Food Orgy; Mussel Beach

Michael has been out of town on business for a few  days. Although I don't relish the thought of cooking for myself and dining alone, I do enjoy plunging myself into a self indulgent food orgy when he is gone.  We have widely different  tastes  in food, so when he is away I get to eat everything I crave.

The cravings usually involve seafood and are always spice driven. I have posted on mussels before during  Lent and the seemingly endless weeks of meatless Fridays.  The batch I made for both of us during Lent was very tame and quite straightforward.

Not this time around. Nope. Nada.  I adore mussels.  Any preperation.  Any sauce.  Anytime.

I drove to Charlies Fresh Seafood shop after work to secure fresh mussels.  While waiting  for the mussels to be bagged, iced, and tallied, I ordered Jalapeno Hush Puppies from the restaurant side of the shop, home of "the Biggest Fish Sandwich" in town. On the way home with my shellfish nestled on ice, I ate hot spiced hush puppies from my lap with squirts of carryout commercial tarter sauce drizzled over the top.  Messy, but oh so good.  Hot sweet fried corn puppies with specks of jalapeno popping through. The tang of fake tart tarter sauce  soothed my tongue. My drive home amuse bouche.

The food orgy was on.

Whetted and wanting more, I dove right  into dinner prep.

Mise en Place.

I pulled out the big guns for the sweet plump mussels.  While they rested in the refrigerator on ice, I thinly sliced Vidalia onions, jalapenos, garlic, roma tomatoes, and green peppers as aromatics.  Once the vegetables sauteed until caralmelized and tender, I added Korean red chile paste, Chinese black bean sauce, oyster sauce, sesame oil, fish stock, and white wine.  After the sauce reduced and simmered, I threw in  rice noodles ( lazily uncooked) and torn cilantro.  Once the sauce came back to a boil, I scattered the mussels in the pot, sealed the lid, and let them steam open  The aroma was killer.

When all the mussels had opened with shell arms reaching out, I dumped the entire pot into a very large serving bowl and squeezed several fresh limes over the top to brighten the sauce.  I added a splash of rice wine vinegar, ponzu soy, and  fresh minced cilantro to finish.

The huge bowl of sauce covered steamed mussels was all mine. Draped in my Heddy Lamar silk pajamas, I sat down in front of the television and devoured it. I learned as a kid to eat mussels with my fingers, using the empty part of the shell as a spoon to scoop the meat from the other shell side.  The ideal utensil. One swift scoop, lick, slurp, and the shell was clean. Plenty more. One after another. The mussel zone. Scoop and suck. Over and over with noodles slapping and sticking to my cheeks.  Some of them were thick with sauce.  Some wrapped with rice noodles and peppers. Some were left empty when the mussel meat fell  into the sauce, making perfect sauce spoons. Each one plump, briny, and sweet, cutting through the blazing fire of the sauce.  Firey hot. Aromatically spicy.  My hair follicles tingled from the heat. My nose ran. The fresh lime juice and rice wine vinegar balanced the rich tomato soy chili paste sauce, cooling it a bit. Just a bit. It was perfect.

They were perfect. I was happy.

I was happy and covered with all of it.  I couldn't and didn't stop eating until they were gone.  I drank the remaining sauce from the bowl and used a slice of skanky plain white Baby Bunny bread to wipe the bowl clean.

I finished the meal  with a pint of Ben & Jerry's Peanut Brittle Ice Cream.

Epic food orgy.

Sail Away: Castaway Girl

We have been to the island of St. Thomas USVI eight times.  Each time we go we take something different out of it. Sometimes we go into the town of Charlotte Amalie to shop, eat, and drink.  Sometimes we just walk aound in the blazing heat drinking from street market to street market exploring the city.  On once such jaunt we found out that the famous 99 stone steps that lead up through the Government Hill  District actually lead to nothing.  Zip. Nada. Nowhere.  Not even a bathroom at the top of the stairs.  You get to the top, turn around, and descend amid lizards, fauna, and heat. 

Most of our visits involve some kind of water adventure in and around the beautiful Caribbean waters that surround the island.  And so it was on our last trip to St. Thomas.  We booked a champagne catamaran sail from St. Thomas to the adjacent island of St John for snorkling, beach combing, and rum running.

Because we  had already done this sort of thing before in St. Thomas, we knew extactly what "a short ride to the marina" from the ship and pier to board the catamaran really meant.  It meant cocktails at the harborfront Parrot Cove Bar beforehand.  Seriously.

After leaving the ship, we explored pier-side Havensite Mall, shopped for a friends upcoming birthday, stashed the loot in waterproof plastic bags, and headed straight to Parrot Cove  for Bloody Marys, Screwdrivers, and Rum Runners.  At the appointed time, we climbed into our door-less, rail-less, seatbelt-less jeep for our transportation to the marina on the eastern end of the island.  We knew what to expect.  Others didn't.  Without warning, our jeep was flying up and through the rugged volcanic terraine on  tiny narrow 2-way roads. Steep.  Up , over, around, down, up, and around at very fast speeds with only squeaky honky beeps from our jeep to warn other drivers we were barrelling around corners. The roadway trees ripped hats off of heads as people vainly tried to photograph the beautiful flashing scenery. There were schedules to be kept.

Our jeep slowed to a crawl as we neared the sleepy Pirate Cove Marina on Benne Bay on the other side of the island. It was quiet and serene. We found our way to our vessel for the day,  a sleek 60' catamaran named Castaway Girl.  We all threw our shoes into a large box and climbed aboard.  While everyone else filed into the designated comfy seating area, Michael and I headed straight to the front where mesh nets seemed to hold the boat together.  Front row.  Better views. Better everything.

We slowly weaved our way through the harbor amid fishing and pleasure boats until we hit a clearing and the sails were hoisted.  The eastward winds filled the sails as we made our way through the current cut and out into Pillsbury Sound.  Shallow teal glass water slowly morphed into deep sapphire blue waves as we wafted our way across the Sound. Even the wind was quiet. 

We moored at Trunk Bay to snorkle and swim. A hatchway dropped from the catamaran into the sea for easy access.  Please!  We donned our gear and jumped right off the side of the boat, enveloped by the sea. Cool and warm.  Perfect.We were there for a few hours.  At some point, there was a barbecue on the beach.  We could see it, but we couldn't smell it.  We were out in the water. Sea creatures. Under the water away from everything with sun shading cloud wifts changing the underwater terrain from second to second. It was too good to leave.

We pulled anchor and caught the westward winds back to St. Thomas.  Champagne flowed.  Rum spilled onto the decks. Music blared. Wedges of ripe brie, Dutch Edam cheese, and crustless finger sandwiches on platters lined the counters under the shade of the covered seating area.

We slowly made our way back to the marina riding soft waves along the way.

Moments like that should never end or be forgotten.

Ever. 

Barbecued Spaghetti

Yep.
 I was skeptical the first time I made this. When Neely's Bar-Be-Que Restaurant in Memphis put this particular dish on their menu, they rocked the BBQ world.  It sounds very strange, but it is utterly delicious.
I usually make it when I have some barbecued leftovers hanging around.  It is so simple to make.  Embarassingly simple.
The Neely's  make their own barbecue sauce.  Too much work for me.  If anyone is so inclined, the recipe can be found at http://www.foodnetwork.com/.  I use whatever bottled sauce I have on hand.

Recently, I decided to use leftover barbecued baby back ribs and slow braised pork chops that I had in the freezer. I pulled  the rib meat off the bones and chopped the pork  into bite sized pieces.

After thinly slicing Vidalia onions, green bell peppers, grape tomatoes, and garlic, I sauteed them in a well oiled screaming hot cast iron skillet until tender and caralmelized.  I added tomato suace, Sweet Baby Ray's Barbecue sauce, and the reserved  meat to combine and cook through.

While the sauce simmered on a gentle flame, I boiled a pound of spaghetti in heavily salted water until it was al dente and  tossed it with the sauce.

 Done. Barbecued Spaghetti.

The flavor was very surprising.  It was not like eating a plate of spaghetti with gloppy barbecue sauce poured over the top. It was much more subtle. The pasta absorbed the sauce allowing  its soft al dente snap to tone down the harshness of the sweet vinegary barbecue bath. The bursting halved tomatoes, crunching wet peppers, and melted sweet onions gave the dish more character, texture, and depth.

A shower of snipped chives with shavings of Vermont Sharp White Cheddar cheese finished it off perfectly.

Haute' Cuisine?  Hell, no.  The next time leftovers are just hanging around taking up space in the freezer and refrigerator, throw this together and surprise yourself.

Muffalata & Manischewitz

In the tenth grade I traveled with my high school band to march in the  National Lion's Club Parade.  On our bus trip home, we stopped in New Orleans for an entire day. In a few short hours, I toured the mezmerizing above-ground cemetaries of New Orleans, walked up, down and through the beautiful decadence of Bourbon Street, saw my first live naked lady dance on a cocktail  table-top at 10 o'clock in the morning, and ate  my first and only mouth-watering  muffalata sandwich.  I have not seen one, smelled one, or tasted one since that day in New Orleans.

Until last night.

We were invited by a dear friend to a birthday dinner to celebrate her mother's birthday.  June, the birthday girl, is a wonderful sweet lady and friend.  We couldn't wait to see her, help celebrate her birthday, and enjoy a great evening with her surrounded by wonderful food.  I knew dinner was going to be  centered around New Orleans type food, so I prepared stuffed jalapeno poppers wrapped in maple cajun bacon as a little nosh before dinner.  I figured jalapeno anything would pair nicly with Big Easy food. 

We arrived and greeted our fellow dinner guests.  I plopped the jalapeno amuse bouche on the table and went into  the kitchen to uncork the wine.  Halfway through my decanting of the wine, our host told me that I was in charge of slicing the muffalata. I stopped and stared at the open oven door. Two foil-wrapped muffalata sandwiches were inside.  It was so totally unexpected. I think I actually said to her, "You made muffalata?!".   Who makes muffalata?  I really don't know what I was expecting.  Jambalaya? Blackened Redfish? Ettouffe'?  I certainly was not expecting muffalata. I was deliriously happy and undone. It was such a delightful surprise. Wow. I Could actually taste it just by looking at the wrapped foil packages resting from their oven sauna.

While the accompanying red beans and rice were ladled into bowls, topped with sour cream, and served to the other diners, I carefully sliced through the layers of muffalata to create individual  pie shaped sandwiches.

The crusty garlic bread was filled with chopped green olive salad,  spicy Capcicola ham, Sopressata ham, salty Prosciutto de Parma, sweet Honey Bourbon ham, Genoa salami, Mozzarella,  

chopped Giardiniera pickled vegetable relish, Basil oil, and Italian dressing.  It was then pressed and baked.

It was spectacular. The crunchy bread crackled when bitten into,  turning smooth and soft with the many warmed layers of meat, melted cheese,  briny olive salad, and puckery spicy relish.  It was perfect.  Every ingredient, although packed to the gills, retained its flavor, texture, and mouthfeel.  I loved the olive salad as it combined with the relish and dripped with the cheese.  The salty sweet ham varieties complimented each other with balance, while the smooth-as-velvet red bean and rice were a great foil to the muffalata flavor assault.  Butter soft.  Creamy. Texture counterpoint.

On our second round of beans and rice, we all tossed  bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers into our bowls.  Hello.

We finished dinner with a  travel gift from June;  port glasses of Sweet Walter Red Wine from Bully Hill Vineyards, Hammondsport, New York. It was a  sweet dessert wine. Not cloyingly sweet. It tasted like port. Manischewitz, someone said as we toasted  the birthday girl. 

The laughter filled every crevice of the dining room.  It was a warm and fun evening with delicious conversation and very tasty food.

I packed leftovers. Most are already gone.

Happy Birthday, June!

 

Frisee Salad: And Then Some

Salad Lyonnaise is pretty common fare at bistros in France, especially in  the Bouchons of Lyon.  Traditionally, it is a salad made up of frisee, a bitter type of chicory, toasted croutons, rendered bacon lardons tossed in a mustard vinaigrette, and topped with a poached egg.  I had a fabulous version of it once,  Country Frisee Salad, at the Odeon Restaurant in NYC after walking for miles in and around the Tribecca part of town.  In its traditional and straightforward form, it is pure, light, and simple.

On the few occasions when I can find frisee, I have made it at home.  It is a great do ahead dish that can be assembled at the last minute.  Yesterday, after a fantastic lunch of oysters on the half shell, we found ourselves at a particular grocery that had fantastic produce in stock, and most importantly, beautiful frisee. Sold.

I did want something a bit more substantial as a dinner entree, so I played around with the traditional approach to Salad Lyonnaise and came up with a multi layered flavor-explosion version.  I am a firm believer in rules, especially in the kitchen. However,  you have to know the rules to break them.
The Frisee.

Frisee is a gorgeous thing. A tangled mesh of lacy greens.  I trimmed off the root end and outer green leaves of the frisee, separated the lace, spun it dry in a salad spinner, wrapped it paper towels and chilled it in the refrigerator until it was time to eat.

The Lardons.

In a heavy cast iron skillet, I sauteed uniform slices of thick slab-cut bacon to render their fat and create crunchy lardons. Once cooked,  I drained the lardons and reserved the bacon fat.

The Extras.

For more rule breaking depth of flavor, I roasted halved grape tomatoes, pitted black olives, garlic, and onions slivers in olive oil, salt, and pepper until caramelized and tender. While they roasted, I buttered and pan-toasted cubes of french bread for the croutons.

The  Organic Eggs.

The poached eggs are the crown of the salad.  I have an egg poacher, but prefer a more rustic poached egg.  In a large saute pan, I brought 2 inches of water and 2 tbls. of vinegar to a simmer, cracked 4 eggs into individual ramekins, carefully slid the eggs into the simmering water-vinegar bath, and gently lapped the hot water over the tops of the eggs to help them set. 2 minutes max for a perfect runny soft poached egg.  I carefully lifted them out of the water and placed them into a water bath to hold.

The Dressing.

There are different schools of thought about the dressing.  I borrowed from all of them. After heating the rendered bacon fat in the skillet until it sizzled, I tossed in minced shallots, a heaping tablespoon of Maille dijon mustard, red wine vinegar, a dash of sugar, and Thomas Keller inspired fresh minced chives, parsley, and chervil.

Rule Breaker.

While the dressing was still hot, I tossed it with the frisse, bacon lardons, croutons, oven roasted tomatoes, black olives, garlic, and onions.  I added thinly sliced radishes, fresh whole grape tomatoes, generous grinds of black pepper, and fleur de sel. The poached eggs were perched atop, showered with fresh minced chives, and drizzled with olive oil.

Un. Believable.  The layers of flavor just kept coming and coming. The hot tart fatty bacon dressing wilted the frisse just enough to take the bitter edge off.  Although it looks delicate, frisee can take a beating. The herbed dressing clung to every tat of the lacy leaves and dripped with richness.  The briny black olives had deep undertones of saltiness that complimented the sweet caramelized soft roasted tomatoes and onions.  The fresh grape tomatoes popped with squirts of mouth cleansing wetness while the pungent radishes added crunchy texture.

One slice through the jiggling soft poached egg released the runny yolk down into the salad, dripping and oozing a stream of rich yellow gelatinous flavor. It moved slowly like lava wrapping around the ingredients, creating pools of loveliness.  Eventually, the runny yolks swirled into the bottom of the large bowls and mixed with the warm bacon dressing creating a moving edible unctuous mosiac of yolk, herbs, and bacon fat. Spoonable.

It was definately not a traditional  Salad Lyonnaise. It broke all of the rules.  Didn't matter.  Didn't care.

Sometimes, good is just good. 

 

Korean Fried Chicken

Korean Fried Chicken. What a simple name to describe one of the most incredible chicken dishes we have ever had. This chicken was ridiculously crispy with a crunchy popping skin that enclosed moist juicy meat.  The sauce it was tossed in was an amazing combination of sweet, spicy, tangy, and salty.
I was browsing food blogs and ran across this recipe from thebittenword.com  blog.  They, in turn, had tested  and tasted it from the saveur.com web sight.  For good reason.
It is not my nature to regurgitate recipes when I post, but this one is remarkable.  Trust me. I wasn't even going to write about it until we tried it. This chicken was amazing.. With a tiny  bit of adventurous shopping and with  little effort in the kitchen, anyone can savor this chicken.

Korean Fried Chicken

Canola oil, for frying
5 cloves of garlic
1  1 1/2 piece peeled ginger
3 tbls. soy sauce
3 tbls. gojujang (Korean chile paste)
1 1/2 tbls. rice vinegar
1 tbls. Asian sesame oil
1 tbls. honey
2/3 cups flour
1 tbls. cornstarch
2/3 cups water
16 chicken wings ( 1 3/4 lbs.)

METHOD
1.  Pour oil into a 6-qt. pot to a depth of 2 ".  Heat over medium-high heat until thermometer reads 350. ( I used a digital deep fryer).  Chop garlic and ginger in a food processor.  Add soy sauce, gojujang, vinegar, sesame, oil, and honey; puree.  Put sauce into a bowl.

2.  Whisk flour, cornstarch, and water in another bowl.  Add chicken; toss.  Working in batches, fry chicken until golden, 6-8 minutes.  Drain on paper towels.  Return oil to 350.  Fry chicken until crisp, 6-8 minutes again. Drain again.  Toss chicken in sauce.

The Korean chile paste is the exotic ingredient here.  It can be found at most Asian markets.  I went to a local market and asked for Korean chile paste and then showed the kind gentleman a photogragh of the jar from my phone.  He took me straight to it.  I was going to substitute black bean paste, but decided to try to find the correct sauce. I'm glad I did.  The gojujang was hot, spicy, and intensely red with fermented undertones. When mixed with the honey, rice vinegar, sesame oil, garlic, and ginger, it was the perfect balance of salty, sweet, spicy, tart, bitter, and umami.

Double frying the chicken was key, providing  one of the crispiest chicken skins ever. Even after soaking up and in the sauce, it remained scrunchingly loud and scrumptious..  Amazing. 

I served it over sticky rice with Ponzu soy sauce and leftover Schezuan Cucumbers from P.F Chang's.  The cucumbers were crisp marinated in sesame oil, soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, and sprinkled with black sesame seeds.  The tart freshness of the cucumbers sliced through and balanced the sweet heat of the juicy chicken.

Try this chicken.  It is intense.

The Tails Have It

I have been away from my kitchen for longer than I care for.  Yesterday I had the day off and knew I could dedicate the entire day to  dicing, chopping, braising, and filling the house with long awaited aromas and wonders.  I wanted home cooking.  I needed comfort food.
I went to the supermarket without a list or any idea of what to prepare. I wanted to be inspired.  To be spoken to. To be drawn in by something.  I found beautiful oxtails.  My mind raced. Oxtails braised for hours with wine and vegetables would smell heavenly and once assembled, would simply cook themselves. Sold.
In the aisles of the market I decided to make Braised Italian Oxtails with parsnips, carrots, onions,  and celery over herbed cheese polenta. Oxtails are, well, beef tails cut into whatever thickness  desired.  Waste nothing.  Eat the tail.  A poor man's osso buco, beef and bone sliced directly across the leg or chin or, in this case, the tail. The bone adds tremendous flavor while the bone marrow adds buttery luciousness and glisten.

I heavily seasoned flour with paprika, salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, and fresh thyme.  After dredging the tails in the flour mix, I sauteed them in butter and oil until well browned. I set them aside and added onions, celery, fresh unpeeled garlic to the pan to saute, sweat, and pick up the flavor fond stuck to the bottom of the pot.  Once browned, I added 2 cups of white wine, 4 cups of beef stock, a can of hand crushed san marzano tomatoes, a bay leaf, oregano, salt, pepper, and a splash of red wine vinegar. I nestled the oxtails into the sauce, covered the pot, and braised them in the oven for 4 hours.  Yes, 4 hours.

Midway through the braising, I scooped out the spent vegetables and garlic.  They had done their duty flavoring the braising liquid.  I tossed in a fresh batch of pearl onions, sliced carrots, parsnips, and celery to  finish cooking with the oxtails.  The braised sauce had almost reduced by 1/2, so I added a bit more water and beef stock.

While they braised away, I prepared the polenta.  I usually serve a soft gooey polenta, but decided a crunchy base would stand up better to the long long simmerred oxtails..  After making basic polenta with salted water, butter, reggiano, heavy cream, chopped basil, and parsley, I poured it into a sheet pan to cool and harden. Once cooled, I sliced it into triangles, floured it, and pan-fried it until it was crispy golden.

After 4 hours of tormenting aromatic beckening from the brazen braising tails, it was time to eat. I placed 2 golden polenta triangles in large pasta bowls, topped the crunchy corn base with an oxtail, and spooned the sauce with melted vegetables over everything. A shower of reserved parsley, basil, and reggiano finished it off. 

To. Die. For.

Though still physically intact after an improbable amount of time in the oven, the oxtails fell apart with the mere touch of a fork.  The meat fell into the sauce and down onto the polenta like strands of beef streamers with soft  strong assertiveness. The marrow from the bones melded with the sweet acidity of the tomatoes creating a beef butter lipstick. Rich. It was like beef short ribs on steroids.   The velvet sweetness of the parsnips, carrots, and celery balanced out the the Thomas Keller inspired finishing splash of red wine vinegar.

 The polenta triangles stayed crisp under the weight of such richness until the sauce melted the crunchy exterior and revealed the cheese laden creamy inside. The marriage of sauce, cheese, long simmered vegetables, and butter beef was perfect. Very rich. Comforting. It was exactly what I wanted our home to smell like and taste like. It had been a while.

Welcome home, sailor.