I have good news if you live in Westchester and you are a person who eats (which is, sadly, not actually required to sustain life in either Westchester or Orange County, California any longer).
This tiniest of notes appeared in the New York Times Dining Section recently:
TARRY LODGE Joseph Bastianich and Mario Batali have taken over this place and will reopen it in September as a pizzeria-trattoria: 18 Mill Street, Port Chester, N.Y., (914) 939-3111.
That was the entirety of the mention but it should have been a fifteen page dissertation on why that is such ticklishly good news that those two talented gentlemen are desperately needed on the scene in Westchester: Because we are hungry and there are far too few places worth the wait.
Some of the best real Italian you'll ever eat, (and on your way home from work, Kins).
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
On houses, protocol, and peaches
Hi'ya pals,
There have been many bright moments since I wrote last.
Two of my favorites are the littlest: Firstly, we have been looking at this old farmhouse in the Carolina's, wondering if it might be a good place for us to have as an occasional home. It is part grand old home, part farm, part historical landmark. It needs someone, either a Rehabilitator or a Sucker. My Dad's love for history was handed down, when we are shown an old house we see its history, not problems too inconceivable to attempt to remedy. As we debate the finer points of historical renovations and doing proud the family who worked that land for 150 years, I was pleased to be reminded of Bunny Williams book, An Affair with a House. The book is a definitive and loving recounting of a lifetime spent in stewardship to a grand old home. It does seem one might like to take their time in deciding to which old place to give a lifetime and a new heartbeat. We do need more growing space, always. And Josh also thinks it would be nice to have a silo. Since I am from the 'burbs originally, I am in no position to second guess.
Secondly, while once again wandering Charleston unsuccessfully searching for a sideboard (owing to my inability to concentrate in that town altogether.), I noted that Charleston Recreation has several week-long summer class offerings. One of them is Southern Protocol and is a regular part of camp rotation in Charleston. Children begin with a week in the age 3 to 6 group and advance later to the more senior mannered group, ages six to ten. As readers of Blushing Hostess Entertains will attest, I love nothing better than protocol and love that a business which protects saying just enough, dressing neatly, and encouraging lovely dining habits, thrives. Though no surprise it would do so in the gracious City of Steeples.
Oh, my. And in this last week there have been moments I would care to forget. Ah-hem, the silent expletive rich dialogue I had with myself noting the work of a plumbing contractor, who will now be known as Mr. Fix-One-Break-Two-Others. The barrage, well, that happened after several confused, head-tilting back and forth minutes staring at his dastardly home "improvement" and thinking no way is that guy ever going to work for Bunny Williams...
It was past time to stop staring at the broken wall, fixtures, and tiles and move on to something far more pleasant and fragrant, like peaches. The season is in full swing all over and who can resist the rising scent of peach pie from a kitchen? That is summer Sunday supper lofting gently on a hot breeze through the porch window and down to the field. That, my friends, is the best fragrance on earth. Which brings me to a delicious but frustrating item.
I was looking for an old, old recipe I lost from Southern Living Magazine, a publication which I generally have no use for culinarily for two reasons: The recipes are pantry-kitchen sink type of stuff. You know, pull out 15 cans, heat, spread over chicken, bake. And secondly, unlike Gourmet and Bon Appetit, they have not cataloged all of their recipes on their internet site. If you are looking for something of theirs which has not been archived, you are left to rely on every Tom, Dick, and idiots transcription methods at hideous, ineffective places like recipegold.com and the like where they no more read or edit their own stuff than actually make any of the food they mention.
In any event, in its otherwise useless culinary life, Southern Living did one thing right: The Georgia Peach and Praline Pie, published in 1998 and virtually off the publication radar ever since. I searched high and low (very, very low, did you know there are some very illicit websites with food names? Well you know now, and so, unfortunately, do I.) and finally found this unreliable piece of trash which does two things I cannot tolerate in a recipe: It does not give you measurements for the same ingredient divided: In other words 1 cup plus 1/2 cup flour divided, and instead combines them. Once you use 3 tablespoons of the the 1/3 cup flour it does not define how much is remaining to be used elsewhere. Secondly, in my book, if the recipe has two distinct parts the ingredients should be separated. Filling from crumb topping, in this case. If you have the patience to sort through this recipe, this is an amazing pie, or tart. If you don't, I will never blame you. But swing on by of a Sunday evening, and be sure you've left room for pie.
There have been many bright moments since I wrote last.
Two of my favorites are the littlest: Firstly, we have been looking at this old farmhouse in the Carolina's, wondering if it might be a good place for us to have as an occasional home. It is part grand old home, part farm, part historical landmark. It needs someone, either a Rehabilitator or a Sucker. My Dad's love for history was handed down, when we are shown an old house we see its history, not problems too inconceivable to attempt to remedy. As we debate the finer points of historical renovations and doing proud the family who worked that land for 150 years, I was pleased to be reminded of Bunny Williams book, An Affair with a House. The book is a definitive and loving recounting of a lifetime spent in stewardship to a grand old home. It does seem one might like to take their time in deciding to which old place to give a lifetime and a new heartbeat. We do need more growing space, always. And Josh also thinks it would be nice to have a silo. Since I am from the 'burbs originally, I am in no position to second guess.
Secondly, while once again wandering Charleston unsuccessfully searching for a sideboard (owing to my inability to concentrate in that town altogether.), I noted that Charleston Recreation has several week-long summer class offerings. One of them is Southern Protocol and is a regular part of camp rotation in Charleston. Children begin with a week in the age 3 to 6 group and advance later to the more senior mannered group, ages six to ten. As readers of Blushing Hostess Entertains will attest, I love nothing better than protocol and love that a business which protects saying just enough, dressing neatly, and encouraging lovely dining habits, thrives. Though no surprise it would do so in the gracious City of Steeples.
Oh, my. And in this last week there have been moments I would care to forget. Ah-hem, the silent expletive rich dialogue I had with myself noting the work of a plumbing contractor, who will now be known as Mr. Fix-One-Break-Two-Others. The barrage, well, that happened after several confused, head-tilting back and forth minutes staring at his dastardly home "improvement" and thinking no way is that guy ever going to work for Bunny Williams...
It was past time to stop staring at the broken wall, fixtures, and tiles and move on to something far more pleasant and fragrant, like peaches. The season is in full swing all over and who can resist the rising scent of peach pie from a kitchen? That is summer Sunday supper lofting gently on a hot breeze through the porch window and down to the field. That, my friends, is the best fragrance on earth. Which brings me to a delicious but frustrating item.
I was looking for an old, old recipe I lost from Southern Living Magazine, a publication which I generally have no use for culinarily for two reasons: The recipes are pantry-kitchen sink type of stuff. You know, pull out 15 cans, heat, spread over chicken, bake. And secondly, unlike Gourmet and Bon Appetit, they have not cataloged all of their recipes on their internet site. If you are looking for something of theirs which has not been archived, you are left to rely on every Tom, Dick, and idiots transcription methods at hideous, ineffective places like recipegold.com and the like where they no more read or edit their own stuff than actually make any of the food they mention.
In any event, in its otherwise useless culinary life, Southern Living did one thing right: The Georgia Peach and Praline Pie, published in 1998 and virtually off the publication radar ever since. I searched high and low (very, very low, did you know there are some very illicit websites with food names? Well you know now, and so, unfortunately, do I.) and finally found this unreliable piece of trash which does two things I cannot tolerate in a recipe: It does not give you measurements for the same ingredient divided: In other words 1 cup plus 1/2 cup flour divided, and instead combines them. Once you use 3 tablespoons of the the 1/3 cup flour it does not define how much is remaining to be used elsewhere. Secondly, in my book, if the recipe has two distinct parts the ingredients should be separated. Filling from crumb topping, in this case. If you have the patience to sort through this recipe, this is an amazing pie, or tart. If you don't, I will never blame you. But swing on by of a Sunday evening, and be sure you've left room for pie.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
The first mistake
One of my friends eats one quarter of a banana for breakfast. Another sucks down two venti Starbucks lattes and smokes a handful of cigarettes. Still another drinks virgin Bloodies to get to midday in one piece. I just skipped the meal altogether and allowed the surely decent parts of humanity which crossed my path to bear the brunt of my distaste for breakfast food.
Through my childhood and into college I was not a breakfast eater. Long into professional life, it became clear I would have more patience for the situations a morning and lunch-less day could bring if I would just eat something as I started out. Breakfast in several cultures did not save me: Pork dumplings in Hong Kong? Congi in Singapore? Gamy salami in Italy? Beige questionable eggs in Guatemala? Nothing put before me made the prospect of consuming food at an ungodly hour any more pleasing.
Until one frigid winter morning in London seven years ago. Josh and I tumbled out of a wind tunnel on the street in front of Harrod's looking only for a bit of relief from the cold. Earlier, we had experienced the offer of a hotel breakfast which looked quite depressing: All the cold things were luke-warm and all the hot items were cold. Nothing looked to be enticing enough to expend a good chew on. We passed. At Harrod's then, we followed signs to the cafe and ordered scones if only to give ourselves an excuse to be out of the winter for a moment.
The scones were fluffy clouds, speckled with berries and tipped with gold. Next to them sat clotted cream and the house preserves. Along side they brought good strong teas. The combination was memorable and exciting: Certainly if breakfast had been as delicious, as balanced in textures, and had flavors so complimentary, I would not have stayed away. We went back every day for three days. I took the preserves home, packed along side ten bottles of Molton Brown lotion (the best, hands down).
Breakfast remains the hardest meal of the day. At least I have been provided a reason to continue to seek out great breakfasts. As frequent readers know, the lemony, crunchy, zip of toasted zucchini bread passed muster, like a dozen of my favorite scone renditions, as do any number of toasted muffin possibilities. I share these with you today as they are great breakfast food (full of blueberry goodness) and munchies (Josh is still not a breakfast convert). This recipe makes enough for an army of breakfast non-believers.
Blueberry Crumb Muffins
makes 24
3/4 cup sugar
1 stick butter, at room temperature
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk
3 1/2 cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups fresh blueberries
Crumb topping:
1 cup flour
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup ground pecans
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 stick cold butter, cut into 1/2 dice
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line 24 muffin cups with paper liners.
Using an electric mixer and paddle, cream the butter and remaining 3/4 cup of sugar until smooth and pale in color, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, and beat until fluffy, about 2 minutes. In another bowl, combine 3 1/2 cups of the flour, baking powder, and salt. Alternately fold in the milk and flour mixture, being careful not to over mix. Fold in the blueberries. Spoon 1/4 cup of the filling into each prepared muffin cup.
In a small bowl, combine the crumb ingredients: 1 cup flour, brown sugar, pecans, and cinnamon. Mix well. Add the cold butter. Using your hands, mix until the mixture resembles coarse crumb-like mixture. Sprinkle 2 tablespoons of the crumb mixture over each muffin cup.
Bake for about 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown.
Through my childhood and into college I was not a breakfast eater. Long into professional life, it became clear I would have more patience for the situations a morning and lunch-less day could bring if I would just eat something as I started out. Breakfast in several cultures did not save me: Pork dumplings in Hong Kong? Congi in Singapore? Gamy salami in Italy? Beige questionable eggs in Guatemala? Nothing put before me made the prospect of consuming food at an ungodly hour any more pleasing.
Until one frigid winter morning in London seven years ago. Josh and I tumbled out of a wind tunnel on the street in front of Harrod's looking only for a bit of relief from the cold. Earlier, we had experienced the offer of a hotel breakfast which looked quite depressing: All the cold things were luke-warm and all the hot items were cold. Nothing looked to be enticing enough to expend a good chew on. We passed. At Harrod's then, we followed signs to the cafe and ordered scones if only to give ourselves an excuse to be out of the winter for a moment.
The scones were fluffy clouds, speckled with berries and tipped with gold. Next to them sat clotted cream and the house preserves. Along side they brought good strong teas. The combination was memorable and exciting: Certainly if breakfast had been as delicious, as balanced in textures, and had flavors so complimentary, I would not have stayed away. We went back every day for three days. I took the preserves home, packed along side ten bottles of Molton Brown lotion (the best, hands down).
Breakfast remains the hardest meal of the day. At least I have been provided a reason to continue to seek out great breakfasts. As frequent readers know, the lemony, crunchy, zip of toasted zucchini bread passed muster, like a dozen of my favorite scone renditions, as do any number of toasted muffin possibilities. I share these with you today as they are great breakfast food (full of blueberry goodness) and munchies (Josh is still not a breakfast convert). This recipe makes enough for an army of breakfast non-believers.
Blueberry Crumb Muffins
makes 24
3/4 cup sugar
1 stick butter, at room temperature
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk
3 1/2 cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups fresh blueberries
Crumb topping:
1 cup flour
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup ground pecans
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 stick cold butter, cut into 1/2 dice
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line 24 muffin cups with paper liners.
Using an electric mixer and paddle, cream the butter and remaining 3/4 cup of sugar until smooth and pale in color, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, and beat until fluffy, about 2 minutes. In another bowl, combine 3 1/2 cups of the flour, baking powder, and salt. Alternately fold in the milk and flour mixture, being careful not to over mix. Fold in the blueberries. Spoon 1/4 cup of the filling into each prepared muffin cup.
In a small bowl, combine the crumb ingredients: 1 cup flour, brown sugar, pecans, and cinnamon. Mix well. Add the cold butter. Using your hands, mix until the mixture resembles coarse crumb-like mixture. Sprinkle 2 tablespoons of the crumb mixture over each muffin cup.
Bake for about 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Notes from the bar
Straight away I should be clear that I am only pinch-hitting here in the absence of the Dashing Host who flew off to the U.K. to play rugby and, possibly, I am only guessing, maybe imbibe a drink or two. All I know for certain is, if you're drinking or serving drinks today, you've got me at the blender. I am sorry, but the Host did leave me his monogrammed hanky to help me comfort you while he is away.
Firstly, New Orleans has itself an official cocktail by vote of its (not otherwise occupied?) state legislature. I can no more vouch for the Sazerac as for the people who wisely took it upon themselves to proclaim it the first cocktail of this great city, but on my (or surely the Hosts) next turn through New Orleans, we will duck into Commodores Palace and find out what made this Herbsaint mixture worthy of an act of a state legislature. I imagine it being better first tasted in the place where it was invented and made by those who understand the historical import of a drink that rises to this level.
And now, we've a bit of levity provided to us by the kind folks over at Modern Drunkard Magazine and their thesis on The Secret Language of Cocktails. After reading the brief description of each sort of cocktail drinker we encourage you to click into our "Comment" area below and tell us what kind of drinker you are.
What? They have nothing to say about the Champagne Cocktail? Certainly this means we are international women of taste and mystery? And what of the other perennial favorite, the Cactus Pear Margarita? I fear the outcome of that one will not be good news but I feel confident the Mesa Grill patrons will stand by their choice...
I just like the look of a cold cocktail on a searing hot summer day, don't you? What are you drinking?
Firstly, New Orleans has itself an official cocktail by vote of its (not otherwise occupied?) state legislature. I can no more vouch for the Sazerac as for the people who wisely took it upon themselves to proclaim it the first cocktail of this great city, but on my (or surely the Hosts) next turn through New Orleans, we will duck into Commodores Palace and find out what made this Herbsaint mixture worthy of an act of a state legislature. I imagine it being better first tasted in the place where it was invented and made by those who understand the historical import of a drink that rises to this level.
And now, we've a bit of levity provided to us by the kind folks over at Modern Drunkard Magazine and their thesis on The Secret Language of Cocktails. After reading the brief description of each sort of cocktail drinker we encourage you to click into our "Comment" area below and tell us what kind of drinker you are.
What? They have nothing to say about the Champagne Cocktail? Certainly this means we are international women of taste and mystery? And what of the other perennial favorite, the Cactus Pear Margarita? I fear the outcome of that one will not be good news but I feel confident the Mesa Grill patrons will stand by their choice...
I just like the look of a cold cocktail on a searing hot summer day, don't you? What are you drinking?
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Tale of a 1000 sauces
I was in Leon, Mexico when it happened. Seated a a streetside cafe, sipping a fizzy muddled limeade such that I have never been able to recreate, on a day which I believe was 1000 degrees, and feeling heart-broken over the number of sick, hungry, stray animals wandering the streets when the camarero placed a plate of something or other on the table before me.
I expected nothing from the tortilla rolls on the plate: By then, I had consumed three days worth of unimpressive food items on a strictly life-sustaining campaign to just get back to LA without starving to death and collapse into a chair at Ivy with my old friend and regale her with sorted food tales from the no-man's land of cuisine that little burg shaped up to be. But that tortilla roll, all on its own, created my love for authentic Mexican food and saved me from a life of secretly eating granola bars while travelling in Mexico. When I think of how close I came to throwing the towel in, I am ashamed of my unwillingness to continue to digest nasty, soggy textured, goopy plates of unidentifiable beige food in order to find the diamond of Mexican dishes. As luck would have it on that trip, I had left the granola at home in Boston and I was hungry enough to repeat the fright, sometimes outrage, and usual quesiness which accompanied my unlucky meals there.
Inside these handmade tortillas was a tender chicken that was just a vehicle for the sauce the chicken had been bathed in before meeting tortilla, lettuce, and cheese. I cannot tell you another thing about the place, I really only wanted to get out of there in one, perhaps slightly bedraggled fashionista, piece. But the sauce was something a little tomato and a lot piquant. I have spent several years trying to reach back to it and the lime drink on the table (a far wiser idea than drinking water thereabouts).
I have arrived at the sauce, after unsucessfully experimenting with some of Diana Kennedy's suggestions (her recipes were good, but not my sauce), which it turns out, has been with me all along in a Rick Bayless book.
You will use this sauce again and again: In enchildas, on pasta with lots of veggies, over eggs for huevos racheros, for casseroles, broiled fish, slow cooker sauce for chuck roast, and even as a dip. It the fastest sauce I make, ten minutes end to end, it freezes beautifully and will never fail you.
Tomato Chile Sauce for Enchiladas
about 4 cups
wildly adapted from Authentic Mexican Cooking, by Rick Bayless
Chef Bayless calls for fresh tomatoes in his recipe. After trying the fresh tomato version, the San Marzano version that appears below is far tastier, faster, and less of a nuisance to deal with.
The 3 jalapeno called for here will not make this sauce spicy because they are seeded and deveined. If you like it hot, keep the seeds and veins in, or use 5 serrano in the same fashion.
1 28-ounce can San Marzano whole San Marzano tomatoes
3 fresh hot chiles (jalapeno or serrano), stemmed, seeded, and chopped
1/2 small onion, roughly chopped
4 garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped
1 tablespoon vegetable or canola oil
Kosher salt
Into the large bowl of the food processor, place the entire contents of the San Marzano tomatoes, the chiles, onion, and garlic. Process the mixture until pureed, maintain some texture if you wish.
I expected nothing from the tortilla rolls on the plate: By then, I had consumed three days worth of unimpressive food items on a strictly life-sustaining campaign to just get back to LA without starving to death and collapse into a chair at Ivy with my old friend and regale her with sorted food tales from the no-man's land of cuisine that little burg shaped up to be. But that tortilla roll, all on its own, created my love for authentic Mexican food and saved me from a life of secretly eating granola bars while travelling in Mexico. When I think of how close I came to throwing the towel in, I am ashamed of my unwillingness to continue to digest nasty, soggy textured, goopy plates of unidentifiable beige food in order to find the diamond of Mexican dishes. As luck would have it on that trip, I had left the granola at home in Boston and I was hungry enough to repeat the fright, sometimes outrage, and usual quesiness which accompanied my unlucky meals there.
Inside these handmade tortillas was a tender chicken that was just a vehicle for the sauce the chicken had been bathed in before meeting tortilla, lettuce, and cheese. I cannot tell you another thing about the place, I really only wanted to get out of there in one, perhaps slightly bedraggled fashionista, piece. But the sauce was something a little tomato and a lot piquant. I have spent several years trying to reach back to it and the lime drink on the table (a far wiser idea than drinking water thereabouts).
I have arrived at the sauce, after unsucessfully experimenting with some of Diana Kennedy's suggestions (her recipes were good, but not my sauce), which it turns out, has been with me all along in a Rick Bayless book.
You will use this sauce again and again: In enchildas, on pasta with lots of veggies, over eggs for huevos racheros, for casseroles, broiled fish, slow cooker sauce for chuck roast, and even as a dip. It the fastest sauce I make, ten minutes end to end, it freezes beautifully and will never fail you.
Tomato Chile Sauce for Enchiladas
about 4 cups
wildly adapted from Authentic Mexican Cooking, by Rick Bayless
Chef Bayless calls for fresh tomatoes in his recipe. After trying the fresh tomato version, the San Marzano version that appears below is far tastier, faster, and less of a nuisance to deal with.
The 3 jalapeno called for here will not make this sauce spicy because they are seeded and deveined. If you like it hot, keep the seeds and veins in, or use 5 serrano in the same fashion.
1 28-ounce can San Marzano whole San Marzano tomatoes
3 fresh hot chiles (jalapeno or serrano), stemmed, seeded, and chopped
1/2 small onion, roughly chopped
4 garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped
1 tablespoon vegetable or canola oil
Kosher salt
Into the large bowl of the food processor, place the entire contents of the San Marzano tomatoes, the chiles, onion, and garlic. Process the mixture until pureed, maintain some texture if you wish.
Now you must fry the sauce in a large, heavy bottomed pot or skillet: Heat the oil in the pot until searing hot, when a drop of water tossed into the oil sizzles. Add the pureed mixture from the food processor all at once, being careful to keep yourself out of the way of any splatter. Stir the sauce vigorously and constantly for 5 minutes over this very high heat. As the puree sears, it will cook into a thicker, more orange-colored sauce.
Use with chicken or beef for tacos, enchilada, or burritos to marinate the meat and pour over the top of the finished item. Also, over eggs and tortillas or migas for brunch. Allow to cool and use as a dip for crudite. Add one tablespoon cream and this is a fabulous, refreshing twist on a standard pasta sauce. Broil it over fish. Use it as a base for a great Mexican style homemade pizza with mangchengo...
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