O give me a home...

Working--even just interning--at a food magazine has its perks. So far, at Food & Wine, I've gotten to sample (and take home for dinner later) countless numbers of delicacies that the test kitchen turns out daily; I've picked up a bunch of loot (a set of drinking glasses; some delicately painted Japanese plates) that the magazine had to give away when its offices changed floors; upwards of 15 bottles of wine. Not too shabby, right? Yet another perk concerns the large quantity of product samples that various food producers send to the editors to test out. Often there is far too much food for just one person, so an editor will share the wealth among the staff, asking only for our opinions in return. Last week, one of the editors received a large shipment of buffalo (or bison) meat products, and passed along both a package of sausage and a tenderloin to me. I was more than happy to put them to use in my kitchen.

I've eaten buffalo a number of times; my dad really likes it, and often uses the ground meat to make burgers. It's leaner than most cuts of beef, and, to my taste, has a more intense flavor--possibly because it's not churned out in the massive quantities that beef is today. I'd only ever eaten it in the aforementioned burgers, though, so I was eager to see how it held up in other applications. With the sausage meat, I mixed up a meatball-type stuffing with egg and breadcrumbs and packed it into halved tomatoes and zucchini for stuffed vegetables (tasted delicious but photographed poorly; otherwise I'd share). For the tenderloin, I threw together a marinade of soy sauce, sesame oil, Chinese cooking wine and red pepper flakes, then tossed the meat into a smoking hot cast-iron skillet, cooking it until it was just medium rare, about 3 minutes per side. I let it rest for a few minutes, and then sliced it into thin strips. The meat was incredibly tender--buttery would be a good descriptor--and had taken on the marinade really well; it was salty, smoky and spicy. I served it up with a quick Asian slaw of carrot, daikon radish, red pepper green onions and cilantro; cool and crisp, it was the perfect counterpoint the the warm, savory buffalo slices.



















Asian Vegetable Slaw
Serves 2 - 3

1. Peel and trim 1 large carrot and 1 large daikon radish. Cut the vegetables lengthwise into thin planks and then cut them again, into thin matchsticks. Place in a bowl. Remove the seeds from 1 large red bell pepper and cut it to match the carrot and daikon strips. Add to bowl.
2. Slice 4 - 5 green onions (white and green parts) thinly. Add to bowl.
2. Dress the slaw with 2 tsp. sesame oil, 2 tsp. light soy sauce, and 2 tsp. rice wine vinegar. Taste and adjust seasonings.
3. Chop about 1/2 cup washed cilantro and mix it into the slaw. Place in refrigerator and allow to chill for about 15 minutes, then serve.

A craving, satisfied

I don't think there's anything more satisfying--when eating, at least--than recognizing a craving, shopping for the ingredients needed to prepare it, cooking it, and, finally, sitting down to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Sure, it's a great feeling to go out and order a juicy, medium-rare burger when you get a sudden yen for beef, or to hunker down in a diner booth and slurp an icy chocolate milkshake when it's late at night and you're looking for some comfort food. But to really take that craving into your own hands--to see it through start to finish, making little tweaks here and there to ensure that what you'll eat is tailored precisely to your craving--for me, that's where it's at. Sometimes, when you have to work for your food, the payoff is that much greater.

That was precisely my experience earlier this evening, when, arriving home with an empty stomach, I was met by the sight of an equally empty fridge. Since I have to go shopping anyway, I thought to myself, I might as well figure out exactly what I'm in the mood for, and then shop around my craving. I wanted something light, crisp and refreshing; my usual winter go-to of a soup or a braise felt too heavy for the unseasonably warm temperatures in New York this weekend. I also wanted to make something packed with vegetables, as I planned to stop by Rossman Farms, an incredibly cheap, 24-hour fruit and vegetable wholesaler and retailer located right nearby on 25th Street. I thought noodles sounded about right, and an Asian-style rendition was particularly appealing. I had it: cold sesame noodles. A staple Chinese takeout favorite, I knew I could make my own for a lot less money, and that I could adapt the standard recipe to better suit my tastes--namely, by making it less sweet and gloopy than many of the versions I've tried in restaurants.

I already had peanut butter, sesame paste, and various Chinese seasonings in my pantry, so at Rossman's all I needed to pick up was a box of spaghetti, a red bell pepper, a bunch of green onions, a carrot, some cilantro, and, finally, as an impulse purchase, a daikon radish, a vegetable that I love but with which I'd never cooked. At home, I set a pot of water to boil, and then I set to work on my ingredients. I sliced up a chicken breast and slipped it into a quick marinade of soy sauce, sesame oil, Chinese cooking wine and red pepper flakes, and then I cut the bell pepper, carrot and daikon into long, thin strips, and sliced a few green onions into thin rounds:

















After I added the pasta to the water, I mixed up my peanut sauce, which I've made a few times before and can by now more or less improvise. What I chose to use was a mix of peanut butter, Chinese sesame paste (akin to tahini, but with a sweeter, darker-roasted flavor), light soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, sugar, and fresh ginger, plus hot water to thin the sauce out. What you're looking for is a smooth, thick (but still pourable), creamy paste that's sweet but not overly so. To that end, you will need to continually taste it as you mix it, adding more soy sauce if it's not salty enough, more vinegar if it needs some bite and acidity, and more hot water if it's too thick. Here's the finished concoction (please forgive the splatter-stained bowl; it's a messy, sticky process):

















When the noodles were just al dente, I drained them and rinsed them well under cold water, both to cool them down as well as to stop them from sticking. I tossed them with the sauce and added the prepared vegetables, and then I stuck the bowl into the fridge to chill it well. While waiting, I sauteed the chicken slices and laid them out on a plate to cool. Finally, I arranged my portion in one heaping bowl, showered the whole with more green onions and some torn cilantro, and dug in with my chopsticks:

















As I had hoped, the toothsome noodles were cloaked in a velvety, peanutty smoothness which was punctuated by the crisp, cool sweetness of the pepper and the carrot, as well as by the peppery bite of the daikon and the green onions. The juicy chicken, although a nice touch, is not absolutely necessary here, and this dish would make a fabulously satisfying vegetarian option, either with or without some cold, pristine cubes of tofu. The one element that I forgot was a scattering of chopped, salted peanuts. Don't make my mistake: they would have contributed a rich, salty crunchiness. No matter, though: this meal was still absolutely delicious--craveable, even.


Cold Sesame Noodles with Vegetables
Serves 3-4

1. Set a large pot of water to boil.
2. If using chicken (optional), slice one chicken breast down the middle lenthwise, and then slice again, into small strips. Place chicken strips in a bowl with 1 tbsp. Chinese cooking wine, dry white wine or sherry; 1 tbsp. soy sauce; 1 tsp. toasted sesame oil; and a pinch of red pepper flakes. Set aside.
2. Slice 1 large bell pepper into thin, narrow strips. Peel 1 small carrot and 1 small daikon radish; carefully cut them lengthwise into long, flat planks and then slice them into long, narrow strips. Set vegetables aside.
3. When the water reaches a boil, salt it and add 1/2 pound of spaghetti, whole-wheat spaghetti, or Japanese soba noodles. Cook until al dente, about 8 - 10 minutes.
4. In the meantime, mix the peanut sauce: in a small bowl, combine about 2 tbsp. all-natural creamy peanut butter and 2 tsp. Chinese sesame paste or tahini. Alternatively, if you do not have sesame paste, you can use a mixture of about 3 tbsp. peanut butter and 1 tbsp. toasted sesame oil. Combine well, and then, using the hot pasta cooking water, add it about 1 tbsp. at a time, stirring all the while, until the paste is smooth and uniform. Add about 1 tbsp. light soy sauce, 1 tbsp. rice wine vinegar, and 2 tsp. granulated sugar. Mix well and add more hot water, if needed, to achieve a sauce that is thick but still pourable. Taste the sauce and adjust it by adding more soy sauce, vinegar, sugar or hot water, if needed. Add 1/2 tsp. grated fresh ginger and stir.
5. Drain the pasta and rinse it well under cold running water. Drain and then add the peanut sauce, tossing to coat. Add the prepared vegetables, stir, and place in the fridge to chill, about 20 minutes.
6. If using chicken, heat 1 tbsp. of vegetable oil in a heavy skillet set over a medium flame. Add the chicken and cook, stirring, about 6 - 8 minutes. Spread out on a plate to cool.
7. Serve noodles in bowls, adding chicken, if using, and garnishing with torn cilantro leaves, chopped scallions, and chopped salted peanuts.

Calamarata

At a glance, the word in the title of this post might appear to be another invented portmanteau à la caponatatouille, suggesting some magical combination of calamari and kalamata olives: a Mediterranean pairing that, indeed, sounds highly appealing. In fact, calamarata refers to a pasta shape seldom seen outside Italy. Large, thick, and hollow, like a magnified version of ziti, calamarata resembles tubular slices of squid. Attending a fancy foods show a few months back, I was lucky enough to get my hands on a pound of the beautiful imported pasta featured on the website above, and I'd been keeping it in mind for a special occasion. That occasion presented itself last night, when my friends Kate and Andrea stopped by for a long-overdue visit.

In order to take best advantage of the calamarata's unique shape, I wanted to prepare a thick, chunky sauce that would take refuge in the roomy cavity of each piece of pasta. Additionally, as Andrea is a vegetarian, my sauce would have to be meat-free. Eyeing a jar of white beans sitting on my counter, I decided to simmer them with some aromatic vegetables, cherry tomatoes and broth. I let this mixture bubble away slowly as my friends and I worked our way through a plate of runny French cheeses, a bowl of guacamole, and the better part of a large baguette. By the time I was ready to combine the sauce with the pasta, the white beans had become soft and creamy, and the tomatoes were slumped and candy-sweet. I think that my humble, off-the-cuff creation made a perfectly respectable partner for the luxurious Italian import it found itself next to in the bowl.




Calamarata with White Beans and Cherry Tomatoes
Serves 4 - 6

1. Place 3 tbsp. of olive oil in a large, deep, heavy-bottomed pan set over medium-low heat. Add 1/2 a red onion, 1/2 a carrot, peeled, and 1 stalk of celery, all finely diced. Add 3 cloves of minced garlic, season with salt, black pepper, red pepper flakes and dried thyme, and cook until vegetables are wilted and have begun to caramelize, about 6-8 minutes.
2. Drain and rinse a 15.5 oz can of small white (canellini) beans. Add them to the pan, along with 1 pint of cherry or grape tomatoes, most halved but some left whole. Add most of a small can of vegetable or chicken broth and simmer, uncovered, until reduced by half, about 15-20 minutes.
3. In the meantime, cook one pound of calamarata, ziti, or rigatoni in heavily salted water until al dente. Combine the sauce and the pasta, garnishing with chopped fresh parsley, more olive oil, and grated cheese, if desired, and serve.

Caponatatouille

As is customary, in the late afternoon hours, my thoughts today drifted toward what I might put on my dinner plate later in the evening. Thanks to my cushy new job at Food & Wine magazine--my office is located around the corner from the test kitchen--I've been eating abundantly, and well. As a result, I've been craving loads of vegetables for dinner, lately--you know, to sort of cancel out all the fried chicken, coconut cream pie and various bacon-wrapped items that I consume during the day. Last night, for example, I ate a plate of lentils (like the one in the post below) followed by a light and refreshing endive, apple and walnut salad. Anyway, back to this afternoon. Thinking about my dinner, a vision of an eggplant--smooth, dark purple and shiny--popped suddenly into my head. I wanted to cook it, but how? Roast it whole until the flesh turned creamy, then mash it up with some tahini to make baba ghanoush? Grill some slices and then top them with herbs and goat cheese, as a sort of light version of eggplant parmesan? Either of those options would have been satisfying, but no--I realized that what I wanted was caponata, that Italian specialty of sweet, salty, tangy eggplant that gets its bite from olives and capers. But no, wait--maybe I wanted ratatouille, that rustic French combination of soft eggplant, zucchini, bell pepper and tomato: spicier and lustier than its cousin across the Alps.

I couldn't choose--and then I realized that I didn't have to. Instead, I made a relatively straightforward ratatouille which I finished with the traditional caponata flavorings of olives, capers and vinegar. I got the best of both worlds in this dish: the sweet/sour tang that the combination of slow-cooked onions and vinegar lends to a caponata, as well as the warm, earthy mellowness with which bell peppers and tomatoes infuse a ratatouille. Call me a flip-flopper; I don't mind. Isn't the adapting and blending of traditions what cooking is all about?

Oh, and I almost forgot: I happened to enjoy a nice, rare, sliced sirloin steak alongside my dish. It was delicious, especially when eaten with a little forkful of the vegetables on top. But, as you can clearly see, it took a backseat to the eggplant.


















Warm Mediterranean Vegetables (Ratatouille/Caponata)
Serves 4

1. Preheat the oven to 375°.
2. Cut 1 small eggplant, 1 large zucchini, and 1 large red bell pepper into medium-sized chunks. Place them on a rimmed baking sheet and toss them with olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast in the oven, stirring occasionally, until they are browned and quite soft, about 20 minutes. Shut off the oven.
3. Over a medium flame, heat about 2 tbsp. of olive oil in a large, deep, heavy-bottomed pan. Add 1 large red onion, cut into a medium dice, and some salt. About 2 minutes later, add 3 cloves of garlic, chopped. Cook, stirring, until onions are soft and sweet, about 10 minutes.
4. Add 3 - 4 ripe plum tomatoes, cut into medium-sized chunks, to the pan. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes have released some of their liquid and begun to break down. Add the roasted vegetables, cover the pan partially, and reduce the heat to low. Cook until the vegetables are completely soft, about 5 - 10 more minutes.
5. Shut off the heat and add a small handful of olives, pitted and chopped, as well as a small handful of capers, rinsed and drained. Add about a tbsp. of red wine vinegar, stir to combine, and check for seasoning, adding more salt, pepper and vinegar as needed. Garnish with chopped fresh parsley.

Sometimes simple is best

I've been doing a lot of cooking lately, but not a lot of blog posting, and it's because my style of cooking is often not very photogenic. I'm a big fan of straightforward, uncomplicated recipes that heighten the flavors of their ingredients, allowing them to shine through and not obfuscating them under layers of butter, oil or heavy seasoning. So many times when I throw together these modest, unembellished but nevertheless delicious meals, I look at them and decide not to take a photo or write about them--rather, I just enjoy them. But I thought I'd make an exception tonight and share what I ate for dinner: a plateful of lentils. Pure and simple lentils, sauteed with aromatics and cooked in chicken broth, drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, sprinkled with salt and much freshly ground black pepper. Okay, okay, so I did have a green salad on the side, but that was just the icing on the cake--so to speak.

















Simple Stewed Lentils
Serves 4

1. Place 2 tbsp. of olive oil in a deep, heavy-bottomed pan set over medium heat. Add one small carrot, peeled and finely diced; one rib of celery, finely diced; and 1/2 a large onion, finely chopped. Season with salt and pepper and sweat the vegetables for about 5 minutes.
2. Add some dried thyme and red pepper flakes, to taste, to the vegetables in the pan. Add 1 cup of small brown, yellow or green lentils, rinsed, and cook them briefly before adding 2 cups of chicken broth. Cover the pan and raise the heat. When the broth begins to boil, drop the heat down to low and simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes, until lentils have absorbed almost all of the liquid and are cooked through but still firm. Serve, as is or over rice, garnished with olive oil, a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, salt, freshly ground black papper and chopped fresh parsley.