As I have written in these pages before – I am a fool for offal. Liver, especially, is one of my favourites. I can remember the look that my father gave me when, as a five year-old, I must have surprised him by displaying a hearty appetite for the pan-fried pork livers that he loved so dearly. My father was a very private man but even he could not disguise the happiness that showed so clearly on his face. In later years he mastered the art of acting all put out – at having to deal with competition at the dinner table for this otherwise unpopular delicacy – but I knew he was secretly pleased that he had been able to share his love for liver with at least one of his children.
What he did not do, though, was share his alleged love for cooking with any of his children at all. Growing up we heard stories – from our mother, our aunts and all manner of others who had had the fortune of tasting my father’s cooking – about how wonderful a chef our father was. There was the story of how, as a ten-year-old, my father averted a near disaster and saved a dinner party for twelve when his mother, my grandmother, was stranded while out running errands. It must have been embellished and retold many times over the years because by the time we heard the story it sounded like my father had, at the last minute, thrown together a multi-course meal with nothing more than a pair of scissors, some tongs, and a paper clip.
But he rarely, if ever, cooked for us – that was left to my mother or our housemaid who ran the kitchen with her own idiosyncratic efficiency. I personally never knew where anything ever was, yet she would be able to produce it out of a hidden cupboard within seconds. It was quite marvelous, really, what else she could whip up at a moment’s notice. She would make me full meals out of nothing at all when I would come home late from rugby practice, and I never thought to question how it was she seemed to have everything prepped at any given time, for whatever I was in the mood for. Years later as I started to cook myself, I wondered how she did it; and I realised just what a feat of organisation running a kitchen actually was.
Yet I digress. The other day I felt in the mood for some liver, so I decided to make a chicken liver mousse – something I had never done before. I had had one that Morgan made at the wine bar he worked at, so I knew that he knew how to do it; and he graciously told me how over the phone as I walked the aisles at Whole Foods. I bought a crusty wheat baguette to go with it, and went on my way.
It is strangely satisfying when you add a new recipe, or a technique, to your repertoire, and it was this satisfied feeling that came over me as I tasted the warm mousse when I was done making it. I had done good.
I was relieved when Mike and Marc both admitted that they liked liver too – for I had not considered the dietary preferences of my guests for the meal at all. The mousse turned out pretty well, if I may say so myself; I had added some port wine to Morgan’s recipe and it worked wonders. It is a crying shame that one can only eat so much liver at a go; especially when there is still a pasta appetiser and a main course of pork to go. I was a happy camper at the end of the meal, and we went off on our way to get ourselves more intoxicated.
Chicken Liver Mousse, or Mousse de foies de volailles
inspired by the Stone Home Wine Bar
1 pound chicken livers, washed and cleaned
1 + ½ stick butter
2 cloves garlic
1 large shallot
½ cup port wine
1 tbsp nutmeg
1 tbsp allspice
Salt and pepper
Marinate the livers in the port wine for 30 minutes. Finely dice the garlic and shallot and sauté them in the ½ stick of butter over medium heat. Add the livers and spices, reserving the port marinade and sauté till browned, about 3 minutes each side. Add the port and reduce until half the liquid is gone.
In a blender or food processor, blend the warm liver mixture and add the remaining butter in small pieces. According to Morgan, the butter that is added here should preferably be cold, because it emulsifies better. Once the livers and the butter combine, remove and place in a mold. You should line the mold with saran wrap so that you can pull the mousse out easily when serving. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Serves 6 as an appetiser.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Of pizza and place
Coppi's Organic
1414 U St
Washington, DC 20009
202-319-7773
To borrow a couple of turns of phrases from one of the greats, Coppi’s Organic is the kind of place that you mix your emotions up with. There are places in this world that it is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about but there are some that will make you care. The room is long and narrow and not well-lit; as you walk in you can see the bar at the end of the room and the great wood-fired brick oven glowing insistently. It is high-ceilinged, and there are black and white pictures up on the walls of Italian Grand Prix cyclists from an era gone by. It is as if the owner opened a window into his passion for cycling, opened it for anyone – interested or not.
The last time I was there I was with Jeff and we sat in the middle of the room. I had been looking forward to the meal for a while before and this was a good a place to have it as any other. The murmur of conversation formed a wall around us as we sat and ate, and talked. For that reason alone I am convinced that Coppi’s is the place to go if you want to have a good meal and a good conversation. It is either due to great acoustics or a quirk of fate that no matter how close you are seated to other tables – and they do get pretty close – somehow, the only conversation you will hear at Coppi’s is your own.
The restaurant specialises in Ligurian cuisine, which Jeff informs me is superb. Liguria is a coastal strip in north-western Italy, famous for its focaccia and pesto among other specialties. Its influence is clear in Coppi’s menu – which is dominated by greens, mozzarella and sweet basil. Their antipasti is passable, and the home-made pasta good without being exceptional. These flavours and foods are all wonderful things, but what I really like the most about the place is its pizza.
The pizza at Coppi’s is made in a large-domed brick oven at the far end of the room, a large beast of an oven that defines the room. Wood-fired ovens are far superior to others for the cooking of most foods in general, and pizza in particular. This is not only because they can reach temperatures far higher than conventional ovens, but also because the food is evenly cooked by the wood-fired floor below as well as the heat radiated from the dome above. This ensures that pizza, in particular, can be browned to a crisp on the outside and yet remain light and fluffy on the inside.
But all the technology in the world will not save you if you do not care about the food, and that Coppi’s does. Its dedication to local and organic ingredients means that it can be a little expensive, but this is all completely forgotten once the pizza is served. The pastry had that taste of simplicity that most Italian cuisine has, with more than a strong hint of high quality olive oil. Yet the refusal to complicate the bread-making process ensured that it still predominantly had that old fashioned doughy goodness that I like in my bread.
I had had the lamb sausage pizza before, and I did it again, knowing it would not disappoint. When I called two days earlier I had asked if they were still serving it, knowing that the menu rotated with the seasons. The woman on the other end of the line laughed at the preposterousness of my question, and said, “Absolutely. That’s my favourite too, and I promise you, they’ll never take it off.”
It tasted like a thousand lambs had been killed to make that sausage, and their meats had been seasoned with the spices carried by a thousand merchant ships, across a thousand oceans. The garlic was strong but not overpowering, and there were hints of rosemary and thyme. Jeff chose the Genovese pesto pizza, wanting to see how Coppi’s would take local ingredients from the here and now, to recreate a tradition from many miles away, and many years ago. The pesto had been salted heavily and had a lovely crunchy texture. Both pizzas were, naturally, gone all too quickly.
With the turnover so characteristic of the restaurant industry it is sometimes difficult to create that familial atmosphere among the hostesses, waitresses, cooks and bartenders and all the other lovely people that help put the food on our table and make sure we have a smashing time. This did not seem like a problem at Coppi’s, the banter was obvious between everyone on the floor, and most of the people looked genuinely happy to be there. The one time I was there with Mira we had a delightful waitress – I think her name was Jamie – tall and dark-haired with an uncommon beauty; she spoke with a lilting, abrupt delivery and walked with the awkward grace of one who is still discovering the beauty of her own body. One is always discovering, it seems. She was charming beyond measure and I think I kind of fell for her a little. I asked about her this time I was there but she was not working that night, and somehow that made me fall for her a little more.
As we left we had that feeling of leaving a party that we knew would go on for long after our departure, and that saddened us a little. The winelist is decent and the other food is very, very good but not great. The dessert selection was also a little disappointing, but the pizza, with its well-chosen combinations of intense flavours, with its superior pastry baked to wood-oven perfection – the pizza alone, is reason enough to go back.
1414 U St
Washington, DC 20009
202-319-7773
To borrow a couple of turns of phrases from one of the greats, Coppi’s Organic is the kind of place that you mix your emotions up with. There are places in this world that it is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about but there are some that will make you care. The room is long and narrow and not well-lit; as you walk in you can see the bar at the end of the room and the great wood-fired brick oven glowing insistently. It is high-ceilinged, and there are black and white pictures up on the walls of Italian Grand Prix cyclists from an era gone by. It is as if the owner opened a window into his passion for cycling, opened it for anyone – interested or not.
The last time I was there I was with Jeff and we sat in the middle of the room. I had been looking forward to the meal for a while before and this was a good a place to have it as any other. The murmur of conversation formed a wall around us as we sat and ate, and talked. For that reason alone I am convinced that Coppi’s is the place to go if you want to have a good meal and a good conversation. It is either due to great acoustics or a quirk of fate that no matter how close you are seated to other tables – and they do get pretty close – somehow, the only conversation you will hear at Coppi’s is your own.
The restaurant specialises in Ligurian cuisine, which Jeff informs me is superb. Liguria is a coastal strip in north-western Italy, famous for its focaccia and pesto among other specialties. Its influence is clear in Coppi’s menu – which is dominated by greens, mozzarella and sweet basil. Their antipasti is passable, and the home-made pasta good without being exceptional. These flavours and foods are all wonderful things, but what I really like the most about the place is its pizza.
The pizza at Coppi’s is made in a large-domed brick oven at the far end of the room, a large beast of an oven that defines the room. Wood-fired ovens are far superior to others for the cooking of most foods in general, and pizza in particular. This is not only because they can reach temperatures far higher than conventional ovens, but also because the food is evenly cooked by the wood-fired floor below as well as the heat radiated from the dome above. This ensures that pizza, in particular, can be browned to a crisp on the outside and yet remain light and fluffy on the inside.
But all the technology in the world will not save you if you do not care about the food, and that Coppi’s does. Its dedication to local and organic ingredients means that it can be a little expensive, but this is all completely forgotten once the pizza is served. The pastry had that taste of simplicity that most Italian cuisine has, with more than a strong hint of high quality olive oil. Yet the refusal to complicate the bread-making process ensured that it still predominantly had that old fashioned doughy goodness that I like in my bread.
I had had the lamb sausage pizza before, and I did it again, knowing it would not disappoint. When I called two days earlier I had asked if they were still serving it, knowing that the menu rotated with the seasons. The woman on the other end of the line laughed at the preposterousness of my question, and said, “Absolutely. That’s my favourite too, and I promise you, they’ll never take it off.”
It tasted like a thousand lambs had been killed to make that sausage, and their meats had been seasoned with the spices carried by a thousand merchant ships, across a thousand oceans. The garlic was strong but not overpowering, and there were hints of rosemary and thyme. Jeff chose the Genovese pesto pizza, wanting to see how Coppi’s would take local ingredients from the here and now, to recreate a tradition from many miles away, and many years ago. The pesto had been salted heavily and had a lovely crunchy texture. Both pizzas were, naturally, gone all too quickly.
With the turnover so characteristic of the restaurant industry it is sometimes difficult to create that familial atmosphere among the hostesses, waitresses, cooks and bartenders and all the other lovely people that help put the food on our table and make sure we have a smashing time. This did not seem like a problem at Coppi’s, the banter was obvious between everyone on the floor, and most of the people looked genuinely happy to be there. The one time I was there with Mira we had a delightful waitress – I think her name was Jamie – tall and dark-haired with an uncommon beauty; she spoke with a lilting, abrupt delivery and walked with the awkward grace of one who is still discovering the beauty of her own body. One is always discovering, it seems. She was charming beyond measure and I think I kind of fell for her a little. I asked about her this time I was there but she was not working that night, and somehow that made me fall for her a little more.
As we left we had that feeling of leaving a party that we knew would go on for long after our departure, and that saddened us a little. The winelist is decent and the other food is very, very good but not great. The dessert selection was also a little disappointing, but the pizza, with its well-chosen combinations of intense flavours, with its superior pastry baked to wood-oven perfection – the pizza alone, is reason enough to go back.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Of beets, vanilla custards, and restaurants named for women
I have not written for quite some time – and while I would like to say this is due to laziness, that is only partly true. The fact of the matter is that I simply have not had many dining experiences worth annotating in a while – I have been on the road much, and have also had too much taken out of me to sit down and write. But this week is Restaurant Week in DC, and that in itself is probably enough to prompt an entry.
In retrospect, to say that I have not had experiences worth annotating is probably harsh – I did have one meal about a month ago at a place called Acacia in Princeton, NJ at Laura’s recommendation – that was very, very good without being great. The mascarpone polenta that came with my shrimp appetiser was creamy and light and very tasty, and clearly bore the hand of a skilled chef. Also, I was in Torrance, CA recently and ate at a lovely little resto called Restaurant Christine, which was a quiet little place with a greenery-adorned patio and an inside decked in shades of persimmon. I have a weird thing for anything – restaurants, bars, boats – named after women. I sat inside, in a booth on the first floor instead of the mezzanine, and had a delightful salad with beets and duck confit and pecans. It was the best salad I’d had in a long while, and I cleaned my plate. But it also meant that I had no room for my entrée – prosciutto-wrapped beef tenderloin medallions, which came in a rich, creamy sauce and left me completely and utterly defeated. I threw my hands up after three of the six medallions and sighed a sigh of contentment.
But back to Restaurant Week. I had scheduled two dinners for the week, one for tonight and another for tomorrow – and I will write about them – but early in the week I decided that in the spirit of things I would do a Restaurant Week myself, chez moi: three courses, with wine pairings. The idea started as a passing fancy, but slowly grew to take hold of me; and once Kellyn and Hunter had announced that they were down, I sent out the invites.
Hunter wound up not being able to make it – I suspect he was put off by my jokingly announcing that he would have to give me $30.07 for dinner, that cheap bastard. Work dinner, my ass. But Brian and Jenna gave me the thumbs up, as did Amanda and Clayton, and I had a guest list of some of my favourite people in DC.
Everyone arrived at almost exactly the same time as each other – which never happens – and Kellyn hung out with me in the kitchen while I put the finishing touches on the first course. I had made a sherry-glazed filet of cod, and was going to pair it with a blue cheese riso with caramelized onions, grape tomatoes and artichoke hearts. I pan-seared the cod in a pat of butter, flipping it very carefully, and then finished it off in the oven while I assembled the riso. Feeling very self-conscious as Kellyn scrutinised my every move, I tossed the riso with olive oil, then the tomatoes and artichokes and onions, and then folded in the crumbled blue cheese. The pasta took on a silvery, slippery hue as the cheese melted on it, and I could hardly wait to eat it. I had not kept track of time as I did this, but when I checked on the fish I could tell with a single look that it needed about a minute more, no more, and no less. I prodded it with my finger after a minute and, satisfied, plated it with the riso and sprinkled chopped parsley generously over both.
This was the course I was the most satisfied with because the fish was cooked almost to perfection, moist and crumbly and probably just about one shade this side of opaque. I could probably have finished it off with another pat of butter, or adorned it with a sherry reduction, but it turned out very well as it was, and I dare say nobody was disappointed. Also, the colours made for a great presentation, and that always pleases me. We had a 2006 Jacques & Francois Lurton Les Fumées Blanches Chardonnay with it, and it worked pretty well.
I fell back on an old favourite for the entrée – beef in chimichurri. To be honest, the butcher at Whole Foods gave me the idea – we were talking about cost-efficient ways to feed six people without buying six individual steaks or six individual chops, and he suggested searing or grilling a large cut of sirloin, rare to medium rare, and then cutting it into thin strips to serve. This worked so well that I was a little mad I hadn’t thought of it before. Okay, so probably nobody was overly full, but I do speak for myself when I say I was content. I paired it with a 2004 Bodega Norton Malbec Riserva which was in keeping with the Argentinean theme, and had a heft and body that complemented the dish perfectly. As a side I made a potato-beet gratin that I had probably mis-timed and overcooked by about five to ten minutes; and might also have used a little more cream, a la dauphinoise, but was quite tasty nonetheless. I love beets. For the life of me I cannot understand why more people do not like them. To me they are extremely underrated. They are delicious and low in calories, and also very good for you. My friend Laura is vegetarian and hates beets, which amazes me. Really, Laura, I should imagine that the last thing you want to do is to cut down on your already limited options.
For dessert I made strawberry napoleons, which were quite a great hit. I do not typically try my hand at making dessert, for I am atrocious at it. But I had had a conversation recently about Pastiche in Providence and their amazing fruit tarts, and was inspired to make a custard to rival theirs. The one I made didn’t even come close, but it was very good. For good measure I sprinkled a healthy helping of confectioner’s sugar over the napoleons for that professional and aesthetic touch. They were good to look at, and I am kicking myself for not taking a photo, but they were also good to eat, which made me happy. Incredibly enough, there were leftovers, which Clayton and I polished off the next morning for breakfast. They were even better then than at dinner, which leads me to conclude that I should make the custard 24 hours in advance the next time. We live and we learn.
It was a very enjoyable night, with excellent company, and I was very happy with how everything turned out. I wondered what it was that had separated that night from all the other mediocre dinners I had made in the past, and I can only conclude that food always tastes better when you are making it for people that you really care about.
-----------
If you must know:
Acacia
2637 Main St
Lawrenceville, NJ
609-895-9885
Restaurant Christine
24530 Hawthorne Boulevard
Torrance, CA
310-373-1952
In retrospect, to say that I have not had experiences worth annotating is probably harsh – I did have one meal about a month ago at a place called Acacia in Princeton, NJ at Laura’s recommendation – that was very, very good without being great. The mascarpone polenta that came with my shrimp appetiser was creamy and light and very tasty, and clearly bore the hand of a skilled chef. Also, I was in Torrance, CA recently and ate at a lovely little resto called Restaurant Christine, which was a quiet little place with a greenery-adorned patio and an inside decked in shades of persimmon. I have a weird thing for anything – restaurants, bars, boats – named after women. I sat inside, in a booth on the first floor instead of the mezzanine, and had a delightful salad with beets and duck confit and pecans. It was the best salad I’d had in a long while, and I cleaned my plate. But it also meant that I had no room for my entrée – prosciutto-wrapped beef tenderloin medallions, which came in a rich, creamy sauce and left me completely and utterly defeated. I threw my hands up after three of the six medallions and sighed a sigh of contentment.
But back to Restaurant Week. I had scheduled two dinners for the week, one for tonight and another for tomorrow – and I will write about them – but early in the week I decided that in the spirit of things I would do a Restaurant Week myself, chez moi: three courses, with wine pairings. The idea started as a passing fancy, but slowly grew to take hold of me; and once Kellyn and Hunter had announced that they were down, I sent out the invites.
Hunter wound up not being able to make it – I suspect he was put off by my jokingly announcing that he would have to give me $30.07 for dinner, that cheap bastard. Work dinner, my ass. But Brian and Jenna gave me the thumbs up, as did Amanda and Clayton, and I had a guest list of some of my favourite people in DC.
Everyone arrived at almost exactly the same time as each other – which never happens – and Kellyn hung out with me in the kitchen while I put the finishing touches on the first course. I had made a sherry-glazed filet of cod, and was going to pair it with a blue cheese riso with caramelized onions, grape tomatoes and artichoke hearts. I pan-seared the cod in a pat of butter, flipping it very carefully, and then finished it off in the oven while I assembled the riso. Feeling very self-conscious as Kellyn scrutinised my every move, I tossed the riso with olive oil, then the tomatoes and artichokes and onions, and then folded in the crumbled blue cheese. The pasta took on a silvery, slippery hue as the cheese melted on it, and I could hardly wait to eat it. I had not kept track of time as I did this, but when I checked on the fish I could tell with a single look that it needed about a minute more, no more, and no less. I prodded it with my finger after a minute and, satisfied, plated it with the riso and sprinkled chopped parsley generously over both.
This was the course I was the most satisfied with because the fish was cooked almost to perfection, moist and crumbly and probably just about one shade this side of opaque. I could probably have finished it off with another pat of butter, or adorned it with a sherry reduction, but it turned out very well as it was, and I dare say nobody was disappointed. Also, the colours made for a great presentation, and that always pleases me. We had a 2006 Jacques & Francois Lurton Les Fumées Blanches Chardonnay with it, and it worked pretty well.
I fell back on an old favourite for the entrée – beef in chimichurri. To be honest, the butcher at Whole Foods gave me the idea – we were talking about cost-efficient ways to feed six people without buying six individual steaks or six individual chops, and he suggested searing or grilling a large cut of sirloin, rare to medium rare, and then cutting it into thin strips to serve. This worked so well that I was a little mad I hadn’t thought of it before. Okay, so probably nobody was overly full, but I do speak for myself when I say I was content. I paired it with a 2004 Bodega Norton Malbec Riserva which was in keeping with the Argentinean theme, and had a heft and body that complemented the dish perfectly. As a side I made a potato-beet gratin that I had probably mis-timed and overcooked by about five to ten minutes; and might also have used a little more cream, a la dauphinoise, but was quite tasty nonetheless. I love beets. For the life of me I cannot understand why more people do not like them. To me they are extremely underrated. They are delicious and low in calories, and also very good for you. My friend Laura is vegetarian and hates beets, which amazes me. Really, Laura, I should imagine that the last thing you want to do is to cut down on your already limited options.
For dessert I made strawberry napoleons, which were quite a great hit. I do not typically try my hand at making dessert, for I am atrocious at it. But I had had a conversation recently about Pastiche in Providence and their amazing fruit tarts, and was inspired to make a custard to rival theirs. The one I made didn’t even come close, but it was very good. For good measure I sprinkled a healthy helping of confectioner’s sugar over the napoleons for that professional and aesthetic touch. They were good to look at, and I am kicking myself for not taking a photo, but they were also good to eat, which made me happy. Incredibly enough, there were leftovers, which Clayton and I polished off the next morning for breakfast. They were even better then than at dinner, which leads me to conclude that I should make the custard 24 hours in advance the next time. We live and we learn.
It was a very enjoyable night, with excellent company, and I was very happy with how everything turned out. I wondered what it was that had separated that night from all the other mediocre dinners I had made in the past, and I can only conclude that food always tastes better when you are making it for people that you really care about.
-----------
If you must know:
Acacia
2637 Main St
Lawrenceville, NJ
609-895-9885
Restaurant Christine
24530 Hawthorne Boulevard
Torrance, CA
310-373-1952
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