One Pot of Comfort

“Winter” seems to finally be creeping in on the Northeast. Consequently, I haven’t been in the brightest of moods. More frequent are the days when I crave something comforting. Something brisket-y.

One-pot meals not only warm the soul, they lend themselves to any creative genius you’ve got lurking within. They’re like that kid at recess that really does play well with others. Good thing, because I was in the mood for a freestyle kitchen day last week.

After some debate, I decided on a brisket chili. I’d go to the store and choose the other ingredients – I like picking out what looks best, not what I’m told to pick out by some bossy recipe writer. The poblanos and yellow peppers looked beautiful, so I decided that, along with the standard mire-poix (onion/carrot/celery), they’d be the vegetal base for my chili. I like a little heat, so I threw in a jalapeno for good measure. 

Vegetable Base

2 yellow onions, medium dice

2 carrots, medium dice

2 stalks celery, medium dice

1 bell pepper, medium dice

1 poblano pepper

1 jalapeno, small dice

3 cloves garlic, minced

1- 12oz bottle of beer (any will work, but a winter ale seemed appropriate)

1- 28oz can diced, unsalted tomatoes

1- 8oz can tomato sauce

2 TBSP paprika

2 TBSP sriracha 

Plenty of salt & pepper

Preheat oven to 350.

Roast the poblano pepper over an open flame until almost completely charred, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl and immediately seal with plastic wrap. Set aside.

Place a dutch oven with a small amount of olive oil over medium heat and add the first 4 ingredients to the pan. Season with salt & pepper and cook until the onions begin to turn translucent, about 5-7 minutes. Add the jalapeno, paprika and garlic, stir, and cook another minute. Transfer vegetable mix to a bowl and set aside. 

Remove the skin and seeds from the roasted poblano. Dice and add to vegetable mix. 

Set dutch oven aside; you'll use it to prepare the brisket.

For the Brisket

2lb. Beef brisket, cut into 2" cubes

2 cups AP flour

2 TBSP salt

1 TBSP pepper

2 tsp cumin

2 tsp paprika

Mix the flour and seasonings together and place in a shallow dish. Dredge each piece of brisket in the flour mixture, and set aside.

Reheat the dutch oven over medium high heat with 2-3 TBSP olive oil. Sear the meat, in batches if needed, until golden brown but not cooked through, about 5 minutes total. 

Reduce heat to medium low and add the beer. Using a wooden spoon, scrape the bottom of the pan to remove any drippings that have stuck to the pan. 

Add any remaining meat, the vegetable mixture, the diced tomatoes and sauce, and the sriracha. 

Cover and transfer pot to the oven and cook 2-2.5hrs. Remove from oven, taste and adjust seasoning as needed.  Continue to cook in oven, uncovered, for another 2 hours. Be sure to monitor the liquid levels every 30 minutes, adding beef stock or water as needed and stirring pot to prevent scorching. 

Remove from oven and allow to sit for 30 minutes.

Remove the brisket pieces from the chili and transfer to a large mixing bowl.  Using two forks, shred the brisket, then add it back to the chili. 

For the Garnish

Sour cream

Cheddar cheese, grated

Scallions, sliced

Cilantro, chopped

These are just things that I used, but feel free to go nuts. Tortilla chips? Diced jalapenos? Your chili, your call. 

French Vietnamese in SoHo

I’ve been away, in every sense of the term. California + Friendsgiving + Peppering of Visitors = Distracted Matty.  Anyway, I’m back and yes, I’ve been eating.

Taking out-of-towners to dinner is a task that requires much consideration. What kind of food do they like? Do I want to take them to a tried and true, or will we go somewhere for the first time together? Recently, the latter won and I found myself at Rouge et Blanc with 3 in tow.

I admit that I picked this venue based on a review from the NY Times which had, I thought, pointed me towards everything I would order, including the whole fried rouget. I’d start with monkey bread too. 

Wrong. Our cute yet timid waitress greeted us with news that the Rouget was eighty-sixed for the night. Oh, and that monkey bread? There was just enough in house for the main it accompanied, a vegetable curry. Did I mention I was dining with someone who despises curry? Bust.

I picked myself up off the ground, scanned the menu and ordered for the table, desperately trying to remember what dishes Mr. Asimov had deemed bland.

We started with the Heirloom Radish Salad, beautiful in presentation.  The crisp-cool radish slices were balanced well by pepitas and salty bits of pork. If this dish was to set the tone for the entire meal, I trust we would have left with grins bigger than one belonging to the Cheshire Cat. 

Next up: squid stuffed with short rib, perched on a bed of white beans and a radically green sauce. Flavors here are nice, but something wasn’t adding up texturally. Maybe it’s me, not used to this version of surf and turf.

Out came a salad of green papaya (a personal favorite) adorned with whole fried prawns. A looker, this dish would’ve hit every mark had the prawns not been a bit overcooked.

“So beautiful!” one of my cohorts exclaimed as she peeled back parchment paper to reveal an assortment of mushrooms cloaked in soy and garlic butter. The romantic text for this menu item ought to be replaced with “Umami Explosion.” Just saying.

The clouds before the kitchen parted, cute yet timid descended, and – gasp – plunked one piece of monkey bread down before us.  Everything that was promised and more.  Just not enough.

Then, there was the least satisfying dish of the night – the Barigoule. Spanish Mackerel and Prawn cooked perfectly. Scallops leaned towards the mushy side, and the sunchoke seemed to masquerade as a sea creature.  The redeeming quality was the lovely broth, perfectly balanced and practically begging to be a ride for a thick piece of hearth bread.

A final course of mustard-marinated lamb ribs arrived. Also on the plate: eggplant confit and roti bread. Spiced, fatty, and just a touch gamey, the ribs were a pleasant ending note to the meal. 

Would I return? I’m not in a rush, but the great wine list and the quiet, almost French-countryside ambiance left enough of an impression. Plus, I still need to get my hands on that elusive rouget. 

Cinnamon Swirls & Eggs from Hell

I woke up Sunday morning feeling only slightly human, probably a result of the choices I had made the night before.  Did we really need that last bottle of champagne?

No time for moping. I had a brunch to get to in celebration of a friend's birthday. Plus, food always makes things better, I thought to myself.

When I visited San Francisco in late July, my first attempted brunch at Baker & Banker was foiled. No brunch on Saturday (don't get me started on the whole "You can get any meal, any time in NYC. Why doesn't every other city in the world follow suit?" debate). But a stop at their bakery, which IS open on Saturdays, sealed the deal: I knew that a place peddling salted caramel lattes, cinnamon rolls with brown butter icing and the like would be AOK in my book.

For this trip, I came armed with a reservation.  Thanks, Tina!

There really wasn't much to be said before food hit the table. Some talk about "what're you ordering" in an attempt to dodge duplicate orders. Out came the food, and up went our smile lines.

First dish: Eggs in purgatory.  A dish of mascarpone-brown butter polenta, spicy tomato sauce and sausage.  Acidity from the tomato cut through the cholesterol pudding polenta, and the crispy bits of sausage gave textural interest.

I wanted the eggs in purgatory. But no double-ordering, so I settled for the brisket hash with poached eggs, romesco and grilled ramps.  At some restaurants, 2nd choice is just as good as 1st. The brisket seemed to have spent time on a flat top, because a second cooking method like this would be an ideal way to achieve a crispy outer shell that gives way to a melty, tender center. The meat & potatoes sat in a super rich jus that was cut nicely by the romesco.

Birthday girl ordered the burger with gruyere.  It came on poppy seed challah (protected by garlic aioli) and had an egg perched on top of the patty. The burger was cooked perfectly - medium rare if you're wondering what perfect is - and the liquid gold from the egg helped all flavors run together, so that each bite was as good as the last.

Last up: Smoked trout with potato pancake, horseradish cream, pickled beets and shaved fennel.  I should tell you that a photo of this dish was what brought me to the door of Baker & Banker back in July. It delivered. Crispy potato was the backbone for the smokey trout, and the almost pungent beets tamed by horseradish cream brought the dish life.

So. Full.

But wait.  There's gratis dessert, a common perk of dining with someone turning one year older. The sticky bun was perfect amounts of ooey, gooey, bready, and crispy. I remember a bite, studded with bits of chocolate.  I'm pretty sure I blacked out.

My self-induced food problem made me all but forget about my bad decisions from the night before.

4505 Burger

Smoked Trout

Brisket Hash

Eggs in Purgatory

Birthday Girl with Birthday Sticky Bun

'Frisco Fatty

This weekend, I'm in San Francisco with some old high school friends to celebrate a birthday.  Oh, and Halloween.  What a horrible holiday. 

The food scene in SF is a funny thing for me to approach. I grew up frequenting the city so I've got a number of favorite haunts here.  I always want to try something new, though. One of my good friends - who happens to be as impulsive, glutinous, and perpetually hungry as I - lives here now, so the food game is always on.  

A16 has been on my list for a while now.  The warm lighting makes for a great date spot.  We were seated in the more casual wine bar area, bedecked with cork tile walls (kind of odd, but good for touching if you've got an attention deficit).  From my seat, the dining room looked rustic and elegant at once.  Ivy grew freely up some walls, reaching over tables topped with starchy, white cloths. There was garlic in the air.  

Our waitress approached and I immediately knew I liked her.  She was of the old-school service variety: ready to learn our likes and dislikes, pair wines with our food selections, and describe the food in enough detail that I could visualize the plate in its entirety before placing my order.  Here’s the road she lead us down:

Carpaccio of yellowtail jack with roasted friarelli peppers and calabrian chilies. Thank you, waitress, for telling us we needed to get the chilies on the side. We would not have been able to taste anything else had we ignored this advice. 

Pickled beets with watercress, hazelnuts and grana padano.  Not particularly inventive, but satisfying in the way I knew it would be.

Local albacore conserva with dried fava puree, bitter greens, garlic and oregano croccantini. Read: olive oil cured tuna on top of hummus with crackers for dipping.  Sounded promising, and the fava puree was good, but the tuna fell below the mark. 

Terrina of guinea hen and duck with poached seckel pears and blackberry honey.  YUM.  Probably the best dish to hit the table.  Salty and sweet.  Richness cut with peppery arugula. 

Fall chicories with lemon and salt. Impeccably seasoned and perfectly simple. 

Squid ink tonarelli with sea urchin, tomato, fennel and chilies. Me = not Uni’s #1 fan.  I hesitantly incorporated a small amount of it into the ebony noodles, second-guessing this choice with each toss of the pasta.  The first bite transported me to the ocean. Truly. There was a welcome burst of salinity that could have only come from the sea. I will eat sea urchin again.  

We ended the night at delarosa - nightcap needed for digestion.  

Pickled Beets

Menu at A16

Guinea Hen & Duck Terrina

Today, we set out to buy me a Halloween costume. After shopping our way through the Hait, it was time to eat.  My friend had picked a sandwich place called Naked Lunch, solely based on the first menu item: foie gras torchon sandwich, with duck prosciutto, heirloom tomato & butter lettuce. Even the food over-achiever inside of me shuddered. I heard it.  We would split this sandwich and another (the sweet corn and shishito pepper sandwich, with melted onion, manchego, arugula & english cucumber) so as not to be immobilized.  We do have a party to get to tonight.  

Compromising on the veg sandwich selection (I wanted sandwich #2 to be the skirt steak option) meant a caloric splurge elsewhere: housemade chicharrones. They were light as air and filled your mouth with porky flavor. Their second trick was turning from solid to liquid. And by liquid, I mean pork drippings. They were too much and not enough at the same time. We didn't really stop eating them until every last crumb was gone.  Oops.  Hope I still fit into the costume we picked out this morning.

Foie Gras Sandwich.

Dirty

Lunch for the Funemployed

What was the spark that made me start blogging?  For one, I am unemployed.  Some call it "funemployed" - true at times, however I've found myself twiddling my thumbs more than once in the past couple of months.

A good thing about unemployment is that it has ignited an old flame of mine.  I used to cook often, but I've fallen off in recent times.  Today, I decided to play around in the kitchen.

<Obligatory background info> I am an equal opportunity consumer.  Even if it's something that has garnered a scowl from me in the past, I tend to revisit my list of less favorable ingredients fairly regularly.  As of late, I've been on a mission to combat my lack of fondness for squash, particularly pumpkin and butternut. Seems seasonally appropriate, right?

Earlier, I found myself in a staring contest with a beautifully stacked display of butternut squash.  Each of them sat there mocking me, no doubt:  "You haven't even finished your coffee, there's no way you're gonna take us on today."  I looked one of the judgmental bastards square in the, um, bulb and said to myself "Soup!"  I brought his sister along for good measure.  Also in for the ride: onions, rosemary and heavy cream.

Now, I've had your average butternut squash soup several times and, no me gusta. I would need to add some depth, maybe some spice, and probably that day old loaf of italian bread sitting on the counter.

Here's how I turned myself into a butternut fan:

Soup:
2 butternut squash (about 6lbs), split in half lengthwise, seeds removed
2 large yellow onions, sliced
4 cups chicken or vegetable stock
2 TBSP butter
4 TBSP olive oil
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp ground clove
Salt & Pepper to taste

To Make the Soup: Arrange the butternuts, flesh side up, on a baking sheet lined with parchment or foil.  Drizzle with 2 TBSP of the olive oil and season generously with salt and pepper.  Roast for about 45 minutes, or until fork tender.  Remove and set aside.

While the squash is roasting, melt the butter and remaining olive oil in a dutch oven over low heat.  Add the onion, season with salt, and cook slowly until caramelized, about 40 minutes. Turn off the heat and add 1 cup of the stock.  Set aside.

When the squash is cool enough to handle, scoop out the flesh and discard the skins.

Add the squash, the remaining stock, the ginger, paprika & cloves to the dutch oven with the onions.  Using an immersion blender, puree until smooth - about 2 minutes.

Place the dutch oven back on the stove and reheat the mixture over medium-low heat.

Cream: 
1 cup heavy whipping cream
2 tsp Thai hot sauce (Sriracha works)
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp salt

To Make the Cream: Combine all ingredients in a medium mixing bowl and beat with a whisk until the mixture just begins to set.  Do not overmix.  Set aside

Croutons: 
Day old loaf of bread, cut into 1/2" cubes (2-3 cups)
3 TBSP olive oil
1 TBSP fresh rosemary, minced
2 tsp kosher salt

To Make the Croutons: Toss all ingredients in a medium mixing bowl. Spread them onto a baking sheet and bake at 400 until browned, about 10-15 minutes.

To Serve: Ladle soup into a bowl.  Top with a dollop of cream and a few croutons.

Ok.  I like it now. 

How it all started...

My very first food memory involves a yellow stand mixer (which has yet to churn out a final batch of dough) and a tawny red, acrylic resin countertop. 70's and 80's babies will be most familiar with this kind of scene. There I sat, half-clothed on the counter, not a day over 3 years old and completely fascinated by the process of cookie making.

"OK, time to add the flour," said my Mom, who seemed to churn out goodies on a weekly, if not daily basis.  "Now, do it sl..."

Too late. I had dumped in the flour and switched the mixer on to "8". Or was it "10"? Either way, the groovy colored worktop was redecorated, flecks of white powder covering every inch of it.

From then on, I would carefully watch both Mom and Dad as they put together meals. The whole cooking thing was messy, and I loved it.

There would be cuts that required stitching and burns that needed ice. There'd also be lots of questions: "What's wrong with the whipped cream?" I asked Mom on my 3rd Birthday, referring to the bowl of almost butter that my Aunt Debbie produced for my cake. The point is, I was fascinated and wanted to learn more, whenever I could.  That's how it all started.

Me, possibly testing whipped cream.