Category: Recipes

Nano and jasmine ricePasta was being cooked in Italy long before Marco Polo returned from his forays to the Orient. But how did rice make its way into the Italian kitchen? Perhaps we can thank Islam. According to the Oxford Food Companion, "Rice cooked in clarified butter is said to have been the favourite dish of the Prophet Muhammad." The Moors who worshipped him would have brought the grain with them through Sicily, Spain and North Africa.

Like so many delicious eats, risotto seems to have started out as a peasant food, a way to stretch the flavor of tasty ingredients with starch and stock. You wouldn't know it from the pricy truffle/saffron/porcini versions you find on many menus these days. That's why I love the simple elegance of this lemon risotto.

I started out with these two recipes: one from Epicurious and one from Jean-Georges Vongerichten. I used a basic vegetable stock made with leek tops, onion, carrots, garlic, bay leaf, thyme and parsley (a nod to the vegetarian guest). I couldn't find Meyer lemons; the dish was pretty stellar anyway. It's unfussy, rich and super creamy with a gorgeous brightness. I made the risotto, from mise en place to plating, in about 25 minutes, while my guests were finishing their cocktails and bruschetta. That sounds like a long time but it's really not, as long as your friends can entertain themselves.

Here's an interesting article which talks about the different kinds of rice you can try in risotto. I used Vialone Nano rice (pictured above), a very short, rotund grain rice which is great for creamy risottos.

Lemon Risotto

Serves 8 first-course servings

A huge pot of vegetable or chicken stock (10 cups)
Butter
Olive Oil
1 leek, minced white and lightest green parts
2 shallots, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
Zest and juice of 2 lemons
1 3/4 cups of nano or carnaroli rice
1/2 cup vermouth or dry white wine
1/2 cup mascarpone cheese
1/2 cup grated parmigiano reggiano, plus more for the table
3 tbsp. minced chives

Simmer the stock on low on one of your back burners. Heat up your large saute pan. Add a hunk of butter and a few glugs of olive oil. When the butter has melted and the foam subsided, add your minced leek, shallots, and garlic. Sweat them for a few minutes until they're soft and translucent. Add your dry rice to the pan and saute the rice grains for two minutes until the edges of the grains go clear and the center glows bright white. Add the vermouth all at once and stir one minute til absorbed.

Add your hot stock 2 ladles at a time. Stir the risotto slowly with a wooden spatula, making sure to scrape the edges of the pan and folding the rice into the middle. As the liquid starts to ooze and get absorbed by the rice, add two more ladles of stock. Repeat for about 17 minutes, testing the rice grains regularly after 12 minutes. As soon as the center of the rice is barely cooked through and not raw in the center, add another ladle of stock if needed, give it a stir and turn the heat off. Your risotto should be creamy but a little soupy, the consistency of clam chowder. It will continue to cook as you prepare it for serving. Add 3 tbsp. of the lemon juice, 2 tbsp. lemon zest, the mascarpone and parm, salt and pepper to taste. Garnish with a bit more of the lemon zest and chives. Serve PRONTO, with extra parmigiano grated at the table.

***

Incidentally, do not try and use Pacific vegetable broth in a box for this dish. That shit is all kinds of nasty -- it tastes like watered down, rancid bloody mary mix, heavy on the celery seed. And it's reddish orange. Yuck.

The problem: With all the gorgeous local produce coming into the Greenmarket, all you want to do is have a dinner party. But with the heat and the humidity, the last thing you want to do is to subject your friends to the sauna-like conditions of your a/c-less kitchen. (Do you have a/c in your common areas? Then you don't feel my pain and you don't need my help, lucky bastard.)

The solution: You need foods you can cook ahead and serve at room temperature. Besides, at a dinner party, when you don't have an in-house cook (which is probably the case if A. you read my blog and B. you don't have a/c, pobresito), the goal is to get out of the kitchen and into the dining room with your guests. It's no fun to have to listen to the conversation while chained to the stove. Here's an elegant summer menu that's light, colorful, incredibly easy, impressive, and will get you out of the kitchen.

On the table: French breakfast radishes with fatty French butter and sea salt
First course: Bruschetta
Entree: Slow cooked salmon with blanched asparagus and lemon
Fresh strawberries with whipped cream

Slow cooked salmon

I got this recipe from the Chez Panisse Cafe cookbook. It's an incredibly easy, set it and forget it kind of recipe that tastes a lot fancier than it has any right to taste. It'd be great to bring to a party since it requires no reheating.

4-4.5 lb. salmon fillet (wild king salmon if you can afford it)
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
Handful of basil leaves
1 lemon
2 shallots

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees. Put a pan of water on the lowest rack of the oven to humidify it. Spread some olive oil on the bottom of a baking sheet. Place the fillet on the baking sheet. Rub it with olive oil, salt and pepper. Chop a handful of basil leaves, zest a lemon, and thinly slice 2 shallots; scatter over the fillet. Place in the oven and bake carelessly for 1 hour. Press the fillet with your finger -- it should be firm but still moist. Let cool to room temperature.

Serve with cold blanched, peeled asparagus (1 1/2 minutes in a sea of boiling salter water, then chucked into an ice bath), sea salt, and lemon wedges.

I served this at a dinner party chez nous last night. Our first course was bruschetta two ways using recipes from the Babbo cookbook (the chickpea and olive paste recipe can be found here; the other one, which was also shockingly good, was made with cubed roasted beets, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, basil leaves, chives, and parmigiano reggiano shavings). The second course, a rich lemon risotto, was delicious, but a mistake to try and make in our hot apartment. It was a bit of wishful thinking on my part. I'll post the recipe for you anyway, because La Doug said it was the star course of the evening.

For dessert, our strawberries came from the Yuno Farm stand in Friday's Union Square Greenmarket. I had originally planned to make a strawberry rhubarb cobbler, but these strawberries were so supremely sweet and perfect, it would have been blasphemous to fuck with them. All they needed was a quick rinse in the colander and a big bowl of chilled whipped cream.

To my friends whom I owe dinner (I'm looking at you Winnie and Chris), my dinner party season has just begun. You're invited over next, I swear.

Last night we hosted a Texas Hold Em No Limit Poker Tournament for 44 participants.  I know, I know, INSANE.  It was all good clean fun, lots of trash talk, five velvet upholstered tables, overheated yelling, beers in the bathtub, delivery pizza, and ultimately, three winners -- the elated "Freakus" in third, the astonished "Heater" (subbing for "Ibiza" in the final rounds) in second, and our very own "Slapper" in first.  I, "Bench", got taken out at the same time as "Pom-Pom" by "Gay.com" at our very first table, sadly.  And I can't even blame my feebly nursed Bangkok Assassin -- the house special cocktail made with ginger-lemongrass simple syrup, vodka, and lime.  It's sweet, a little exotic, and totally lethal.

Bangkok Assassin

Boil smashed ginger and lemongrass in some water for five minutes, strain the bits out, add an equal amount of sugar and heat til the sugar dissolves.  Cool completely.  Fill your shaker with ice, 2 oz. vodka, a healthy squirt of syrup and the juice of a lime, shake and pour into a chilled glass.   Garnish with lime.  (In my imagination, it's garnished with tiny ginger cubes which have been candied in the simple syrup and dropped into the bottom of the cocktail glass.)

Last night there was a lot less lime and a lot more syrup; still, you might want to mix and pour over ice, and top it off with some soda -- "Tip Me" had to cut off our friend "The Groom," who got taken out early by a few strong Bangkok Assassins and never made it past the first table.  Instead, he fell face-first into the pile of coats on the bed and passed out for the rest of the evening.  That's what you get when you come to my house.  Next year -- more beer, weaker cocktails, and hopefully an afternoon start.

A special MLK weekend treat for you -- the New York Times' oft-e-mailed Crusty Macaroni and Cheese recipe tested and reviewed by special EDOW correspondent and recurring guest star, Doug!

Though you know how much I love Land O'Lakes White American Cheese, the snob in me had trouble dumping a pound of it into my dish. So, I went with:

18 oz. extra-sharp cheddar
11 oz. Land O'Lakes White American Cheese
10 oz. Gruyere
7 oz. Gouda

(to 2 pounds of pasta)

I requested a mild Gouda, but the new Murray's lady--who clearly knew nothing about cheese (*gasp*)--gave me cave-aged Gouda instead.

The final dish was, as Chris said, "asskickingly delicious." But it's not mac & cheese--it's pasta with melted cheese, and I've come to appreciate the huge difference between the two.

First off, it's hard for me to praise its yumminess as a quality of the dish itself. There's so little preparation here that all the credit lies with the cheeses--ultimately, nothing gets exalted in the making. This, however, is the one thing that makes the dish considerable: it's incredibly easy to throw together.

The super-crunchy crust has that addictive textural quality--you keep eating because it's fun regardless of taste or hunger--though in the end it's just burnt macaroni with a hint of cheese. (I'm sure after hours of cooling the sophisticated gourmand gives way to the zoned muncher and I'm picking at the crust like it's toenail casserole--not an attractive quality in a dish, but of course that's just me.)

In the end, though, it comes down to béchamel: the lack of sauce creates a very uneven cheese-pasta ratio per bite. And the cheese doesn't coat the pasta so much as bind to it. Again, this makes for a yummy texture, but it's not worth the sacrifice: there's nothing in the world like a thick, velvety, slightly nutty cheddar cheese sauce. Surprisingly, this dish isn't for mac & cheese lovers--it's for lazy cooks, or lazy days at least.

(2 caveats: Though the recipe doesn't call for it, I wonder if a toss or two during the baking wouldn't reduce the unevenness; also, as you can see from the pic, we didn't use macaroni.)
--D

Did anyone try the creamy recipe?  Reports, please.  --G

UPDATE:  Slate weighs in.  Cliffs Notes: Mac and cheese needs roux.  Incidentally, I made Charlie Palmer's Family Cooking recipe yesterday and I think it needs more cheese.  Like, a lot more cheese.

On Thursday night, I swung by a cocktail lesson led by Esquire contributor and mixology author David Wondrich featuring Mount Gay Rum, a liquor I have never and still probably won't ever order in a bar -- unless they're serving one of the fascinating cocktails he introduced, an Ace of Clubs.  The odd coupling of the buttery creme de cacao with lime juice makes for an intriguing mix of flavors, a little like a key lime custard pie. Try one at 5 Ninth, or make them at home with this recipe.  Word to the wise -- they may go down easy, but after three Aces of Clubs and far too few mini empanadas, my head started to feel as thick and pasty as the cold butter I resorted to eating straight from the knife.  It's funny 'cause it's true.

P.S. Dave was kind enough to field a slurry slew of my interjected questions (the answers to which I promptly forgot -- Angostura, Mexican limes, oak barrels, something something?), but since he was directly to blame for my getting liquored up, I won't feel bad about it.  Lucky for us, his Esquire drinks database is a really entertaining and interesting read if you've got time to poke around.   

P.P.S.  Apparently, Mount Gay is popular with WASPs because it's "old school".  I wouldn't know this because we didn't have WASPs in La Puente.

P.P.P.S.  Heh heh, Mount Gay, heh heh.

Picture of David Wondrich stolen from New York Metro.

Deb's Catering, the lunch take-out place by my work, sometimes carries curried cauliflower.  When it's at the salad bar, I always heap loads into my little plastic container, thereby ensuring that Deb will win the profit margin game. 

I looked at a couple of recipes and decided on this set-it-and-forget-it, flavor-punching variation.  Cauliflower is cheap, and it's the perfect dish to make on a Sunday evening.  Don't bother with the stale little cylinders of McCormick's curry powder -- get thee to Kalustyan's and try a random masala.  The turmeric based ones add a pretty yellow color.  My masala of choice was a South Indian masala my friend Carol brought me from India. 

Curried Cauliflower

1 head of cauliflower washed and cut into florets
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 tbsp. minced garlic
1 tbsp. minced ginger
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. masala/curry powder
generous sprinkling of any dried/powdered chili pepper (I used Japanese yuzu pepper)
2 tbsp. fresh chopped cilantro

Mix the olive oil, vinegar, garlic, ginger, salt, masala and chili in a bowl.  Toss the cauliflower in the vinaigrette.  Pour the dressed cauliflower into a baking dish in a single layer.  Roast in a 450 degree oven for about 30 minutes, stirring every once in a while.  Remove from oven, toss with cilantro just before serving.  Can be served warm or room temperature.  Or cold, straight out of the fridge, and eaten with clean fingers.

*****

Emi, if you're reading this, you're probably thinking, "But you HATE white vegetables, Ganda, and you especially hate cauliflower!"  I'd just like to point out that:

A.  When you add the turmeric, the cauliflower is no longer white

and

B.  I have always and will always reserve the right to change my mind and admit that I was wrong

and

C.  That said, I don't think you'll ever be able to convince me to eat cold steamed cauliflower dipped in Kewpie mayonnaise

and

D.  You won't eat cheese of any kind but you make an exception for cheesecake, so I don't want to hear it.

Love you oka-san!

****

Thank you Rachel for pointing out the essential missing ingredient -- curry powder!  Have security get that recipe tester to turn in her building ID, that bitch is FIRED!

A friend of mine sent a link to this BBC article about kimchi possibly preventing bird flu.  The article was from March of 2005 and the findings seemed to be based on superficial research, aka wishful thinking.  I want to believe, so I decided to see if I could find any recent articles on kimchi as cure-all.  Instead, I found this fabulous article on eating sauerkraut instead of kimchi on WCCO-TV Minnesota.  In this hard-hitting piece, Asian helmet-head Mary Tan reports:

Others at the store bought the sour cabbage just because they like it. They said they have no concerns about the avian flu.

Ruby Bauer just wants some kraut to eat with wieners.

No offense to you wurst lovers; believe me, I can get down with a tangy, fatty plate of choucroute.  Sauerkraut makes me think of Jane Smiley's A Thousand Acres and how the one sister tries to kill the other with tainted sauerkraut.  (As usual, all I remember from that book is the food reference.  I am so predictable.)  But sauerkraut is to kimchi as a slice of American cheese is to a hunk of Cabrales, as Clark Kent is to Superman, as Tylenol is to Tylenol with codeine.  Magical kimchi has fermenting sea creature extracts and chili capsaicin up the wazoo.  It has the power of garlic's allicin and stomach soothing ginger.  I think it tastes powerful and protective.  It may or may not prevent bird flu, but why take chances when the potential remedy is so enjoyable?

I had this dish at a Japanese restaurant on Barrow St. -- it makes a quick, tasty bachelorette meal with a bowl of fresh rice.

Pork with kimchi and egg

1 tbsp. oil
1 boneless pork chop, thinly sliced on the bias
soy sauce
a couple of pieces of Napa cabbage kimchi, sliced into Trident gum sized strips
1 egg

Heat your pan up over high heat.  When it's hot, add your oil and throw the pork in and saute til meat is opaque.  Add a touch of soy sauce, add your kimchi and cook til the kimchi has warmed up.  Push everything to the sides and crack the egg in the middle of the pan.  Scramble it up quickly and incorporate the meat and kimchi.  Serve immediately with white rice.  Best eaten in front of the TV or over the kitchen sink.

I saw a friend tonight who was feeling a little under the weather.  I suggested my favorite cold weather cure-all, ginger tea with lemon and honey.  I believe wholeheartedly in its preventative and restorative powers.  It sounded so good that I had to come home and brew some for myself. 

Ginger Tea with Lemon and Honey

1.  Thinly slice a 2x3 inch piece of ginger lengthwise.  Or, if you like your tea extra spicy and warming, add more. I like a good 2x5 inch piece to really heat up my esophagus.

2.  Add to a pot with 2 cups of cold spring water.  Bring your pot up to a boil, then simmer.

3.  Meanwhile, extract the pulp wedges from half a lemon by cutting into the lemon half in a circle with a paring knife, then cutting along the membrane in each section, the way you would with a grapefruit.  De-pip (pip pip!) your pulp and place it into your teapot, thermos, or extra large mug.  Squeeze in the remaining juice from the lemon half.

4.  Add a generous tablespoon (or more) of your favorite honey to the lemon, preferably local honey.

5.  Strain the ginger tea into your lemon pulp honey mixture.  Serve hot to sickies and healthies. 

Squashes threatening colds and soothes tickly throats.  Also makes you feel like you ate Vicks Vaporub, which is a very good thing, if you ask me.

I'm back, with a heavy heart.  I didn't expect to fall so out of love with city life and so in love with the country.  I was in heaven, and now I am not in heaven.  But maybe living at New York pace really makes me appreciate the slow life.  I can't really get into it because I was so totally  heartbroken to have to leave.  You can check out my flickr set (though I will be the first to admit that visual artistry is not one of my better-developed senses).  If you haven't left the city in a while, get thee to the country and soak in the silence. 

Some highlights:

• Hot saunas followed by a blind run through the darkness to the ice cold pool, repeated ad nauseum
• Coq au vin with new friends
• Freshly picked corn and sugar sweet cherry tomatoes for a spicy corn stew from last generation farmers down the road
• Chilled Vouvray suggested by the cute Hudson wine merchant
• Crackling fire with wood that's been seasoned all summer
• Feasting on braised short ribs, cooked over the course of three days, with grilled veggies and noodle kugel
• cups of tea and Swedish buns in the morning sunshine
• calling a deer and having it respond in kind
• the marvel of falling stars!
• good company and plenty of liquor consumed both civilly and savagely
• piling up like rag dolls on the lawn chairs with plenty of blankets to stare back at the moon
• making guacamole for appreciative and enthusiastic house guests

Guacamole

3 ripe, unbruised avocados
1/3 cup chopped tomato
1/3 cup chopped white onion
1 clove garlic, smashed well (optional)
1 jalapeno or serrano chile, seeded and deveined, minced
1-2 tbsp. minced cilantro
salt
1 lime

Halve the avocados lengthwise.  Twist to separate the halves.  Lightly hack the avocado pit with your butcher knife so the blade goes in just a 1/4 of an inch and twist your knife to remove the pit from the fruit.  Scoop the creamy flesh out with a spoon.  Repeat with the other two avocados.

Mash the avocado flesh lightly with a fork -- a chunky texture is nice.  Add onion, chile, tomato, garlic, 1 tbsp. of the cilantro, 1/2 tsp. of salt and the juice of 1/2 of the lime.  Combine with a fork.  Taste the guac with a chip and adjust the seasoning as necessary, adding cilantro, salt and lime juice a little at a time.  Serve with tortilla chips.

****

Guacamole is nice to make in small batches for hovering eaters -- if you leave it out, the color begins to turn and it starts to look unappetizing.  If you MUST prepare it ahead of time, make sure you place a layer of plastic wrap directly on the guac, pressing out any air bubbles.  I think that business of leaving the pit in the guac doesn't actually help all that much -- the oxygen will still manage to turn your pretty guac pukey brown.

I'm back, with a heavy heart.  I didn't expect to fall so out of love with city life and so in love with the country.  I was in heaven, and now I am not in heaven.  But maybe living at New York pace really makes me appreciate the slow life.  I can't really get into it because I was so totally  heartbroken to have to leave.  You can check out my flickr set (though I will be the first to admit that visual artistry is not one of my better-developed senses).  If you haven't left the city in a while, get thee to the country and soak in the silence. 

Some highlights:

• Hot saunas followed by a blind run through the darkness to the ice cold pool, repeated ad nauseum
• Coq au vin with new friends
• Freshly picked corn and sugar sweet cherry tomatoes for a spicy corn stew from last generation farmers down the road
• Chilled Vouvray suggested by the cute Hudson wine merchant
• Crackling fire with wood that's been seasoned all summer
• Feasting on braised short ribs, cooked over the course of three days, with grilled veggies and noodle kugel
• cups of tea and Swedish buns in the morning sunshine
• calling a deer and having it respond in kind
• the marvel of falling stars!
• good company and plenty of liquor consumed both civilly and savagely
• piling up like rag dolls on the lawn chairs with plenty of blankets to stare back at the moon
• making guacamole for appreciative and enthusiastic house guests

Guacamole

3 ripe, unbruised avocados
1/3 cup chopped tomato
1/3 cup chopped white onion
1 clove garlic, smashed well (optional)
1 jalapeno or serrano chile, seeded and deveined, minced
1-2 tbsp. minced cilantro
salt
1 lime

Halve the avocados lengthwise.  Twist to separate the halves.  Lightly hack the avocado pit with your butcher knife so the blade goes in just a 1/4 of an inch and twist your knife to remove the pit from the fruit.  Scoop the creamy flesh out with a spoon.  Repeat with the other two avocados.

Mash the avocado flesh lightly with a fork -- a chunky texture is nice.  Add onion, chile, tomato, garlic, 1 tbsp. of the cilantro, 1/2 tsp. of salt and the juice of 1/2 of the lime.  Combine with a fork.  Taste the guac with a chip and adjust the seasoning as necessary, adding cilantro, salt and lime juice a little at a time.  Serve with tortilla chips.

****

Guacamole is nice to make in small batches for hovering eaters -- if you leave it out, the color begins to turn and it starts to look unappetizing.  If you MUST prepare it ahead of time, make sure you place a layer of plastic wrap directly on the guac, pressing out any air bubbles.  I think that business of leaving the pit in the guac doesn't actually help all that much -- the oxygen will still manage to turn your pretty guac pukey brown.