Photo journal update

I have probably mentioned it too many times to count in these pages, but I love shrimp. I made them recently with cajun spices, and ate them with a chilled cucumber and basil salad. Simple and delicious.



I made hake with chanterelles one night and rued the fact that I did not have any parsley on hand. It's tough having fresh produce around given that I travel so much, and I wind up having to throw a lot of stuff away. Sometimes the waste galls me personally, and makes me a little guilty. I try to reason away the guilt by a sort of selfish assertion that I deserve fresh food made from fresh ingredients, and will tolerate whatever waste is generated to ensure that happens - but Mother Nature keeps a running tab, and karma is a bitch. It is not the most selfless of thoughts, and I am not proud of myself sometimes.

On a happier note, I think I am a fan of hake. It has the sweetness of cod, with slightly more sophistication, less flake, and can stand up to stronger flavourings and pairings. A very versatile white fish that doesn't require chef-like finesse to manipulate - perfect for the home cook to experiment on.


Morgan and Meg came to visit recently, and Meg brought fresh picked corn from her backyard in Concord, MA that we absolutely had to use. And after debating the finer points of aioli in the car ride home from sailing, we had to make some for dinner. This was an avocado and corn salad, topped with sauted shrimp and a parsley aioli. I think we were all quite happy with how this dish turned out, for the corn was incredibly sweet, and the avocado was, well, avocado - which is to say awesome.


That same meal, we made loin of lamb with chanterelles and broccoli rabe, with mashed potatoes and a fresh fig and sherry reduction. This was a lot of meat, almost sleep-inducing. I made the mashed potatoes, and they turned out fabulous, if I may say so myself.

Some Like It Hot

One of my pet peeves, when working as a cook in the very fine restaurant in which I toil, is watching hot food cool for lack of runner, or someone, anyone, to take it to the table. I just busted my ass to get everything up and hot and ready at the same time. Watching it sit there is excruciating. For one thing, we don't use heat lamps, which is, I think, a good thing, nobody wants their food to be sitting there for mad long, dessicating under the lamps while the herbs and salad go brown and the steak overcooks. Also, I think that heat lamps provide cooks with a false sense that food can wait a little while... It can't. Everything has to be ready together. Otherwise, you're an asshole. In the best of circumstances, we are constantly asking "do you have the pasta for 10?... how long on 8?... start 13 now... etc. etc."

But I have also been shocked, when trailing (or eating) at other restaurants, at the lack of importance having the food arrive hot is given. At Aquavit, we took our sweet ass time making the plates look nice, at the expense of the (barely cooked) salmon or tuna arriving even vaguely warm. (Sidenote: the kitchen was hot as balls, so no matter what, I'm sure it would seem warm to those chillin' in the AC.) My one criticism of Babbo would be that my quail was warm, not hot. But then again I like my quail lightly handled, so I was in a good place from that point of view.

I noticed while traveling in Argentina that the food there was served extremely hot. While staying with Sheena's former host family they would put their food back into a hot oven while they finished their first helping. It kept cooking, perhaps too much... The pizza just kept getting darker and darker, but they seemed to have a system and to like the results.

I like my food to be piping. I like my coffee scalding. I like my white wine chilled and my hot food hot. What can I say? Perhaps its a personal thing...

Maha's

One of the saddest things to witness in the fair city of New York is the passing of a restaurant. It's no mystery that this happens all the time... It's a very tough business to make money in. Sometimes you can see it coming from a mile away: empty restaurants with menus the length of my arm, disastrous concepts, hideous spaces, etc. Other times it's the real estate market turning on people who have been around and been successful. There have been a couple of high profile losses recently: Florent in the Meat Packing district for one. I was particularly discouraged today when I learned that my falafel joint, Maha's (69 6th Ave. between Flatbush and Bergen) has lost their lease and will be closing on August 31st.
Maha's is about as small of an eatery as you can get. There can't be more than 4 tables. The kitchen, such as it is, is made up of a small preping area, an electric stove and a toaster oven. It looks like grandma's kitchen. The woman in charge is Maha Ziadeh, who, with one helper works all day and night, 6 days a week. She's extremely pleasant, and her falafel is awesome. This was one of the first places I ate when I moved to Brooklyn, so it will always have a special place in my heart and stomach. I wish the best for her and hope that her new place (if she finds one) is still close to my house.

Rhapsody in Blue

Blue Hill
75 Washington Place (at Sixth Ave)
New York, NY 10011
212-539-1776

I first heard of Dan Barber when I read this article in this New York Times (“Chaos Theory”, NYT August 7 2005), where he describes first-hand the idiosyncrasies of Daniel Bouley and a subsequent lesson in respecting food and its preparation. I was sold, and went on to read more about Mr Barber and his flagship Blue Hill at Stone Barns, its sister restaurant in Manhattan, and all the work he has done to promote awareness of issues such as sustainability and nutrition in the way we eat. Coming from a country with such a scarcity of natural resources that it grows little to none of the food it consumes, the idea of eating locally and responsibly resonates with me. It made perfect sense that I would one day make the pilgrimage to Blue Hill, that bastion of farm-fresh flavour – and I finally made the trip this past weekend.

Kellyn and Brian had decided a long while ago that they would visit the Big Apple this past weekend, and for weeks had pestered Hunter and myself to tag along. I made the pretense of holding out – I had been travelling for work quite a bit and wanted to spend the weekends at home – but in reality I had a free roundtrip Amtrak ticket and had been meaning to go up for a while. Some of my favourite people in the world live in New York, and Reed’s latest move to the city meant that one more had joined the ranks. I finally caved, took the train up on Friday and arranged for dinner with Morgan, Reed and Camille. We all enjoy a good meal, and upon consultation with Camille, I decided that this was where we would have it.

Named after the Barbers’ family farm in the Berkshires, Blue Hill at Stone Barns and its Manhattan counterpart both practice the art of showcasing what is primary about the ingredients – its original flavours and colours – and letting them speak for themselves. Barber and his team take care not to drown their food in sauce, and show amazing restraint in seasoning and dressing their dishes. This is nowhere better exemplified in the amuse-geule that was laid out for us – cherry tomatoes, almost naked in their simplicity. Morgan poked at them to see if anything had been done to them – a sprinkle of sea salt, maybe, a drizzle of olive oil – but if it had, we were none the wiser.

Reed had called dibs on the “This Morning’s Farm Egg” appetiser long before we had even set foot in the restaurant and it worked out well that there was something else for everyone. I ordered a half portion of the creamy farro, which came in an intensely sweet tomato sauce and topped with braised belly and crispy jowl. It seemed a little incongruous that one of the healthiest of grains should be paired with one of the fattiest of proteins, but that was the last thing on my mind as I slurped it all down. Camille had what was probably the standout of the appetizers, a chilled corn soup that was almost overpowering in its taste and freshness.

(Wine tasting notes – Jean Foillard, Cote du Py, Gamay, Morgon, Burgundy, France 2006: An earthy Beaujolais, not too overpowering. Sweet, spicy black cherries. A nice middle-to-heavyweight wine with tremendous versatility in pairing with food.)

Before I had made up my mind on the entrees, Camille had picked the pork and Morgan the lamb and I was left with no other meats. Both the fish dishes looked intriguing, and I finally settled on the wolf fish. The wolf fish, as I learned, was an eel-like white fish similar to a catfish and just as ugly – but it had a strong texture and would stand up better to the reds that we were drinking. It was paired with spring vegetables and toasted spices, which made the wine taste more complex.

(Wine tasting notes – Frecciarossa, “Giorgio Odero”, Pinot Nero, Oltrepo’ Pavese, Italy 2005: Excellent garnet colour and legs that went on forever. Hints of balsamic, dark fruits – plums, blackberries. Absolutely delicious.)

It was sobering to think that most of the ingredients that went into our meal had come from a farm just 30 miles north of where we sat, and some – like the egg that Reed ate – might even have just been harvested that day. The freshness of the ingredients was certainly evident, and it was an exciting challenge in itself to pick out all the individual flavours of the ingredients. For a palate that is not particularly cultured, like mine, it was tough because my tongue kept searching for that added flavouring, that extra pat of butter or bouillon, or – horrors – MSG. What it found in the end was ten times better, a natural intensity of flavour that is often masked through too much manipulation on the part of the chef. Like I said during the meal, a tomato in August is a beautiful thing.

Wining and dining

I recently had the good fortune to attend a tasting at the Fairmont hotel in DC, where my company is planning to host its annual conference later this year. We were hosted wonderfully by JD, the exec chef, who kindly indulged me and allowed me to take photos of his work.


This was one of the appetiser choices, an avocado and corn timbale with portobello caviar. I loved this, it had a nice tartness and incredible texture, and the flavours went quite well together.


Another appetiser choice, a play on shrimp cocktail - jumbo chilled shrimp on a bed of cucumber and a horseradish cocktail. I would have liked the shrimp to have been seasoned a little more, but it is so hard to get the seasoning right for chilled items, and harder to adjust after it is chilled. Nicole did point out to me that I did not dip the shrimp in the cocktail like I should have and instead ate it plain, so I guess it may have been my own fault.


We had to try the crabcakes since that is a local specialty, and these were served with potato croquettes. An odd choice of pairings, and I am sad to say that the crabcakes were a little disappointing. I love a good crabcake, with juicy crab meat and a nice, sharp, acidic tang, seasoned well and seasoned strongly. Unfortunately for us, this was not it.


This was a play on traditional beef Wellington, but with lamb instead. Taste-wise probably my favourite of the entrees, but the lamb wound up a little over-cooked.


As we slid into the mid-afternoon the light in the Colonnade at the Fairmont began to take on a life of its own, and the shimmering and shading allowed for some beautiful photos of food bathed in a warm white summer glow. This was my favourite of the desserts, a blueberry mascarpone torte which I absolutely could not keep my hands off. I must have been lost to the conversation at this point, for all I could think about was how much I could get onto my spoon without it overflowing.


The dessert selection that we were lucky enough to try. The molten chocolate cake (pistachio center) was a very close second, and I had to arm-wrestle Nicole just to pick the blueberry torte for our event.

If wishes were fishes, DC edition

Places I'd like to eat at, in no particular order:

Minibar
6-seater (hence the name) afterthought of a restaurant that serves a 30-course tasting menu showcasing all the tricks (and the pretension) of molecular gastronomy. I'm usually not a fan of things that are what Morgan calls "unrecognizable as food", but hey, you can't knock it till you've tried it, right?

The Inn at Little Washington
Back in the days when I was enamoured with French classical cooking, and Italian simplicity of style, I often wondered, "What can New American do for me?" Nowadays I see so much in the American style that I like - it is healthy, eclectic, inventive and unrestricted by ethnic boundaries. All this, and more, is apparently showcased in what is one of Washington's perennial top ten restaurants.

Obelisk
With the closure of Galileo for extended renovations this is reportedly the best Italian in town, which may not be saying much. If I were in New York I could probably throw a stone and hit five Italian restaurants, and at least one of them would be amazing. As much as I cannot stand him, we need a Mario Batali in this town. People just don't seem to know, or get excited about, good Italian food, much less good regional Italian food.

Ray's the Steaks
A mecca of meat and apparently the best steak in town. I was out of town the last time the guys organised a trip out to Arlington for this one. No excuses, I have to make it here before my time in DC is up.

Makoto
DC's closest thing to Masa, except a third as expensive, and even then that makes it one of the more expensive places in town. They make you take your shoes off and wear special slippers, so either those slippers are ridiculously expensive, or the food is ridiculously good. I don't know, I'm not a psychic. Emi has promised to take me here so if you are reading this, dear, holy buckets you'd better come good on this one.

Ode to the onion

There was a time in my life, when I was much younger, when I did not eat onions. Now I absolutely adore them. They say that converts have the strongest conviction because their beliefs have to be arrived at - and in my case I have certainly found that to be true.

The best thing about onions is the variety of ways you can manipulate them, and how marvellously they hold up to manipulation. You can eat them raw, you can undercook them, and you can cook the bejesus out of them and they will still be delicious.

I made myself a burger on ciabatta the other day and caramelized some onions to go with it. Jose taught me to caramelize them in the oven, but as my colleague Doug and I agreed: stovetop was the only way to go.

Chanterelle season is here!

I walked into Whole Foods this past Saturday and immediately saw something that brightened my day – those wrinkled, funnel-shaped golden mini-packages of deliciousness that are chanterelles. I nearly knocked over whatever women and children were in the way just to get to them. I would have bought the entire crate of them, but in an uncharacteristic display of restraint I limited myself to a couple of handfuls. Chanterelles were expensive, and these are tough times we live in.

My little brother does not eat mushrooms, which for the life of me I cannot understand. Mushrooms are the culinary world’s best team players – they are wonderfully versatile as the supporting cast in a dish, but can also be the showpiece if and when given the chance. Chanterelles, then, would be the star players in the mushroom world. They have a delicate flavor, and tend to retain more of their firmness after cooking than other mushrooms. Best of all, they are so very pretty.

As Morgan argues, less IS more especially when it comes to cooking chanterelles, and I usually like to do no more with them than sauté them in a generous pat of butter, salt and pepper, maybe some parsley. A friend once asked me what my philosophy in cooking was and without thinking I responded, “Always cook in season, and keep things simple.” Upon reflection I was amazed at how eloquent and true those words rang, and I resolved to keep that in mind more often when cooking.

(When it comes to butter, however, more definitely is more. One can never have enough butter.)

Less is More

One of my favorite food websites is Savory Cities: New York. It features brief (2 min.) videos in which well known chefs or restaurateurs talk about the concepts behind their food and their restaurants in general. I love the website, it's fantastic, but there is one thing that cracks me up about those videos. Every chef says in his or her voice over: "I'm all about showcasing ingredients, I think that the ingredients should speak for themselves and that less should be done with them."

Meanwhile, the camera pans to plates that are unrecognizable as food... How are these guys doing "so little" to their food and still making it look like it came from another planet?

Jason and I have discussed how our cuisines (if we want to be pretentious enough to call it that) have changed over the years... For myself I would say that a number of things have changed.

For one thing my palette had become much more attuned to salt. I love salt. Love it. I find that an under seasoned dish always fails to excite me, even when I've adjusted it myself. The best restaurants nail this spot on. Some others, such as Otto (where the food was inedibly salty) and Flatbush Farm (where the trout I had was bland) highlight the intense difference that this single ingredient makes.
Another thing that has changed is my interest in variety meats and odd fish. Menu items that get me worked up: cheeks (fish, pig, cow), bacalhau in any form, tongue (beef, pork, or duck), headcheese, liver (duck, chicken, calf, pork), tripe, kidneys, etc. I always want to see how some chef (or immigrant from wherever) makes these things taste good.
Thirdly, my cuisine really has become (I think) rather restrained, a more bare bones style. Protein, vegetables, and a little sauce. Less really is more. Particularly if you are cooking with intense, interesting meats, it is very easy to do too much to them. I want my food to look and taste delicious and I want it to be recognizable as what it is. I was feeling pretty flush yesterday so I bought a 2" hand-cut sirloin steak from A&S Pork Store in Park Slope (here's a link to make you want to cry.) It came out to about a pound and a half of steak deliciousness. I prepared this glorious hunk of beef au poivre, with a dollop of herb butter. I served it with simple roasted vegetables: potatoes, tomatoes, red onions, as well as a radicchio and arugula salad, dressed with lemon juice and olive oil. I put a lot of love into this, and it came out better than I had hoped. Simple flavors, very little sauce: the bounty of summer plus a giant piece of meat.