time by five minutes or so to ensure everything is sufficiently tender. I should also mention that in addition to those carrots I had difficulty locating either cipollini or pearl onions (according to the recipe either will do), and so was forced to use frozen pearl onions—which, despite their time saving appeal should only be used as a last resort since they’re virtually flavorless. If you do find yourself in the happy position of being able to choose between the two options, however, I strongly suggest going with the larger cipollini onions over the pearl, as their generous proportions present a more satisfying burst of sweet onion flavor, while their flat sides lend themselves to better browning.

When the vegetables are sufficiently tender fold the majority into the meat mixture, reserving a small portion to be used, along with a few pinches of freshly chopped parsley, as garnish. The net result is a finished product that’s as bright visually as it is in the flavor department, while the meat—blanketed in a rich, tangy sauce—is miraculously tender and moist. In fact, “miraculous” is just the word that came to my mind on that chilly Sunday last winter when I first made this dish—which by the way is most definitely designed for eating with a fork, versus the brothier variety requiring a spoon… another selling point in my book. At last, here was a dish that checked all of my requirements, and was blessedly easy to prepare, as well.

Cold weather? Bring it on.

Ingredients:
—1 tbs unsalted butter
—2 tbs olive oil
—2 lbs trimmed beef flatiron steak or chuck, cut into 8 pieces
—Salt, to taste
—Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
—1 cup finely chopped onion
—1 tbs finely chopped garlic
—1 tbs all-purpose flour
—1 750-milliliter bottle dry red wine
—2 bay leaves
—1 thyme sprig
—1 5-oz piece of pancetta
—15 pearl or small cipollini onions
—15 cremini mushrooms
—15 baby carrots, peeled
—Sugar
—Chopped fresh parsley, for garnish

Directions:
—Preheat oven to 350°.
—In a large enameled cast-iron casserole, melt the butter in 1 tbs of the olive oil. Arrange the meat in the casserole in a single layer and season with salt and pepper. Cook over moderately high heat, turning occasionally, until browned on all sides, 8 minutes. Add the chopped onion and garlic and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until the onion is softened, 5 minutes. Add the flour and stir to coat the meat with it. Add the wine, bay leaves, and thyme, season with salt and pepper, and bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve any brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pot.
—Cover the casserole and transfer it to the oven. Cook the stew for 1 1/2 hours, until the meat is very tender and the sauce is flavorful.
—Meanwhile, in a saucepan, cover the pancetta with 2 cups of water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes. Drain the pancetta and slice it 1/2 inch thick, then cut the slices into 1-inch-wide lardons.
—In a large skillet, combine the pancetta, pearl onions, mushrooms, and carrots. Add the remaining 1 tbs of olive oil, 1/4 cup of water, and a large pinch each of sugar, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer until almost all of the water has evaporated, about 15 minutes. Uncover and cook over high heat, tossing, until the vegetables are tender and nicely browned, about 4 minutes. (TRG note: If you’re unable to locate baby carrots and are using a larger variety, you’ll probably need to extend the steaming time by 5 to 10 minutes; make sure the vegetables are nearly fork tender before proceeding to the sauté stage).
—To serve, stir some of the vegetables and lardons into the stew and scatter the rest on top as a garnish. Top with a little chopped parsley and serve.

Serves 4

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From the June, 2005 Gourmet

Several weeks ago I purchased a bottle of dry Marsala wine in order to make this recipe for sautéed mushrooms. The resulting dish was a wonderful early autumn treat, but I have to confess that the real source of excitement for me was cooking with the wine I’d bought for the occasion—an ingredient I’d never worked with before. That may sound like an odd confession, especially when I tell you that at least a few times a month I order chicken Marsala from our local Italian restaurant (a delivery staple for those nights when I don’t have the time/desire/energy to cook). I’m a big fan of this classic Italian-American chicken dish, largely because of the way the wine coats the meat with a rich tangy sauce, but also because of the seductive caramel color it delivers—so much so that if I see it on a menu it tends to eliminate the possibility of ordering anything else. How could it be that the dish’s signature ingredient—and one that’s so readily available—is one I’d never cooked with before? It’s a question I’m still pondering. Still, having finally cracked open the proverbial bottle, I realized there was now nothing to stop me from attempting my own, homemade version of this favorite dish.

And so almost as soon as I’d washed the utensils associated with my earlier mushroom cooking exercise, I went in search of a chicken Marsala recipe, which would deliver all the things I love best about the preparation—namely tender chicken, flavor-packed mushrooms, and, of course, that dark, zesty sauce. As it turns out, I wouldn’t have to look far, since my own rather large (and largely untested) collection of recipe clippings included one from the June, 2005 issue of Gourmet for the very dish I was after. Given the recipe’s provenance—as I’ve said here before, there are few resources in which I have more faith than the Ruth Reichl era of Gourmet—I had little doubt that this version would hit all of the desired high notes.

That said, there was one ingredient in the recipe that didn’t seem to align with my vision for the ultimate chicken Marsala: cream—2/3 of a cup, to be exact, which is added to the sauce in the final minutes of preparation. Still, such has been my satisfaction with most anything I’ve prepared from the magazine that I figured it was worth a try. And so I got down to work, sautéing a few tablespoons of finely chopped shallots in three tablespoons of butter (most chicken Marsala recipes call for onion; I like the sweeter flavor of the shallot here), then adding the mushrooms, the sage, and a little salt and pepper. After eight minutes or so, or once all the liquid had dissipated and the mushrooms had begun to brown, I removed the pan from the heat and set it aside—taking a few moments, of course, to savor the swoon-worthy scent overtaking the kitchen, as there are few things more enticing than the smell of onions cooked in butter.

Next I prepared the chicken, pounding the four boneless, skinless chicken breasts between sheets of plastic wrap until each was about ¼” thick (despite my impulse to do this by placing all four breasts between two very large sheets of plastic, I learned the hard way that it’s better to pound each breast individually, between its own two sheets of plastic—not as “green” perhaps, but definitely more efficient). Just be sure to proceed gently as you don’t want the chicken to tear—a development that can make the next steps (patting the chicken dry, seasoning it with salt and pepper, dredging each cutlet in a cup of flour) a more delicate, and therefore time-consuming, process than it needs to be.

Once the chicken had been prepped it was time to move on to the actual cooking—a simple enough process that required nothing more than frying the cutlets (two at a time) in a tablespoon each of olive oil and butter for a total of four minutes, then transferring the chicken to a heat-proof platter and a 200˚ oven to keep warm. All that remained now was the making of the sauce, though as any true chicken Marsala appreciator can tell you, it’s the sauce that’s the most important component. Here it’s produced by bringing a ½ cup of Marsala wine to a boil, stirring it for about 30 seconds, then adding ¾ cup of previously reduced chicken broth (start with 1¾ cup and boil this down to ¾ cup, a process shat should take about 15 to 20 minutes, though you’ll want to check often), the heavy cream, and the mushrooms, and simmer for between 6 and 8 minutes, until the sauce is thickened. Alternately, if you’re not a fan of the cream here (I liked it but can also imagine wanting a cream-free variety on occasion), simply omit this ingredient and in the final minutes—after adding a teaspoon of lemon juice, 2 more tablespoons of wine, and a ½ teaspoon of sage—remove the pan from the heat and stir in two tablespoons of butter, just to ensure a silky consistency to the sauce. Pour this intoxicating mixture over the cutlets, and serve.

The traditional way to enjoy this dish is alongside a mound of spaghetti, and while I’ll be the first to acknowledge the undeniable appeal of this combination, if you’re trying to limit your starch intake (as I am) a healthier and equally appealing accompaniment is sautéed spinach or broccoli rabe. Either way, there’s something about the rich, silken sauce paired with the chicken here that makes this one of those rare, standout combinations: a decadent dish that’s still relatively healthy, not to mention easy enough to prepare for a weeknight dinner. What’s more, the dish has a kind of celebratory, special-occasion quality, and who doesn’t need a little of that in the middle of the week?

On a separate note, I wanted to mention that, unfortunately, I will again have to take a hiatus next week from my weekly posting schedule—this time because we’re moving and as much as I’d prefer to be brining pickles or making a rabbit stew or some such, I’ll be packing boxes (yay). I’ll try to bring you something tantalizing the week of October 28th to make up for my absence. In the meantime, be well everyone!

Ingredients:
—1¾ cups reduced-sodium chicken broth, divided
—2 tbs finely chopped shallot
—5 tbs unsalted butter, divided
—10 oz mushrooms, trimmed and thinly sliced (TRG note: I recommend good old white button mushrooms here)
—1½ tsp finely chopped fresh sage, divided
—1/4 tsp salt
—1/8 tsp black pepper
—1 cup all-purpose flour
—4 skinless, boneless chicken breast halves (about 2 lbs total)
—2 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
—1/2 cup plus 2 tbs dry Marsala wine, divided
—2/3 cup heavy cream (TRG note: Treat this as optional; if you prefer a less creamy sauce, omit, or substitute with a few tablespoons unsalted butter)
—1 tsp fresh lemon juice

Directions:
—Put rack in middle position and preheat oven to 200˚.
—Bring broth to a boil in a 2-qt. saucepan over high heat, then boil, uncovered, until reduced to about ¾ cup, about 20 minutes (TRG note: I found this takes much less time, so start checking at around 10 minutes). Set aside.
—Cook shallot in 3 tbs of the butter in an 8- to 10-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat, stirring, until shallot begins to turn golden, about 1 minute.
—Add mushrooms, 1 tsp of the sage, salt, and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until liquid mushrooms give off is evaporated and mushrooms begin to brown, 6 to 8 minutes. Remove from heat.
—Put flour in a wide, shallow bowl. Gently pound chicken to ¼-inch thick between 2 sheets of plastic wrap using the flat side of a meat pounder or a rolling pin.
—Pat chicken dry and season with salt and pepper, then dredge in flour, 1 piece at a time, shaking off excess. Transfer chicken to sheets of wax paper, arranging chicken in 1 layer.
—Heat 1 tbs each of oil and butter in a 10-inch heavy skillet over moderately high heat until foam subsides, then sauté half of chicken, turning once, until golden and just cooked through, about 4 minutes total. Transfer cooked chicken to a large, heatproof platter, arranging in 1 layer, then place platter in oven to keep warm. Wipe out skillet with paper towels and cook remaining chicken in same manner, then transfer to oven, arranging in 1 layer.
—Add ½ cup of the wine to skillet and boil over high heat, stirring and scraping up brown bits, about 30 seconds. Add reduced broth, cream, and mushrooms, then simmer, stirring occasionally, until sauce is slightly thickened, 6 to 8 minutes. Add lemon juice and remaining 2 tbs wine and ½ tsp sage. (TRG note: If you prefer your sauce to be less creamy, simply omit the cream, if you like adding two tablespoons of butter off heat, after the lemon juice, wine, and sage have been incorporated.)
—Serve chicken with the sauce.

Serves 4 (or two who eat like Alfredo and me)

The post 10/18/13 • CHICKEN MARSALA appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Oct., 2013 Food and Wine

Mushrooms can be a tough sell for a kid, particularly in their uncooked form when they’re just a little too spongy and strange for any but the most adventurous eater. I can remember the moment when that changed for me. It was around the big dining table at the house in northern Maine where my stepmother’s extensive family assembled every summer—one of those imposing old places facing the sea that’s quaintly called a “cottage,” even though it seems to ramble aimlessly over a multitude of floors and wings, including one dedicated just to staff. This would have been during my first visit to the house, and as an eleven year old from the gritty neighborhood of West Philadelphia, the experience that summer (and the many that followed) was a little like being transported to a fairytale, or a gothic romance, or a combination of the two. For a boy with an imagination it was Heaven. But back to those mushrooms: at the meal in question one of the adults had sautéed a few handfuls of mushrooms that she’d foraged from the extensive Pine-y woods nearby, and which she clearly intended to make her own small supper. Maybe because everything in this place was so enticingly foreign, I was intrigued by the look and smell of the dish and asked to give it a try. It was like nothing I’d ever tasted—rich and earthy, but also sweet and a little delicate. I was hooked, and immediately moved in for a second helping, stopped only by a sharp look from my Dad.

Since that time, sautéed mushrooms have held a particular allure for me—a relationship that means I’ll order them whenever I see the dish listed on a menu, but that for some reason never included actually making them myself. Happily I finally put an end to this culinary blind spot when I came across the attached recipe for sautéed mushrooms in red wine in the October issue of Food and Wine. Although the recipe doesn’t call for the wild variety of that first, eye-opening mushroom-eating experience—instead using standard issue white button and cremini mushrooms, as well as portobellos, which have never been a favorite of mine—there was something about the various other ingredients called for by the recipe that made me think I should give it a try. These additions include red wine, lemon juice, dry Marsala, and butter (added in the final moments of cooking to enrich the sauce)—enhancements I felt had the potential to elevate the supermarket mushroom combination to the status of something truly special.

The cooking process can be broken down into four distinct, equally simple steps. The first involves baking the portobellos (brushed with olive oil and sprinkled with salt) for 25 minutes in a 350˚ oven, and once cool, cutting them into ½-inch thick slices. While the portobellos are cooking, begin step two—a process that involves sautéing a quantity of leeks and garlic in olive oil until softened, and a mixture that functions as a kind of flavor base for the finished dish. The third step requires sautéing the cremini/white button mixture in olive oil along with some salt and a few sprigs of thyme (do this in two batches) until browned and tender. According to the recipe, this sautéing of the mushrooms should take about 8 minutes, though I found it to need more like twelve to fifteen, so be sure to test for doneness as you go.

Either way, once the mushrooms have been cooked to your satisfaction, it’s time for step four, which calls for returning the cremini along with the leeks and the portobellos to your pan, adding the red wine, and sautéing the mixture until the liquid is just evaporated. Allowing the wine sufficient time to boil down is important, as it ensures that the tang of the wine will have a chance to deepen and become concentrated, while also giving the mushrooms a chance to absorb this rich flavor. That said, it can be tricky to determine when all the wine has boiled off, since the mushrooms (particularly the portobellos) are likely to continue releasing moisture as they cook, making for a confluence of liquids. To adjust for any potential confusion this may cause, note the level of the wine when it’s added to the pan so you can estimate at which point it’s no longer present (and if all else fails, five to eight minutes should probably do the trick). In any case, once the wine has been reduced, add the vegetable broth, the lemon juice, and the lemon zest, and allow the mixture to simmer together for four minutes or so until the mushrooms start to look nicely sauced, and the tang of the citrus has had a chance to merge with the other flavors in the pan. It’s a heavenly combination, made all the more enticing by the addition of a small amount of Marsala, which gently nudges up the flavor quotient.

All that remains is to remove the pan from the heat, stir in a tablespoon of butter (I doubled this as the finished product didn’t look quite silken enough to me), the cup of arugula (for a peppery contrast), and a little seasoning in the form of salt and pepper. While the mixture doesn’t have the subtle delicacy of the wild mushrooms I sampled all those years ago, it is rich, earthy, and full of wonderful flavor—perfect all on its own or as an accompaniment to grilled meat, or even a few fried eggs.

Magic mushrooms indeed.

Ingredients:
—1 lb. portobello mushrooms
—6 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
—Kosher salt
—Freshly ground black pepper
—2 leeks, white and light green parts only, halved and thinly sliced crosswise
—2 garlic cloves, minced
—2 lbs mixed white button and cremini mushrooms, halved
—2 thyme sprigs
—1/2 cup dry red wine
—1¼ cups vegetable broth
—1/2 tsp finely grated lemon zest
—1 tbs fresh lemon juice
—1 tbs dry Marsala
—1 tbs unsalted butter (TRG note: I doubled this to make the sauce a little richer)
—1 cup packed baby arugula

Directions:
—Preheat oven to 350˚.
—On a baking sheet, brush the portobellos with 1 tbs of the olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Bake for about 25 minutes, until tender; let cool slightly, then slice ½-inch thick.
—Meanwhile, in a large, deep skillet, heat 1 tbs of the oil. Add the leeks, garlic and a big pinch of salt and pepper. Cook over moderate heat until the leeks are just starting to brown, 7 minutes; transfer to a bowl.
—Heat 2 tbs of oil in the skillet. Add half of the button and cremini mushrooms and a thyme sprig, season with salt and pepper and cook over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally, until tender and browned, 8 minutes. Transfer to the bowl. Repeat with the remaining 2 tbs of oil, mushrooms and thyme sprig.
—Return all of the cooked mushrooms to the skillet. Add the red wine and cook until evaporated. Add the broth, lemon zest, and lemon juice and cook over moderate heat, stirring, until the mushrooms are coated in a light sauce, 4 minutes. Stir in the Marsala and cook for 1 minute. Off the heat, stir in the butter and arugula and season with salt and pepper.

Makes 6 servings

The post 09/25/13 • SAUTEED MUSHROOMS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.