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.
Showing posts with label appetisers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label appetisers. Show all posts
Monday, August 27, 2007
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The well-laid plans of mice and men
Sometimes planning a meal can be almost as exciting as actually making it and – very rarely – actually having the meal. Certainly for me it feels like the longest stage in the entire process: how many courses, what ingredients and what methods to use, what wines to drink and obviously most important of all – who to invite. Yesterday I finally threw a dinner party that had been in the works for close to a month; I had talked Laura and Amanda’s ears off about what I would make and it was time to deliver.
Part of the planning process, I feel, and especially with a multi-course dinner, involves choosing your courses carefully so that you have a comfortable mix of dishes that can be made in advance and dishes that have to be made a la minute. I had made vichyssoise earlier in the day and was going to serve it as a starter; the lamb would take four hours and so had to be started early too. The bread pudding would be served as dessert and could cook while we were eating. Really the only things I had to make by the time dinner actually rolled around were the pasta and the couscous. At two points last night I actually stood in my kitchen and twiddled my thumbs as I wondered what to do next.
To start we had vichyssoise, a cold potato-leek soup which I was cooking for the first time. I threw in a splash of truffle oil, which felt like cheating to me but it did wonders for the soup. Morgan had told me to use more butter and fewer potatoes for a thinner, lighter soup; I followed his advice and it turned out well. I had vaguely remembered reading somewhere that one should always over-season chilled soups, and I sadly did not heed this pearl of wisdom to the extent it was intended. I made the soup and it had tasted powerful before I chilled it, but when dinner came it had distinctly lost a little of the flavour it had before and was in desperate need of salt and pepper at the table. Natalia brought a bottle of Muscadet (Muscadet Sevre et Maine, Domaine des Dorices, France, 2004) to pair with the soup, and it was a delightful course nonetheless.
After the vichyssoise we had what I thought was the best course of the night, cappellini with clams in a variation of regular pesto that had spring onions and honey in it. This had a compelling and exotic flavour, and if Natalia ate red meat I would have definitely added pancetta to it for some smoky goodness. Hunter brought a delightful, clean and crisp white (Sauvignon Blanc, Montevina, California, 2003) which was almost buttery in its smoothness, and went wonderfully with the pasta.
As everyone finished up their primi I exited to the kitchen to whip up the couscous for the next course. In the oven I already had lamb shanks braised in red wine for everyone but Natalia – for whom I made portabellas stuffed with asparagus and breadcrumbs. Laura, who could not attend, had sent on a full-bodied red to go with the course (Cabernet Sauvignon, Tisdale Vineyards, California, 2004). An Old World wine may have worked better here as I had used a Burgundy Pinot in the making of the dish but Laura’s wine was more than adequate. We also had Amanda’s bottle of Bitch wine but we never got to drinking that – I will save that for another special occasion.
At this point people were rubbing their bellies but there was one course to go yet, and miles to go before we slept. I had wanted to recreate the Portuguese sweet bread pudding at Mill’s Tavern, but unfortunately had no access to sweet bread here in DC. So in desperation on Friday I had baked my own with a recipe I found online, and promptly burnt the crusts to a deep mahogany brown. I have a feeling my oven’s temperature control is – how does one put it – not quite so reliable. The bread itself tasted good though, and I went ahead with the plan. It did not turn out quite like regular bread pudding – there is a lot of work yet that I have to do on this recipe – but I made a cognac sauce that I drizzled over it and it was sweet, sassy, saccharine goodness like all desserts should be. Matthew brought port (Porto, Taylor Fladgate, Portugal, 2000) like I asked him to, and I drank perhaps a little too much of it. One never knows when to stop when drinking port.
The conversation had not yet begun to die when the night crept up on us, and it was soon time to go. As fall and winter approach so will those awkward moments before parting ways where you have to button your jacket, or wrap your scarf, or pull on your boots at the door before making your exit. I never know what to say during those few uncomfortable seconds. Fortunately this can all be resolved quite easily with hugs and kisses and handshakes, and it was a good thing there were plenty of those to go around last night.
Cappellini with Clams in Spring Onion and Honey Pesto
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 shallot, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
I can clam meat
½ cup spring onions, coarsely chopped
½ cup basil leaves, coarsely chopped
¼ cup pine nuts
1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons olive oil
¼ cup honey
2 tablespoons heavy cream
Cappellini
Dash of Old Bay
s/p
Blend the spring onions and basil leaves in a food processor – do this in small batches to ensure they are well chopped. When done, add pine nuts and repeat. When pine nuts are blended into the pesto mixture, drizzle olive oil and honey into the mixture while keeping the food processor going, stopping to scrape down the sides of the container.
In a sauté pan, cook the garlic, shallot and red pepper in a little olive oil over medium heat for 4-5 minutes. Add the clam meat and season with Old Bay, salt and pepper. Add the juices from the can and cook down for another 4-5 minutes. Pour the pesto mixture into the pan and add the cream, mixing well to incorporate it. Keep on medium-low heat for a further 3-4 minutes to cook the cream through.
Prepare cappellini per directions on the box. When done, toss evenly with pesto mixture, correct for seasoning and serve.
(Pesto will keep in the refrigerator for a week or frozen for a month, for best results store with a layer of olive oil over it.)
Part of the planning process, I feel, and especially with a multi-course dinner, involves choosing your courses carefully so that you have a comfortable mix of dishes that can be made in advance and dishes that have to be made a la minute. I had made vichyssoise earlier in the day and was going to serve it as a starter; the lamb would take four hours and so had to be started early too. The bread pudding would be served as dessert and could cook while we were eating. Really the only things I had to make by the time dinner actually rolled around were the pasta and the couscous. At two points last night I actually stood in my kitchen and twiddled my thumbs as I wondered what to do next.
To start we had vichyssoise, a cold potato-leek soup which I was cooking for the first time. I threw in a splash of truffle oil, which felt like cheating to me but it did wonders for the soup. Morgan had told me to use more butter and fewer potatoes for a thinner, lighter soup; I followed his advice and it turned out well. I had vaguely remembered reading somewhere that one should always over-season chilled soups, and I sadly did not heed this pearl of wisdom to the extent it was intended. I made the soup and it had tasted powerful before I chilled it, but when dinner came it had distinctly lost a little of the flavour it had before and was in desperate need of salt and pepper at the table. Natalia brought a bottle of Muscadet (Muscadet Sevre et Maine, Domaine des Dorices, France, 2004) to pair with the soup, and it was a delightful course nonetheless.
After the vichyssoise we had what I thought was the best course of the night, cappellini with clams in a variation of regular pesto that had spring onions and honey in it. This had a compelling and exotic flavour, and if Natalia ate red meat I would have definitely added pancetta to it for some smoky goodness. Hunter brought a delightful, clean and crisp white (Sauvignon Blanc, Montevina, California, 2003) which was almost buttery in its smoothness, and went wonderfully with the pasta.
As everyone finished up their primi I exited to the kitchen to whip up the couscous for the next course. In the oven I already had lamb shanks braised in red wine for everyone but Natalia – for whom I made portabellas stuffed with asparagus and breadcrumbs. Laura, who could not attend, had sent on a full-bodied red to go with the course (Cabernet Sauvignon, Tisdale Vineyards, California, 2004). An Old World wine may have worked better here as I had used a Burgundy Pinot in the making of the dish but Laura’s wine was more than adequate. We also had Amanda’s bottle of Bitch wine but we never got to drinking that – I will save that for another special occasion.
At this point people were rubbing their bellies but there was one course to go yet, and miles to go before we slept. I had wanted to recreate the Portuguese sweet bread pudding at Mill’s Tavern, but unfortunately had no access to sweet bread here in DC. So in desperation on Friday I had baked my own with a recipe I found online, and promptly burnt the crusts to a deep mahogany brown. I have a feeling my oven’s temperature control is – how does one put it – not quite so reliable. The bread itself tasted good though, and I went ahead with the plan. It did not turn out quite like regular bread pudding – there is a lot of work yet that I have to do on this recipe – but I made a cognac sauce that I drizzled over it and it was sweet, sassy, saccharine goodness like all desserts should be. Matthew brought port (Porto, Taylor Fladgate, Portugal, 2000) like I asked him to, and I drank perhaps a little too much of it. One never knows when to stop when drinking port.
The conversation had not yet begun to die when the night crept up on us, and it was soon time to go. As fall and winter approach so will those awkward moments before parting ways where you have to button your jacket, or wrap your scarf, or pull on your boots at the door before making your exit. I never know what to say during those few uncomfortable seconds. Fortunately this can all be resolved quite easily with hugs and kisses and handshakes, and it was a good thing there were plenty of those to go around last night.
Cappellini with Clams in Spring Onion and Honey Pesto
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 shallot, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
I can clam meat
½ cup spring onions, coarsely chopped
½ cup basil leaves, coarsely chopped
¼ cup pine nuts
1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons olive oil
¼ cup honey
2 tablespoons heavy cream
Cappellini
Dash of Old Bay
s/p
Blend the spring onions and basil leaves in a food processor – do this in small batches to ensure they are well chopped. When done, add pine nuts and repeat. When pine nuts are blended into the pesto mixture, drizzle olive oil and honey into the mixture while keeping the food processor going, stopping to scrape down the sides of the container.
In a sauté pan, cook the garlic, shallot and red pepper in a little olive oil over medium heat for 4-5 minutes. Add the clam meat and season with Old Bay, salt and pepper. Add the juices from the can and cook down for another 4-5 minutes. Pour the pesto mixture into the pan and add the cream, mixing well to incorporate it. Keep on medium-low heat for a further 3-4 minutes to cook the cream through.
Prepare cappellini per directions on the box. When done, toss evenly with pesto mixture, correct for seasoning and serve.
(Pesto will keep in the refrigerator for a week or frozen for a month, for best results store with a layer of olive oil over it.)
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Death in the evening
Fall is the best season to cook meat in. The weather accommodates both grilling outdoors and slow roasting indoors, and the wealth of options possible is greater than at other times in the year. I take much comfort in trotting out the old favourites in my recipe book, especially the ones I associate with lovely memories of our Friday dinner parties that one fall when Morgan and I first started cooking together. Margaret came to visit this past weekend and we planned and made a lovely dinner for seven – complete, of course, with a vegetarian option.
There are moments in time when you are doing something you love and you feel you cannot be touched. Sportsmen call this being in the zone, and it is a great and glorious thing to experience and behold. Yesterday in my kitchen – a kitchen I have been cooking in for almost a year now – I had a heightened, somewhat different, awareness of my entire space and I worked with passion and honour. Without realizing it I was thinking three or four steps ahead subconsciously and I moved with much certainty. I did the right things in the right way, and I was proper and honest and sure and the result was quite a tasty meal indeed.
I invited Amanda because she is such a delight, and Clayton because he pays rent here as well; and Margaret had three friends that she also invited. Margaret loves mussels, and I made those in her honour; as well as a whole roasted leg of lamb with plenty of garlic and fresh rosemary and mint, that I could not take my eyes off the entire time it was cooking. Big, hearty haunches of meat always make me weak in the knees, just a little bit, and I die a little death every time. It is a happy death, of course. I made the caramelized onion and apple tart that is my favourite vegetarian option; while Margaret also made a salad of greens with red onion and apples and toasted pinenuts, dressed in a ginger-balsamic vinaigrette.
There is something about a dinner party that excites me no end. Last night there was much chatter and pockets of conversation and wine glasses clinking, and we had a ball. At one point I leaned back and smiled while thinking to myself that these were grand times we lived in. Margaret made strawberry shortcake for dessert which was simple and extremely satisfying, and Clayton made us all coffee to close our palate. It was a perfect dinner, with nothing missing, and I enjoyed myself greatly.
Mussels in Saffron and White Wine Broth
1 bag of mussels
1 tsp saffron threads
1 bottle dry white wine
3 strips bacon
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 large leek, chopped
2 cups chicken broth
Healthy sprinkling of Old Bay
Half as much paprika as Old Bay
Half as much cayenne as paprika
Clean the mussels, picking out the bad ones, and leave them in iced water while making the broth. Pour the white wine and the chicken broth into a large mixing bowl and steep the saffron threads in them. This should ideally sit for about 20 minutes.
When ready to make the broth, fry the bacon in a large pot to a crisp. Starting soups and sauces off with bacon adds so much flavour and smoky goodness, it is a wonder people do not do more of it. When the bacon fat has been rendered, take out the bacon strips and set aside. Add the garlic and leek to the pot and season with the spices. Cook for about five to six minutes and then add the broth. Simmer the mixture for a while – ideally for 15 or more minutes – then add the mussels to cook. Remove them when they open and serve in bowls of the broth.
There are moments in time when you are doing something you love and you feel you cannot be touched. Sportsmen call this being in the zone, and it is a great and glorious thing to experience and behold. Yesterday in my kitchen – a kitchen I have been cooking in for almost a year now – I had a heightened, somewhat different, awareness of my entire space and I worked with passion and honour. Without realizing it I was thinking three or four steps ahead subconsciously and I moved with much certainty. I did the right things in the right way, and I was proper and honest and sure and the result was quite a tasty meal indeed.
I invited Amanda because she is such a delight, and Clayton because he pays rent here as well; and Margaret had three friends that she also invited. Margaret loves mussels, and I made those in her honour; as well as a whole roasted leg of lamb with plenty of garlic and fresh rosemary and mint, that I could not take my eyes off the entire time it was cooking. Big, hearty haunches of meat always make me weak in the knees, just a little bit, and I die a little death every time. It is a happy death, of course. I made the caramelized onion and apple tart that is my favourite vegetarian option; while Margaret also made a salad of greens with red onion and apples and toasted pinenuts, dressed in a ginger-balsamic vinaigrette.
There is something about a dinner party that excites me no end. Last night there was much chatter and pockets of conversation and wine glasses clinking, and we had a ball. At one point I leaned back and smiled while thinking to myself that these were grand times we lived in. Margaret made strawberry shortcake for dessert which was simple and extremely satisfying, and Clayton made us all coffee to close our palate. It was a perfect dinner, with nothing missing, and I enjoyed myself greatly.
Mussels in Saffron and White Wine Broth
1 bag of mussels
1 tsp saffron threads
1 bottle dry white wine
3 strips bacon
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 large leek, chopped
2 cups chicken broth
Healthy sprinkling of Old Bay
Half as much paprika as Old Bay
Half as much cayenne as paprika
Clean the mussels, picking out the bad ones, and leave them in iced water while making the broth. Pour the white wine and the chicken broth into a large mixing bowl and steep the saffron threads in them. This should ideally sit for about 20 minutes.
When ready to make the broth, fry the bacon in a large pot to a crisp. Starting soups and sauces off with bacon adds so much flavour and smoky goodness, it is a wonder people do not do more of it. When the bacon fat has been rendered, take out the bacon strips and set aside. Add the garlic and leek to the pot and season with the spices. Cook for about five to six minutes and then add the broth. Simmer the mixture for a while – ideally for 15 or more minutes – then add the mussels to cook. Remove them when they open and serve in bowls of the broth.
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