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Seared Scallops w/ Herb Butter
Paula Poundstone and Michael Pollan once had a memorable public radio confrontation (which may seem like an oxymoron). In terms of pure wit, it wasn’t a fair fight: she’s got it in spades. At the center of it all was the twinkie, which she called a household staple, and he labeled a chemical abomination. Relenting, he allowed as to it possibly being a (very) occasional indulgence. “Indulgence? I eat it every day. What do you mean indulgence?”
While I assume she doesn’t stock her pantry with sacks of twinkies, the discussion (if you can call it that) brought up the concept of indulgence. For some, it’s playing tennis occasionally despite the doc’s comment that your knee might explode. As this is a food blog, let’s stick to the topic.
Usually it means eating something crappy. Like half a pie or a bucket of fried chicken. Back on track: cooking. If you’re gonna indulge, why head to McDonald’s? Fry up a good cheeseburger. Instead of KFC, make your own fried chicken and mashed potatoes. It makes perfect sense: you get creative satisfaction as well as, yes, a superior product. Much of the McDonald’s indulgence factor is wrapped up in the instant satisfaction. But indulgence is about what goes in your body, not how fast it gets there.
There’s a place near us, which I’ve referenced many times; it serves one of the world’s greatest dishes listed simply as “sizzling pork fat.” Yeah. It’s not crackling or any of that nonsense. What comes to the table is, in fact, a small fiery hot cast iron dish full of popping and sizzling cubes of actual fat. Enough said. I’ll take this over fried chicken any day.
The point is, if you’re going to treat yourself, go for the real thing: the actual, unadulterated item, swollen with nothing but lovely fat. And so we come to butter. You could toss a chunk (knob?) or it in a sauce or use it to saute something. But, as our sizzling pork fat proves, messing with pure butter is like hiding a beautiful flower in an overcomplicated bouquet of junk. Let it shine; in other words, stick it on the plate and let it melt before your very eyes. I’m thinking hot pancakes, a warm biscuit, a steak topped with a thick compound butter coin, or, a personal favorite, a bucket of steamers accompanied by a jug of clarified butter for dipping. Butter as party dip.
Not surprisingly, scallops are popular in a nation of meat eaters. Otherwise you wouldn’t see them soaring through the air in a spray of bogus lemon juice in a Red Lobster ad. Properly cooked, it’s everything you might want in a protein: crisp exterior, soft interior, sweet, and rich. Sound like a steak? Why not do the same and top it with a disc of compound butter?
In the end you’re left with a scallop and melting butter. I can’t think of any better use for a scallop. Or butter.
(NOTE: Obviously this is a simple recipe, but it works fine as is. However, it’s also a good building block. Surround the scallop with clams; toss in pasta, or use the butter in any number of ways. I scored the scallop, a neat trick I saw somewhere: cut a tic-tac-toe pattern on one side. The butter melts into the crevices like an oceanic English muffin.)
Scallops w/ Herb Butter
Serves 2 as an appetizer
3 tablespoons minced herbs (tarragon, parsley, cilantro)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
6 large sea scallops, scored (see NOTE)
3 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper
- Combine the butter and herbs. Season with salt. Place in center of a piece of plastic wrap and roll into a tight cylinder. Refrigerate until hard.
- When ready to cook, season scallops on both sides, heat the oil in a medium pan over medium high heat until very hot. Gently add the scallops, pressing with your fingers to ensure contact with the pan. Let scallops cook about 2 minutes or until browned, flip and cook the same way.
- Serve hot topped with a thin disc of the herb butter.
Sauteed Squid w/ Chili Oil and Fried Garlic
So I discovered the world’s greatest condiment. It comes in a little jar and it’s called “chili oil with crunchy garlic”, which you have to admit sounds pretty awesome. Like many of the best condiments, this one is Asian (Japanese to be precise): I found it on a shelf at Pearl River. In a store otherwise full of schlock I plucked out the sole worthwhile item.
The label is entirely accurate, a virtue not to be taken lightly. Slipping in my spoon was like dipping a toe through a wave receding back into the ocean: halfway through the liquid, you’re met by a crunchy wall. My new little bottle was packed-packed!-half-full of, as advertised, crisp little bits of fried garlic. So I started doing something uncharacteristic: eating oil. On closer examination, the bits were a lovely mixture of fried garlic and a few other things equally delicious, the identity of which was frustratingly mysterious. I thought I sensed some dried fish in there, but the label said chilies and, oddly, almonds.
A proper condiment is like popcorn in a movie theater: without it, the main event is palatable but bland. For a condiment to attain pantheon status, its absence must render the central item irrelevant and pointless. A plate of fries with no ketchup, for instance. Munching fried garlic, chilies, and almonds; I couldn’t imagine a life without my new friend-in-a-little-bottle.
This stuff can be drizzled on noodles, meats, fish, chicken, added to stews, stir-fries, over toasted bread for a sandwich or a dipping sauce, etc. A bowl of noodles coated with the oil sounded particularly delicious, but too easy. I came up with squid, sliced thinly and tossed with the oil, scallions, black sesame seeds, and salt.
Ketchup is powerful; just ask the fry. But this stuff has a far wider range. In a forthcoming post I’ll attempt to recreate it in the kitchen, but for now I’m happy to enjoy my discovery and spread the word.
Oh yeah, it’s called Taberu Rayu.
(NOTE: Unless your squid/pan size ration is precise, you’ll probably end up with some excess squid liquid, in which case just drain it off in a colander. In general you shouldn’t crowd pans, but I don’t like a lot of extra dirty dishes. Also, to serve as an hors d’oeuvre we plated the squid in Chinese spoons. I’m not sure of any other practical way to do it. Maybe a little glass and a tiny fork or something. On a plate in lettuce cups would work. Finally, like steak tartare this is a season to taste kind of recipe. Just don’t add too much stuff; you’ll overwhelm the squid.)
Sauteed Squid in Chile Oil with Fried Garlic
Serves 2 as an appetizer, 4 as an hors d’oeuvre
2 tablespoons oil
1/2 pound squid sliced very thinly, including tentacles
¼ cup Taberu Rayu (chili oil w/ fried garlic)
2 tablespoons black sesame seeds or roasted sesame seeds
4 tablespoons thinly sliced scallions, whites only
salt
- Heat the oil to smoking over high heat in a large pan. Add the squid and sauté for 45 seconds. Remove to a colander (SEE NOTE) to drain excess liquid.
- Add squid to a bowl and toss with remaining ingredients. Season with the salt and serve either on separate plates as an appetizer or small spoons as an hors d’oeuvre. You could simply set the bowl in the middle of the table with chopsticks.
Almond and Spice Stuffed Baby Eggplant
When I think of stuffed foods, one thing jumps to mind: chicken kiev. Possibly this is because, down in the cooking school pantry I watched the purchasing guy butterfly, stuff, and bread a chicken breast, kiev style, creating a giant, crumby, eggy mess I was forced to clean up. Naturally, as with most of the generally dreadful stuff we made there, I was compelled to taste: greasy, oozing with cheese, it provoked a sense of total wonder as to how that dish attained any degree of popularity.
The fact is, we like to stuff food; it appeals to a primal sense of grandeur, highbrow and lowbrow. To spoon read-based stuffing inside a turkey or inject a pork loin with prunes, is seductively elaborate. Not to mention tie a turkey around a duck-stuffed-stuffed-chicken, a dish on the edge of lowbrow stuffing i.e. grotesque excess, something at which we excel, to wit, the Domino’s stuffed pizza crust.
The logical thing to do would be to cook the “stuffing” and the “stuffed” separately, thereby saving you the sweat and tears of, say, deboning a small animal. Indian cooks, on the other hand, have an intuitive understanding of the art of stuffing; and we should turn to them for guidance.
Indian food is based on transformation through spice. The humblest of items-cauliflower, potatoes, string beans, okra, eggplant, dried beans and grains-are merged with a library of spices and dished out in spoonfuls of deliciousness. It makes sense that they grasp the purpose of stuffing food: rather than to satisfy our aforementioned needs, it’s all about the food, and elevating ingredients through spice.
As the tiny eggplants, stuffed with a mixture of ground nuts and spices, cook in the pan, their soft, hot interiors melt and absorb the fragrant mixture. Take the stuffed chicken breast; it’s an insipid, uninspired kitchen exercise. The inside has no relation the outside. You may as well make, say, a grilled chicken breast sandwich with cheese.
In the case of a chicken stuffed with livers and gizzards, on the other hand, there’s an organic connection between the parties. Same goes for this spiced eggplant: the two become one. As it should be.
(NOTE: you can use small Japanese eggplants. There’s enough stuffing for 4-6. We got these little ones at the local Thai grocer.)
Pan-Fried Baby Eggplant Stuffed w/ Ground Almonds (from The Art of Indian Veg Cooking)
Serves 6
12 baby white/green/purple eggplant, 2 oz. each
3 tablespoons ground almonds
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon garam masala
½ teaspoon turmeric
¼ teaspoon cayenne
½ teaspoon amchoor powder or ½ tablespoon lime juice
¼ teaspoon asafetida
½ tablespoon salt
4 tablespoons veg oil
2 coin-sized slices peeled ginger root
handful of chopped cilantro
- Almost halve the eggplants from rounded end to ½ inch of stem. Soak 10 minutes in cold water to help them open up. Dry.
- Combine almonds, spices, and salt. Stuff the eggplants with as much as possible until you’ve run out. Tie closed with a piece of kitchen string.
- Heat oil in a large pan over medium heat. When hot, add eggplants and cook, browning, about 8 minutes. Cover and cook through, about 20 minutes. Garnish with cilantro.
Duck Breast w/ Red Wine Poached Pear
Our new favorite place-French/Vietnamese-has three advantages: the food is unbelievable; it’s around the corner; it’s a relatively easy reservation. New Yorkers undoubtedly will be most surprised by number three. To get a table at a really good restaurant is like getting your kid into nursery school, i.e. an exercise somewhere between hope and torture. Therefore I will divulge neither the name nor the location.
However, I can boil down a theme to their food: balance, a characteristic of Vietnamese cuisine, done exceptionally well here. The green papaya salad is tossed lightly in a dressing of, among other items, salty fish sauce and sweet mirin, a sauce which reappears here and there on the menu, drizzled over addictive fried Brussels sprouts, and a plate of multi-colored radishes. Nothing is too sweet or too salty; the kitchen touches most dishes with a kiss of both.
On the other side of the culinary universe is the chef who prefers sugary sauces, as in sticky syrup that in one fell drop transforms a duck breast into a stack of pancakes. Aside from being too sweet and inappropriate for a savory dish, the product is one-note, missing a fraction of the complexity integral to, say, the aforementioned Vietnamese fare.
Duck, however, is great with some kind of sugar, to wit, Peking duck and hoisin sauce, a combo up there with peanut butter and jelly or the New York City subway and grime. For the sweet element, rather than an over-reduced, cloyingly sweet sauce, we used a simple red wine-poached pear.
Possibly because it’s not too sweet, a pear is the stepbrother of the apple. And yet, pears have a subtle sweetness perfect for a savory plate. You could poach it in water to equally good result, but the red wine gives you a thoroughly crimson plate of food. For those who prefer a bit of extra sugar, you could reduce the poaching liquid, but just use a few drops; any more and you may as well skip dinner and go on to dessert.
Duck Breast and Red Wine Poached Pear
Serves 2-3
2 duck breasts
2 pears, peeled, halved, cored
2 cups red wine
2 cups water
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon butter
salt and pepper
- Preheat oven to 350.
- Combine the wine, water, and sugar, bring to a simmer, add pears, cover with a round of parchment paper that just fits the pot (this ensures the pears remain submerged) and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Remove from heat and let steep until cool. (If you want a sauce: Place pears and 1 cup of the poaching liquid in a bowl. Reserve. Boil down the remaining poaching liquid to a syrup.)
- Score skin of duck breasts in a shallow crosshatch pattern. Season with salt and pepper.
- Heat a medium pan over medium heat. Add the breasts skin down and let the fat render, periodically pouring it off (reserve for another use) until deeply golden and crisp. Flip skin side up, place in oven until done, a few minutes. (Make sure not to overcook! Well-done duck is the stale bread of the fowl world.)
- To serve, let the duck rest on a plate for 10 minutes. Reheat the pears in the reserved poaching liquid, reheat the sauce and whisk in butter. Season sauce. Slice duck thinly, divide pear halves and few drops of sauce on each plate.
Filled Pasta w/ Braised Meats
Flipping around the channels years ago, I paused at Food Network and Alton Brown’s generally pompous Good Eats. The theme was pasta, specifically stuffed pastas such as ravioli, about which he proceeded to spread falsehoods and overall lousy advice. I imagined people all over the land following along, kneading, rolling, folding, and stuffing little parcels of inevitably sucky pasta.
I still recall the image of him reaching into the fridge and grabbing a Tupperware container of yesterday’s meatloaf, the premise being that any old filling would do. Now I’m neither Italian nor have an Italian (logically) grandma who used to stand for hours in the kitchen, coated with flour, flicking garganelli off a garganelli maker (if that exists).
However, I have enough experience eating, cooking, and reading about filled pasta to know that the inside is almost as important as the outside. It’s like a reverse oreo situation: the noodle being the cream filling, the chocolate cookie the less vibrant yet critical partner.
To label any random item that can be shaped into a ball, fit ravioli filling is like saying you can make a decent sandwich no matter what’s between the bread. Meatloaf, as we know, makes a good sandwich. However, even the most moist (moistest?) meatloaf doesn’t have that essential soft, toothsome, occasionally creamy quality that makes for that perfect stuffed pasta bite.
Creamy, dairy mixtures like ricotta and spinach or cream-enhanced butternut squash, are less tricky than meat fillings, which, naturally, don’t ooze and melt. However, a pot of meltingly tender braised meat can be delicious and even makes its own pasta sauce.
This recipe is from Paul Bertolli’s Cooking By Hand, and we chose it because, rather than being chopped up and added to the braise, the cured meats (salami, pancetta) are treated as an integral part of the stew: seared and simmered, resulting in a more complex sauce.
If this post has a message it would be to respect your stuffed pasta fillings. Remember the reverse oreo. And stop watching Alton Brown.
Agnolotti w/ Braised Meats (from Cooking By Hand, by Paul Bertolli)
Serves 4
1 recipe pasta (below)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound diced veal or pork shoulder
1 pound meat, skin on, cut from a chicken leg or two
¼ pound pancetta or slab bacon, diced
½ onion, sliced
4 sage leaves, chopped
¼ pound salami, diced
2 cups meat broth or veal stock
¼ cup grated Parmigian
few stalks asparagus, trimmed
salt and pepper
- Season the meat. Heat the oil on medium high in a pot, add the veal, chicken, and pancetta, and brown well. Add onion, salami, and sage, and brown 5 minutes or so. Add ¼ cup of the broth, scrape and reduce until almost dry and the residue reforms. Then add another ¼ cup. Do this one more time, then add the rest of the broth or stock until just about the level of the meat, cover tightly, reduce heat to very low, and cook until tender, a few hours. Season as necessary.
- When done, strain the meats and all solids to a bowl and chop finely or just into a food processor with the parm. Puree until smooth. Reduce the broth or stock to sauce consistency, thickening if necessary with a bit of cornstarch dissolved in a bit of water. Let everything cool/
- Cut the pasta into thirds. Cover two of the balls with a paper towel, roll out the first third to the second to last setting. Make sure to use plenty of flour so it doesn’t stick in the machine.
- Going down the length of the pasta, spoon out about a tablespoon of the filling at even intervals about 1 inch apart. Fold the bottom over the top, press out all the air, seal, and cut. Place on a floured tray and freeze or use immediately.
- To serve, cook in plenty of salted, boiling water, divide among plates, coat with the reduced braising liquid and some thinly sliced raw asparagus
Fresh Pasta
3 ½ cups flour
4 eggs, beaten
- Add the flour to a large bowl. Make a sizable well in the center, pour in the eggs, and, using your fingers or a fork, gently incorporate the flour by mixing the two, keeping the walls of the well intact.
- When the dough comes together, turn onto a lightly floured surface and knead at least 10 minutes. Cover and rest ½ hour.
Crisp Tilapia w/ Picada
I’m slightly uncomfortable with ubiquity. Not the word, rather things I see all the time. Like the college classmate who seems to be everywhere, knows your name, shakes your hand and scoots off, ready for his next encounter; the doctor whose ads plaster every subway car; beef with broccoli. Or, in this case, tilapia.
Whether the market is fully stocked with every type of meat, fish, and fowl, or the same shelves are as bare as a bachelor’s cupboard, the one constant (ubiquitous?) is tilapia. And the visual never varies, as if the long thin fillet was joined by a bunch of rivets and screws in a Ford factory. The whole thing makes me a bit suspicious.
I had in mind a picada, a sort of Spanish pesto, which, while pretty assertive, would be too mild for most meats, but perfect for fish, especially a white one such as cod. Alas, it was one of those tilapia days in our frustrating local market, and so, sighing, I brought some home prepared for the worst.
The tale has a happy ending, or I wouldn’t be writing this post. While relatively tasteless, tilapia is idiot proof, a rare virtue in the world of seafood cookery. The firm flesh doesn’t fall apart in a hot pan, resulting in a nice, crisp piece of fish.
Actually, to me, fried fish means sandwich, and this dish would probably be better between the bread or bun. And since fish sandwich is the home of the ubiquitous fish, tilapia would seem to fit the bill.
(NOTE: the picada texture is flexible. To make a little scoop it should be firmer. More nuts thicken the mixture. If you want a sauce, thin it out. Garlic is to taste.)
Tilapia w/ Picada
Serves 4
2 medium tomatoes, cored, halved
1 red pepper
1 bulb garlic cloves, peeled
2 tablespoons blanched almonds
2 tablespoons parsley, chopped
olive oil
salt and pepper
4 fillets tilapia, 6 oz each
- Preheat oven to 350. Coat a small pan with a few tablespoons olive oil. Add tomatoes, cut side up, season with salt and pepper and drizzle over another few tablespoons. Roast until slightly browned and wrinkled, about an hour.
- Meanwhile, place the pepper over a high flame, turning occasionally until charred, place in a bowl, cover with plastic wrap to steam. When cool, peel off skin and core. Reserve.
- Add garlic to a small pot, cover with olive oil by about ½ inch and place over a very low flame. Heat about ½ hour. The garlic should be very lightly golden, completely tender but not dark. Make sure the oil only barely bubbles. Remove from heat.
- When tomatoes are done, add to a food processor (small if you have), along with the nuts and half the red pepper. Add a few tablespoons of the garlic oil. Puree until mixture is smooth but the nuts are slightly intact to provide a bit of crunch. Add parsley, pulse to incorporate. Add 2 or 3 of the confit garlic cloves and pulse. Season and turn into a bowl. (SEE NOTE)
- For the fish, heat a large sauté pan with ¼ cup olive oil over high heat. Season fish on both sides. When nearly smoking, lay in gently and brown on both sides, about 4 minutes total.
- To serve, divide fish, top with about a tablespoon of picada.
Spring Salads: Fiddleheads and Favas
Myth: a salad doesn’t have to be seasonal to be great. It just has to be well-made and well-designed. Like a Caesar of whole leaves dressed lightly with a fresh light dressing of crushed anchovies, garlic, olive oil, and maybe an egg. Or a beet salad with a dollop of yogurt or crème fraiche, and dill. I’d happily eat those year round.
Still, perfect, seasonal ingredients guarantee a great dish, regardless of its crafter’s skill. Finally, it’s springtime, which means a lot of weird-looking sprouts, shoots, edible flowers, and so on. Fiddleheads, with their tightly coiled stalk reminiscent of a bike wheel, may be the oddest. Like a crummy musical, the taste is far less interesting than the appearance, but springtime salads are about subtle flavors, light dressings, and an almost food-styled beauty.
We used fava beans which, like fiddleheads, are subtle in flavor, which is why a few cloves of garlic confit and a light grain mustard vinaigrette boosts the whole dish and makes it a perfect spring salad. Frisee, tasteless, but beautiful, adds a nice touch, but feel free to wander the yard and pull up weird (hopefully safe) shoots. All in the name of a spring salad.
Fiddlehead and Fava Spring Salad
Serves 2
1 cup fiddleheads
1 cup fava beans, shelled
1 bulb garlic, peeled into individual cloves
2 tablespoons grain mustard
medium handful frisee, trimmed of green
olive oil
salt and pepper
- Bring a pot of salted water to boil and blanch the fiddleheads and favas, about 2 minutes. Refresh in cold water, peel the skins from the fava beans, and reserve both.
- Add the garlic cloves to a small pot and cover with olive oil by about an inch. Place over very low heat and cook for about 1/ 2 hour. The garlic should be meltingly soft and lightly colored but not brown. If it’s bubbling too much, lower the heat. Remove from heat and let cool then Strain the oil and reserve for another use. It’s very handy.
- For the broken mustard dressing, whisk the mustard with 1/3 cup olive oil in a small bowl and season with salt and pepper. It won’t be fully emulsified.
- Finish the salad by tossing the vegetables with the vinaigrette very gently. Divide among plates and arrange three cloves of garlic confit inside each portion as well as a light drizzle of the dressing.
Lime and Vodka Granita w/ Oysters
SeaGrub: a celebration of seafood, and how to cook the stuff. Or in this case, eat it raw.
The two of us sat at the table in a medium-nice Chelsea restaurant, scribbling on a small notebook. The place (Shaffer City, since closed), had a massive collection of oysters, listed on a separate, paperback-sized special menu. The mission was to sift through these bivalves and form a list of favorites. After the second dozen or so, we put down our pens and simply enjoyed the experience: sending back piles of empty shells, squeezed lemon quarters, and bottles of cheap beer.
Some people love oysters; others hate them. This is for the former group; I don’t have the energy to analyze the incomprehensible. It must be a texture, rather than a taste thing, for it’s impossible to dislike an entire selection of oysters; they’re that discrete.
Oysters are as complex as Mormon genealogy. They may appear similar: about the same size, knobby and a struggle to snap open, but the flavor within can be extraordinarily different. Some are large, pillowy, mild bites; some are smaller and briny; others combine both characteristics with a twist.
To enjoy them you need a sample, and, since Shaffer has closed, occasionally we go to Aquagrill, with its equally vast selection. A sample from this Sunday:
Blue Point Oysters - Connecticut
Gold Creek Oysters - Washington
Piper’s Point Oysters - P.E.I.
Sisters Point Oysters – Washington
Chefs Creek Oysters - British Columbia
Chincoteague Oysters – Virginia
Canada Cup Oysters - P.E.I.
Indian Creek Oysters - P.E.I.
Pebble Beach Oysters - Washington
Willapa Bay Oysters - Washington
Beavertail Oysters - Rhode Island
Hog Neck Bay Oysters - New York
La St. Simon Oysters - New Brunswick
Little Creek Oysters - Washington
Ninigret Cup Oysters - Rhode Island
Potters Moon Oysters - Rhode Island
Royal Miyagi Oysters - British Columbia
Umami Oysters - Rhode Island
Wellfleet Oysters – Massachusetts
Beau Soleil Oysters - New Brunswick
First Light Oysters - Massachusetts
Montauk Pearl Oysters - New York
Cotuit Oysters - Massachusetts
Effingham Inlet Oysters - British Columbia
Komoguay Oysters - British Columbia
What seems an intimidating selection is simplified by a brainlessly basic option of accompaniments, i.e. a squeeze of lemon. Cocktail sauce, and peppery mignonette are also acceptable, the idea being sharp acid matches the cold, briny meat.
Which is why sometimes oysters are topped with a small scoop of granita, an icy, slushy concoction, in this case made with an tart juice such as grapefruit or lime. We made a batch of lime-vodka granita and popped it in a shot glass, with an excellent result. Vodka, of course, freezes less readily than water, requiring a bit of patience and a less than perfect granita, but a perfect little shot of limy booze.
Alcohol tends to provoke a more adventurous palate. A good reason to set a tray of oysters and vodka granita before your friendly oyster hater, and see what happens.
Oysters w/ Lime Granita Shots
Serves 2 (about to be drunk people)
½ cup lime juice
½ cup vodka
a dozen mixed oysters on ice
lime zest, grated
- Combine the lime juice and vodka in a shallow bowl and freeze for about a day. It should be slushy. Stir in a bit of zest
- Serve the granita in shot glasses along with the oysters over ice.
Garam Masala Cedar Plank Salmon
SeaGrub: an occasional series of guest posts from bloggers we admire, celebrating seafood cookery. It’s a wild world underwater, teeming with edible life. Here’s how to cook ‘em up. This week’s post is from Katie Webster from www.healthyseasonalrecipes.com
I wonder if Henry Ford was thinking about grilled salmon when he said, “failure is the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently.” I wonder this because grilling salmon, though tempting, too often results in a less-than-desirable outcome. Some may call it failure even.
You can’t blame us for trying. I know I have to grill salmon many a time. Who doesn’t love an excuse to get out of the kitchen to make dinner? You get to be out in the great outdoors, enjoy the evening sunshine, drink a Corona… It’s romantic in an almost mythical way.
But in reality, more often that not, I end up frustrated when the fish sticks to the grill. At first it seems to be going fine, and then it comes time to flip the fish over. Half the time, the fish fiercely clings to the grill grates and then shreds off, leaving half of your dinner behind. Even worse, if you’re like me, you bought the more sustainable option, Alaskan salmon. That means you paid a pretty penny for that soon-to-be charred-onto-the-grill-grate fish. It is enough to make a cook a little gun shy about trying that again.
That’s why I love cooking salmon on a cedar plank. The fish never sticks, and it still gets a nice smoky flavor from the grill. Plus it gets a boost of cedar smokiness from the plank itself. I like that because I am kind of a flavor hound. Even though the ingredients here are simple: fish, spice and sugar. The technique of grilling on the plank makes it even more flavorful. Plus the dishes, or lack there of, are a snap.
Garam Masala Cedar Plank Salmon (from www.healthyseasonalrecipes.com)
Active time: 25 minutes. Total time: 2 hours 25 minutes.
1 food-grade cedar plank, see note*
4 teaspoons dark brown sugar
2 teaspoons garam masala
1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 ½ pounds boneless salmon filet, preferably wild sockeye
¾ teaspoon kosher salt
1. Soak cedar plank in a large rimmed baking sheet of water 2 to 3 hours, turning once or twice, or according to package instructions. Remove plank from the water and pat dry with a towel.
2. Preheat grill to medium-high heat. Grill plank on one side to char slightly, 2 to 4 minutes. Remove to a baking sheet, charred side-up. Plank will be hot. Stir sugar and garam masala together in a small dish. Brush about half of the olive oil over the charred side of the plank. Place the salmon skin-side-down on the plank. Pull pinbones from the salmon with needle-nose-pliers if necessary. Brush the remaining oil over the fish. Sprinkle with salt. Pat the brown sugar mixture over the fish.
3. Reduce heat to medium and carefully transfer the plank and salmon to the grill. Cover the grill, and cook until the fish is almost opaque all the way through and the sugar mixture is melted and caramelized, 10 to 12 minutes for medium well.
Note* Available at most hardware stores, or online http://www.amazon.com/Outset-KWP10-Kingsford-Cedar-Planks/dp/B001AH8Q7Q
True Coq Au Vin
Wine belongs in every cook’s pantry. Near the salt. Try making a sauce or a stew or a spaghetti Bolognese with and without wine and see which is better. It’s like a scary movie minus the eerie music: bleached of vibrancy and stripped of soul. Wine adds depth to a dish, and there’s no better example than coq au vin.
Coq au vin, chicken braised in red wine, is theoretically made with an old hen, a tradition which seems a bit unnecessary; plain chicken is fine. However, it’s not something you whip up for a last minute supper: perfect coq au vin requires a 24-hour marination in red wine prior to being braised in said wine. The idea is a double wine bath, like a weekend of repetitive spa treatments, after which you’ve achieved dermatological clarity. The chicken should be winy and tender. That’s part one.
Part two involves the sauce. Let’s examine the final goal and work backwards. You should end up with (again) a deeply winy, very rich, dark sauce the consistency of paint: neither thick nor thin. Maybe I shouldn’t say paint, but that’s pretty accurate. However, there’s a twist. As with part one, which calls for a long marination, here you also need to put in a little extra effort.
In short, you need veal stock. As veal stock reduces, it becomes rich and unctuous. Combined with wine, the sauce develops into something breathtaking. Making veal stock is a major journey, beginning with locating a butcher who sells unfrozen, fresh bones, and ending with several swollen garbage bags full of lava-hot molten bones and an angry garbage man. However, a large batch can be frozen and pulled out as needed for months.
If you must use the store bought stuff, I’d recommend dissolving a few tablespoons of cornstarch in an equal amount of water, and whisking it in at the end. It’ll thicken the sauce.
Other than the two very important ingredients, coq au vin is a snap: a stew that, unlike, say braised veal shank, won’t take 4 hours. We used the Balthazar version simply because, well, coq au vin is what they do. What you should do is grab a bunch of wine in one arm and a sack of veal bones in the other and call it a day. At least you won’t need a hen. Unless you really feel like chasing one down.
True Coq Au Vin (adapted from Balthazar Cookbook)
Serves 4
For the Marinade:
6 chicken legs
1 large onion, chopped
1 large carrot, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 head of garlic, halved horizontally
1 bottle red wine
bunch of thyme or rosemary
salt and pepper
For the Braise:
¼ cup olive oil
2 tablespoons tomato paste
3 tablespoons flour
3-4 cups veal stock
1 onion, diced ½ inch
½ pound smoked slab bacon, diced
1 pound mushrooms, stemmed, washed, cut in ½ inch pieces
3 tablespoons parsley, chopped
salt and pepper
- Combined the marinade ingredients in a large bowl, toss, cover, refrigerate for 24 hours.
- The next day, use a tongs to remove the chicken legs to a tray. Strain the marinade into a one bowl and reserve the vegetables separately. Season the legs with salt and pepper. Heat the oil in a large pot over high heat. Brown the legs in batches and remove to a bowl.
- Reduce heat slightly, add the reserved vegetables, cook until soft and a bit brown. Add the tomato paste, stirring, cook 2 minutes. Add the flour, stirring, cook 2 minutes. Add the reserved wine marinade and reduce by half.
- Add the chicken, pour in the stock, bring to a boil, skim any scum, reduce to a very low simmer, and cover. Cook for about an hour, until the chicken is tender.
- Meanwhile, in a large pan, render and brown the bacon. Remove to a bowl keeping about half the fat in the pan. Saute the onion until soft, remove to the bowl. Do the same with the mushrooms. Season lightly with salt and pepper and toss gently. Reserve.
- Remove the legs from the pot to a bowl. Strain off and discard the vegetables. Reduce the sauce by half, then return the legs along with your cooked bacon and vegetables. Simmer another 15 minutes until the sauce is smooth and delicious. Serve with chopped parsley.
