Dining early

Cashion's Eat Place
1819 Columbia Rd NW
Washington, DC 20009
202-797-1819

I count myself among those who consider dinner the largest meal of the day, and I find it positively barbaric when circumstances decree upon myself and my dining companions an early dinner – I am of the belief that my dessert fork should not have to set itself on the table before the sun does over the horizon. There are however, restaurants – and occasions, needless to say – on whose accounts this idiosyncrasy can be relaxed, and Cashion’s Eat Place is one of them. My friend Kevin was visiting in town this past weekend – a last-minute trip that provoked a last-minute plea of desperation to the hostess at Cashion’s. They could accommodate us, a table of 3 – us two and Sarah – but unfortunately only at 5.30pm. Shocking, I know. Some of us are barely done with lunch at that time.

Cashion’s is a place I bring visiting friends and gourmands to whenever it falls upon me to show off the wonders of DC. It is one of those restaurants that immediately feel familiar, even if you are stepping into it for the first time. I think it quite the compliment that I can never quite remember the exact colour of the walls – are they pink? orange? mauve? – for when I am in there the physical space just seems to melt away, and I am at a dinner table I have always been at, with friends and family I have always dined with. The food is quality – I have a sweet spot for the veal sweetbreads – and the staff always pleasant. Finally, if you have heard the story of Ann Cashion you will know that she was two years away from a PhD in English at Stanford but gave it all up to pursue her dream of cooking professionally. She may kind of be my hero.

So an early dinner it is, at Cashion’s, and it does not disappoint. I had the duck, but I sometimes enjoy it more when someone else at the table orders something that turns out to be much better than your own choice, like that one time in Bologna when Annie got the pumpkin ravioli which were really orgasms in disguise. It's almost as if just because you only get that one forkful, that one taste - that it inevitably has to taste better. I refer, of course, to Sarah’s halibut, which was that perfect texture between crumbly and firm, moist and meaty. Fish is a delicate thing, with so little margin for error, and it is a momentous occasion when it is done well. Mishandling it, as I no doubt have many times, is nothing short of a gross sin.

So all’s well that ends well, and the best part about Cashion’s is that it is literally a stone’s throw from any number of establishments that serve alcohol and encourage booty-shaking into the night. In our defense: we are young, and have a whole lifetime of mistakes to make.

***Footnote: I also want to admit that unless you are not averse to making a fool of yourself, I am perhaps not the best of dining companions. There are many reasons why: I like to make a pompous jackass of myself at the dinner table and savour every ritual, I like to talk to bartenders and waiters and have been known to insist that they share in our bottle(s) of wine. Sarah is much the same way, which is why we get along so famously. But even Sarah had to hide her face in shame and ignominy at my latest indiscretion: as our waitress graciously topped my wine glass off in the middle of our meal, I looked her straight in the eye and said, without irony, “Thank you. You’re like an angel, in the darkness.”

Is that so wrong?

Etouffee and the agony of eating alone

As i write it is 8:33pm Eastern Time on the eighteenth of April in the year 2006; and I just made and ate etouffee with crab meat and sausage. Not that I want to toot my own horn or anything, but it was so good it made me bust a nut in my pantaloons.

First I seared the sausages in a pan, then removed them to cook in the oven. I added butter to the rendered fat and tempered the mixture with paprika and pepper. I left the fat on high heat until I could smell the nutty, almost-woody smell of burning butter and could see wisps of smoke coming from the pan. Then I took the pan off the heat, added flour and whisked it to make a roux. So apparently the longer you cook a roux three things happen: a) it becomes darker, b) it loses its thickening ability and most importantly of all c) it becomes more flavourful.

If there are some things in the realm of the culinary arts that I think I am reasonably competent at - making a roux is probably one of them. After all, I was trained by the best. So I cooked my roux till it was a deep honey brown - the colour of delicious - and then threw in garlic, onions, green peppers, mushrooms and crabmeat. I seasoned it like there was no tomorrow and cooked the onions and mushrooms down before adding stock. A little while after that I took the sausages out of the oven and sliced them into pieces before adding them into the etouffee. Then I let it reduce while making rice. Approximately twenty minutes later I had my dinner. By myself.

Holy crap, it was better than sex.

That first taste was like someone smacked me across the face and I had to sit down. I know that I probably say that I come in my pantaloons too often and that it is a crass and overly graphic expression that nobody needs to hear, but this really warranted it. And it absolutely killed me, absolutely gutted me to pieces that i had nobody to share this with. It was a curious feeling, like I had stumbled upon a treasure and wanted so much to give it away but did not have anyone to take it. It is a feeling i have only ever gotten with food. Now, I travel a fair bit for work, and am no stranger to eating alone - but to experience an amazing meal and not have anyone else to eat it with you is sin visited upon sin.

Well anyway - that's my rant. Now I probably should go clean up my pants - you thought i was being figurative, didn't you?

And yes, Morgan, I then had to do the dishes.

All.

By.

Myself.

Party over here!

Last night Laura and Amanda came over for dinner and Amanda spent the better part of two hours making me laugh uncontrollably and of course, laughing uncontrollably herself. It is a wonder I managed to keep my food down. We had a savoury tart - something quite ambitious for me because it is not a technique that I am particularly comfortable with - and a salad that Amanda and I piled heaping mounds of BBQ pulled pork on. For my point is that Laura is vegetarian and always a pain in the butt to cook for (but a lovely one at that); because I usually make meat on the side and I use a different set of utensils and kitchen implements to make the vegetarian portion of the meal - I am dorky like that - and thus end up with a mountain of dishes. Anyway, in summary I made something that I'd never made before and it actually turned out pretty well, so here is the recipe.

Caramelized onion and butternut squash triple cheese tart

2 red onions
1 butternut squash
fresh sage, finely chopped
fresh thyme, finely chopped
a small thing of goat cheese
a small thing of fontina
equal amount of gruyere, grated
1 egg, beaten
breadcrumbs
slab of butter
2 store-bought pie crusts

Preheat oven to 375F. Take one pie crust, lay it flat and set aside. Slice squash in two and seed. Drizzle with olive oil and roast in the oven, cut side down, for 40 minutes or until soft. Meanwhile chop onions thinly and cook in butter and half the thyme, over low heat for 35-40 minutes or until glazed. Add butter and/or a teeny bit of red wine if they look like they're drying out. Once the squash is done, scoop it out of the skin and combine with onions, herbs, egg, breadcrumbs and cheese. Mix well and spread into the pie crust. Take the other pie crust that you've laid flat and use it to cover the one with the filling. Bake in oven for 30 minutes or until crust is golden brown. Cool and serve.

It was great served warm but I kept leftovers in the fridge and am going to eat it cold tonight. I can't wait.

I am a fool for offal

"Why is it worse, in the end, to see an animal's head cooked and prepared for our pleasure than a thigh or a tail or a rib? If we are going to live on other inhabitants of this world we must not bind ourselves with illogical prejudices, but savour to the fullest the beasts we have killed." (How to Cook a Wolf, MFK Fisher)

Show me good charcuterie and I will show you a happy man. What am I doing working in an office all day when what I really want to do is to be a maker of fine sausages?

An update on my recent culinary and gastronomical adventures:

1. I just spent the last 30 minutes reading about making cassoulet. As soon as I find out from Simon's mom where I can get ducks around these parts, and as soon as Katy makes good on her promise of giving me that duck fat, I promise I will attempt it. I have been craving a good cassoulet for weeks now, and unfortunately just last night I was stopped from entering a perfectly pleasant-looking bistro that not only had cassoulet on the menu, but also onglet and frites - and dragged off to eat sub-par Asian food instead. It still rankles, a little - but with time I will learn to forgive the people I was with.

2. The other day I made potatoes dauphinoise, and I felt ill for a week. So good, but so bad for you. And definitely not for the lactose-intolerant. Also, I need one of those little zesters to grate nutmeg with - it shall be the next item on my nesting-acquisition wishlist.

3. I think that I make a mean chicken cacciatore - and it saddens me that I have not made it for more among my nearest and dearest, I don't think. I am going to make a huge pot of it tomorrow night and eat it into next week, by which time it will be fabulous - like that one time when we made boeuf bourguignon and had leftovers which I ate the next day and then splooged myself. I like boeuf bourguignon because I have historically only made it for people I am fond of; and also because every time I have it I think of me, sitting in my room all alone that afternoon eating the leftover boeuf bourguignon with a spoon, out of a tupperware - and almost going crazy with not being able to share it with anyone or tell anyone how good it was. I don't remember where Morgan and Evan had gone that fine day but there was nobody around to try the frickin boeuf bourguignon and it drove me frickin nuts. Moral of the story: refrigerate and reheat = recipe for success.

4. While we're on the topic of food that I've made for people I am fond of - I have not made or had steak with Roquefort sauce since sophomore year when Morgan and I made it for Alethea. It was mostly Morgan though, in no small part due to the fact that I was otherwise busy jumping up and down with excitement and being silly and then I had to go meet Alethea outside Ashamu. It was such a wonderful evening; Alethea was such a delight and Elisabeth and Michelle joined us for some very charming post-dinner conversation. It almost makes me never want to have steak with Roquefort sauce, ever again. Almost.

God, I love eating. Apologies for the rambling.

Stuff wrapped in stuff wrapped in stuff

So I made some hors d'oeuvres last night for a dinner party and this particular one got rave reviews. I really did like it myself – I thought the blend of sweet and savoury was excellent - you get hit by the sweetness of the dates and the spiciness of the chimichurri when you first bite into it, which then transitions seamlessly to the flavour of the meat, complemented by the sharpness of the cheese. It is almost as if the flavours know exactly when to make their entrance, and who to make it with - like an elaborately chereographed dance in your mouth. What made it even better was that I had made these hors d’oeuvres for a wine-tasting party, where I got to sample 8 of the finest wines that France, Italy and California had to offer. Among these was an ’81 Haut Brion – a wine as old as I am, and a wine that made music on my tongue. It was, all in all, a wonderful experience. But then again, anything that is stuffed with anything that is stuffed with anything is usually good - which is why I am sure that I will be a huge fan of turducken when I do eventually have the good fortune to try it.

Steak-wrapped dates
15-20 dates, pitted
one 14-16oz cut sirloin
1/3 cup shavings of Manchego (I used Manchego which worked well but I think there has to be some other cheese that would work better. I would not use complicated or strong flavours like goat cheese or blue cheese, but otherwise – the kitchen is your canvas.)

Basic chimichurri:
shitload of olive oil
salt & pepper
garlic, minced
paprika
cayenne
fresh lemon juice
parsley (if you have cilantro, throw a little in there as well, but parsley works best)
red wine vinegar
***note: I am very protective of my chimichurri recipe, which explains the lack of quantities in this recipe and the fact that I have left out my secret ingredient which wild horses could not drag out of me. I am of the opinion that chimichurri is a highly personalised thing – much like ragu is for Italian housewives – and that everyone should have their own way of making it. This basic recipe will serve its purpose.

preheat oven to 325.

To make the chimichurri, take the olive oil and mix in garlic, cayenne, paprika, parsley and cilantro. I do not own a food processor and every time I feel inclined to purchase one, the words of MFK Fisher ring in my mind, “If it is choppable – chop it.” A mortar and pestle, and a simple mixing bowl, will serve you just as well in almost any circumstance. If you have a food processor, go ahead and blend those ingredients – adding salt and pepper to taste. Stir in the lemon juice and red wine vinegar slowly while whisking and you should get a murky emulsion with a deep fiery tang of red from the paprika and red wine. Just looking at this sometimes makes me want to touch myself. Then marinate the meat in the chimichurri, reserving some for a dipping sauce, while you prepare the dates.

Now if you don't have pitted dates clearly you are going to have to do that yourself - a fork or similar facsimile should work fine. Stuff the cheese into the dates and roast in the oven at 325 for roughly ten to fifteen minutes.

While the dates are roasting, sear the steak in a buttered grill pan, to the desired level of charredness. Stick it in the oven to finish off but you should be looking to cook it medium-rare to medium. Once the steak is done, slice into thin strips. Wrap the individual strips of beef around the dates and stick a toothpick through them. Serve with the chimichurri that you have set aside. Do not serve the sauce that you used to marinate the beef – that is simply unsanitary.

So there you go, this one's a keeper.

Steakhouse Blues: The Dance of Dinner

Morton's The Steakhouse
1050 Connecticut Avenue
Washington, DC 20036
202-955-5997

There comes a point every once in a while in a man’s life that he craves, and must have, a good steak prepared by hands other than his and served to him with the proper deference, pomp and circumstance. This, and tobacco executives, are the reasons why steakhouses flourish. For some these occasions present, nay, enforce themselves, once in a blue moon; for myself I find that they come to me but once every three weeks. Last night I went for a steak dinner with my dear friend Jeff and it was everything i thought it could be, and more.

First of all, we walk into the steakhouse and it is right out of a movie. Wood trim, dim lighting, off-white walls and old-school ostentation – one almost expects to lay eyes on a grand fireplace and many leather-bound books on the mantle above it. An old, distinguished gentleman is our host, and he walks us into a room full of older and more distinguished gentlemen. There is a table of secret service agents to our right and a big table of important-looking people next to them. On second thought, all the people in the room look important. The men are wearing dark suits or navy blue blazers and shirts with French cuffs and have their ties loosened just a little for that five o'clock effect. The women (all five of them) look distinctly uncomfortable. There is glass clinking and the occasional hearty laughter, and just as we are sitting down an Italian-looking gentleman at another table with a shock of silvery hair and piercing blue eyes exclaims "Porco miseria!” and our journey is complete. We have stepped through the looking glass.

There is little we can do in a setting like this but go all out. The menu is far from eclectic – predictable, even – but that suits us just fine. We order pre-dinner scotches, a soup and a salad, a nice big haunch of medium-rare beef each, a bottle of Argentine Malbec, and sides of wild mushrooms, spinach and potatoes. The service, I must admit, is impeccable. Our waitress was pleasant, knowledgeable and graceful beyond measure. The sommelier poured the wine expertly and kept conversation to an efficient minimum. The server kept us waiting just long enough after our soup and salad to bring out our steaks, and did not seem to mind that we were staring at the beef too much to pay her any attention. I had a 14 oz double-cut filet mignon served as is, salted and peppered and grilled medium-rare - simple, but as the French say, comme il faut. The centre was delightfully warm and gloriously pink, and the meat was as tender as the lovemaking on a wedding night.

I love conversations at dinner. You always start out with the pleasantries over your appetisers, the joking, the banter, like two dancers paired for the first time and each eager to show off their moves, both together but each dancing alone. Then the wine arrives and you get more relaxed; they take away our appetisers and you start having real conversation, sharing histories, really connecting. Then the meat comes and all conversation dies, but with good cause. The man who eats a steak and does not have it consume him along with all his energies, is one who is not enjoying his steak to the fullest.

But then they take your plates away at the end of the meal and you have all this wine left and you look into each others' eyes and really start talking. Lives and loves, feelings and emotions, hopes and dreams. And secrets - deep, dark secrets. If you are lucky enough to be able to stay, the restaurant starts clearing out and it quiets down, thrusting your conversation front and centre. Every giggle, every exclamation sounds truer, and does not dissolve into the background noise. The choreography of the dinner game is age-old, and it is how you know you are with true friends - when no moves are forced, each gambit is anticipated; like Pedro Romero leading the bull slowly, gracefully, but inexorably to the eventual slaughter.

(cf: The Sun Also Rises - "You kill your friends?" "Always. So they don't kill me first.")

The best part of it all? The bill came to such and such a ridiculous amount, and so we gave our waitress the $100 gift certificate that I had with me, as well as our credit cards to split the remainder of the bill. She came back with a knowing smile, bless her heart, and said that there was no balance and that she therefore did not charge our cards. It did not occur to us to question how or why, but we left her a huge tip and got out of there as quickly as we could. Which, given our condition after a heavy meal, was not very quickly at all.

Dining with the enemy

Lately I find myself in quite a peculiar situation to be in; what does one do when the people one finds worthy to cook for do not share your gastronomic inclinations? Whose enjoyment of the meal should you then sacrifice? It is a vexing question indeed, but perhaps one that – from time to time – yields quite pleasant answers.

I had people over for dinner last night and made an entirely vegetarian dinner - because my friend Laura is, sadly, one of the enemy. Yet there is perhaps nothing I will begrudge her – least of all a home-cooked meal prepared to the best of my ability, for she makes me laugh easily and readily and is good people. She once told me a story once about her friend Steve, the movie "So I Married an Axe Murderer" and the size of the human head that had me in stitches for days. She could have had class. She could have been a contender. By the time the year is through I promise I will stuff a sausage in her mouth. (That didn't come out quite right, I fear.)

Saffron Couscous with Pinenuts and Raisins
1.5 cups couscous
2.5 cups chicken broth
pinch of saffron threads
1 red onion, coarsely chopped
1 red pepper, coarsely chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
some chives, coarsely chopped
handful of pinenuts
handful of raisins
big pinch of paprika
pinch of cayenne
pinch of tamarind
.25 stick butter
salt and pepper

Warm the broth and throw in saffron threads; let sit on low heat for at least 15 minutes. Be careful not to let this boil. Meanwhile, toast the pinenuts in a small amount of olive oil, in a large pot till browned. Remove and set aside. Using the same pot and adding more oil, saute the garlic, red onion and red pepper with spices. Cover the pot and let sit for a couple of minutes. Add the saffron broth and bring to a boil. Once mixture is boiling, remove from heat and stir in couscous. Keep fluffing couscous while stirring in butter, then the pinenuts, raisins and chives. Ready to serve once couscous reaches desired consistency. Serves 4.

Tamarind is available in many forms. If you get the dried powder (which I did), this is not as strong as say, the pulp concentrate. Depending on how much saffron you use – for the money you pay for it nobody wants to overpower the saffron - adjust accordingly)

Slow-Roasted Tomatoes Stuffed with Spinach
8 medium-to-large cluster tomatoes
balsamic vinegar
1 bag spinach
1 onion, well chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
breadcrumbs
some heavy cream (not too much)
pinch of thyme
s/p

Preheat oven at 350F. Remove tops from tomatoes, scoop out the pulp and reserve; turning tomatoes upside down on a paper towel to dry. Lay tomatoes out on roasting pan, salt heavily and season with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Separately, saute garlic and onion, adding thyme and later, the tomato pulp and breadcrumbs. Meanwhile, cook spinach in saucepan of salted, almost-boiling water for 3 minutes until almost wilted. Drain and add spinach to garlic and onion mix. saute for a while more, add cream and cook down a little before removing from heat. Spoon this spinach-cream mixture into the tomatoes and roast uncovered at 250 for two hours. Serves 4.

As tomatoes go out of season, slow-roasting becomes an easy method to extract the fullest flavour from even the most disappointing of tomatoes. Plus, I'm a huge fan of roasting stuff because of the minimal workload - you just stuff it in the oven and go check your email. Do not hold back on the balsamic vinegar for this one. For aesthetic purposes, you can save the tomato tops and replace when serving, for presentation. Or, you can melt some cheese (mozzarella if you're classy, Kraft singles if you're not) on top of the roasted tomatoes, it all sounds good to me. I just served them as is – they looked pretty damn delicious to me, and did not disappoint.