A French dinner, by way of Mexico

Got a whole bunch of tomatoes lying around? Like, 2 pounds of tomatoes? Well grab 'em, because you're going to need them (seeded, chopped) for this recipe:

















Oh, and that's right--I almost forgot to mention your huge bunch of fresh parsley. You'll be needing that, too.

The dish I'm talking about today is pescado a la Veracruzana, or fish, Verucruz style. The name Veracruz refers both to the state and the port city located on the eastern coast of Mexico. I was there, for two days, in early 2006, when my friend Malcolm and I stayed on after a community service trip to Oaxaca to explore the country a bit. We were pressed for time during our travels, but we still wanted to make it to the beach to swim and to beat the heat. Overwhelmingly, we were told that the western coast of the country was where to go for beautiful sand and pristine waters, but our research turned up the fact that the nearest western beach from where we were at the time could be reached only after a bus ride of eight to nine hours. We decided to see about going to the eastern coast instead. Bam! Veracruz, in a measly four hours. Bus tickets were purchased. We were excited.

During our stay, locals that we met often inquired about me and Malcolm's itinerary. Well, we told them, we're going to Mexico City--also known as the D.F., or Distrito Federal--for about 5 days. The locals nodded in appreciation. Also, we confessed, we'll be going to Veracruz for a day or two. The locals paused. Tactfully, they inquired, "Oh, I see. Why?" We explained ourselves: lack of time, desire to swim. "Why?" we asked. "Is it not so nice?" The locals, ever polite, assured us that it was fine, but often added, in a smaller, affectedly unconcerned voice, that there were lots of sharks in the water. "Be careful," they said. Malcolm and I encountered this same scenario at least 5 or 6 times, until it became a joke. We were going to Veracruz. We were determined not to be eaten by sharks.

When we got there, what we found was a small, slightly seedy, slightly dirty, but on the whole more or less charming port city. We walked around the central plaza, or zocalo. We ate the fruit ices that everyone in town was eating. We had an adventurous dinner of some kind of offal-ish pork cut. We made our plans for the beach the next day. Unfortunately, when we got up the next morning, we discovered that Malcolm had been struck down by the dreaded traveler's illness Montezuma's Revenge. After some negotiation with the hotel management to let Malcolm rest in the comfort of our room for the remainder of the day, instead of checking out as we had planned to, he settled in for the long haul, while I packed my bag to head out to the beach. After a long bus ride for which I didn't have exact change and therefore couldn't pay, earning me dirty looks from the driver for the entire ride, I arrived at a flat, not so pretty, beach. But it was a beach nonetheless. Setting my fears aside, I swam a little. I read my book. I tanned, or rather, burned to a crisp, since Malcolm wasn't there to sunscreen my back. After a while, as I tend to do, I got hungry.

It probably won't surprise you to discover that my main interest while traveling is the local cuisine, and therefore to know that when I decided to head to Veracruz, I tried to read up on what to eat there. As it turned out, the city is quite famous for the fish dish mentioned above. So, that day at beach, I was determined to find me some pescado a la Veracruzana, if only so that the trip there wasn't a total bust. I happened upon it at a casual seaside restaurant not fifty paces from the shore, and, despite my pretty much lifelong ambivalence about eating fish, when the dish arrived to my table I knew I was in for something good. It was a pristine white fillet of fish--most likely red snapper--bathed in a beautiful, and beautiful-smelling, fresh tomato sauce, its red flecked with the varying shades of green of parsley, olives and capers. I dug in. It was delicious, rich with flavor while still being light and not too filling. I was sold. When I got back to the U.S., I recreated the dish several times, and it remains my favorite way to prepare fish, period.

It doesn't hurt that it's so easy to make. Basically, you sauté chopped onions and garlic, sprinkling in a healthy dose of oregano (preferably of Mexican origin) towards the end of this process. Then you add a copious amount of chopped tomatoes, plus chopped green olives and some whole capers, as well as some water to create a broth. After letting these flavors simmer and meld for a few minutes, you slip in your fish fillets that you've briefly marinated in a mixture of lime juice and salt, and you let them poach just a few minutes until they're flaky and cooked through. Before serving over rice, you add a generous showering of chopped fresh parsley, and you cut up some limes to squeeze over at the table. Take it from me: this dish is a winner, and it tastes just as good in the U.S., or France, or wherever you might be, as it does in its hometown.


















Pescado a la Veracruzana
Serves 4 - 6

Ingredients:

- 6 white fish fillets, such as snapper, cod, flounder, tilapia, etc.
- Juice of 4 or 5 limes, plus more limes for slicing
- 3 tbsp. olive oil
- 1 white or yellow onion, sliced into thin half-moons
- 3 cloves of garlic, minced
- 1 tsp. red pepper flakes, or to taste
- 2 tsp. dried oregano, preferably Mexican, or to taste
- 3 c. (about 2 lbs.) seeded and chopped tomatoes
- 1/2 c. green olives, pitted and chopped
- 3 tbsp. capers, rinsed
- 1 c. water
- Salt, to taste
- 1/2 c. chopped fresh parsley
- Limes, for slicing

Preparation:

1. Place fish fillets in a shallow dish and pour lime juice over. Sprinkle with a small amount of salt, and place in the refrigerator to marinate.
2. In a deep, wide, and heavy saucepan, heat the olive oil over a medium flame. Add the onions and garlic and a pinch of salt and sauté, stirring frequently, for about 6 minutes, or until onions are soft and translucent.
3. Add the red pepper flakes and oregano. Stir to coat and heat through.
4. Add the tomatoes, olives, capers and water and stir to combine. Add more salt, to taste (be careful here. The olives and capers add quite a bit of salt to the sauce). Bring sauce to a simmer and cook for about 15 minutes.
5. Gently slip the fish fillets into the sauce; cover the pan partially. Cook until fish is cooked through but still flaky, about 8 - 10 minutes.
6. Sprinkle the parsley over the dish and serve over rice, with lime wedges.

A Pesto for Printemps

That's spring, for you non-Francophones out there. As I discussed in my last post, spring, glorious spring has sprung in Toulouse--as I write this, my bedroom windows, which open on our huge, overgrown garden, are flung wide, allowing soft, cool breezes and lazy sunlight to gently filter in.

















I really lucked out with this garden. You see, I set up my housing here in Toulouse before I left New York, taking a gamble on my room, housemates, etc. I'm happy to say that the place I live is truly better than anything I could have imagined: situated at the end of a quiet block, it's a big, two-story house with a large, well-stocked kitchen, and of course, the garden that I just mentioned. As I talked about in some of my container garden posts from 2009, I've been growing more and more interested in gardening and agriculture--as someone who's obsessed with food, it's natural to want to understand more about where it comes from, and especially gratifying to be able to grow it yourself. Serendipitously, my housemate Ben is an experienced jardinier, having lived on a farm for a while last year, and he's been maintaining our fruit and vegetable plants this year. When I first arrived, in September, I benefited from the last of the season's ripe, juicy tomatoes, and harvested some small cauliflowers and cabbages this winter. Right now, though, it's all about the early-spring crops of lettuces and tender green spinach:






















The spinach we've got just grows and grows, so I've been trying to take advantage of it by mixing it into nearly everything I cook: tossing some into a bowl of warm pasta; sautéeing it with mushrooms; folding it into rice. Because there's so much of it, the thought occurred to me to try to make something that would call for a lot. And then it came to me: pesto! I love pesto, and I love that you can make it out of nearly anything green (arugula, as well as fresh herbs like parsley and cilantro come to mind)--not just the basil that most people associate it with--and that you can incorporate nearly any type of nut, and not just pine nuts. What I happened to have on hand were some flaked almonds, so I decided to use those. To tie it all together, I added just a little bit of something that goes wonderfully with both spinach and almonds--lemon. If you've ever eaten the classic Italian side dish of some quickly sautéed spinach finished with a refreshing spritz of lemon juice, you know what a natural pairing the two ingredients make. Same goes for almonds and lemon: many dessert recipes--like this one for pound cake, this one for madeleines, and this one for cookies--call for both. So for my pesto, I added a touch of freshly grated zest. The fresh spinach, the subtle almonds and the tart lemon combine to produce a pesto that's a lot lighter and brighter than the ones you might be used to. Spring in a bowl!




Spinach and Almond Pesto with Lemon
Makes about 1 1/2 cups

Ingredients:

- 1/2 c. flaked or slivered almonds, or use slightly less whole peeled almonds (if your nuts are fresh, there is no need to toast them. If they're not, toast in a pan or low oven until fragrant and allow them to cool.)
- 3 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
- 1 tsp. grated lemon zest
- 1 tsp. salt or more to taste
- About 6 oz. or 4 c. packed spinach leaves, washed and roughly torn
- 1/2 c. olive oil or more as needed
- 1/4 c. grated parmesan cheese
- Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Preparation:

1. Place almonds, garlic, lemon zest and salt in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse until nuts are ground, but not too finely.
2. Add spinach, in batches if necessary, and pulse to combine. Once all spinach is added, leave the food processor running as you drizzle in the 1/2 c. olive oil. If mixture remains too thick, add more oil.
3. Scrape pesto into a bowl. Add parmesan and some grinds of black pepper and stir to combine. Taste for seasoning, adding more salt or pepper as needed. Store in the refrigerator for one week or in the freezer for one month.

It was supposed to be so simple

I had it all planned out: I would write a short, sweet little post about spring coming to Toulouse, the bounty of beautiful produce it's brought with it, and the delicate, yet unfussy, dish I would prepare with pristine white asparagus, a true harbinger of spring if ever there was one. Here, have a look at it, I invite you. Pretty stunning, no?

















There I was at the Marché Cristal, a lively, sprawling open-air market near my house, on a recent sunny morning, agape with wonder at all the new arrivals on display, and rendered nearly paralyzed with indecision at what to buy first: the slender green artichokes, leaves still attached, displayed like so many bouquets of flowers? The huge, curling pods of fava beans, or fèves, overflowing and nearly tumbling down from their slatted cases? How about a small container of perfect, sweet yet tart strawberries, real strawberries, the likes of which you hardly ever find in the United States these days?

















Somehow, I pulled myself together and made my purchases, starting, yes, with those lovely fraises, which I devoured in about three minutes upon reaching home, and finishing up with the bunch of asparagus pictured above. It was nearly lunchtime by the time I got home, and I was hungry, those berries not really having tided me over. I quickly trimmed up the asparagus, snapping the tough ends off, and threw them in a steamer to cook for, I wagered, about 12 minutes, until they were just tender. In the meantime, thought I, I'll put a little pot of water on the boil for a soft-cooked egg, which I envisioned as the perfect accompaniment to my asparagus, slumping gently over them, lubricating them with its rich yellow yolk. Sounds like a plan, no?

Well, sometimes even the most carefully thought out plans don't turn out the way we intend. You see, I had never actually cooked white asparagus before, and rather brashly assumed that its method of preparation was identical to that of its verdant cousin. And so when I tested a blond spear after about 10 minutes--lifting it from the steamer to see if it would bend ever-so-slightly--I could see that something was wrong. The tips of the asparagus seemed nice and tender, but the bottom part of the stem was still rather the same texture as it was when raw: woody and unyielding. "Well, OK," I thought to myself, "I'll just let them steam a little longer." Checked them again after ten minutes. No real discernible change. Abandoned my steaming mission and chucked the little devils right into the boiling water at the bottom. Ten more minutes, and it became clear that there was no salvaging this situation. I drained the little buggers, laid them out nicely on a plate as intended, draped them with lemony vinaigrette, and garnished them with some sliced tomatoes. I should add, at this point, that my frustration with the asparagus caused me to totally forgot about my lovingly cooked soft egg, and what I now had was a hard-cooked one. I saved it for later. I made another soft egg. And what I got, finally, was this:


















It doesn't look bad, does it? And see, it didn't taste bad, either. But the only edible part of the asparagus was the top half. The bottom half I had to sort of pull through my teeth, much as one eats a steamed artichoke leaf, to scrape out the interior softness and leave behind the tough, fibrous exterior. A lot of work for a lot of waste. It was a shame. And so as soon as I finished eating, I looked up the correct method of preparing white asparagus. Turns out that even the slenderest stems possess a hard outer peel that must be removed--with a knife--before cooking. It would have been nice to know that before, but I know it now. And so I've provided the emended recipe below. Here's hoping your maiden white asparagus voyage encounters smooth seas.


Steamed White Asparagus with a Soft-Cooked Egg
Serves 1

Ingredients:

- 1 small bunch fresh white asparagus (10 - 12 spears)
- 1 egg
- Vinaigrette made with mustard, lemon juice, salt and olive oil
- Sliced fresh tomatoes, for serving (optional)

Preparation:

1. Trim and peel the asparagus: as mentioned above, this step is indispensable and it's important to do it correctly. First, trim the bottom 1 inch from the asparagus spears. Then, using a small, sharp paring knife, peel the outer layer off, stripping the stem from the bottom up. Continue peeling nearly to the top of the spear.
2. Steam the asparagus: in a large, wide pot or pan, heat about 2 inches of water over high heat. When it boils, salt it, drop in the asparagus, cover and drop to a lively simmer. Steam, covered, until spears are tender, about 15 to 20 minutes.
3. Meanwhile, soft-boil the egg: place egg in a small saucepan and fill with cold water to cover. Place over medium-high heat; cover. When water boils, drop to a simmer and cook egg for exactly 8 minutes. Drain and immediately run egg under cold water to stop the cooking. When egg is cool, peel.
4. Drain asparagus and arrange warm spears on a plate, drizzling with about 3 teaspoons vinaigrette. Season with salt and pepper. Slice egg into halves or quarters and arrange over the asparagus. Serve with sliced tomato, if desired.

Not your ordinary fish cake

OK, you've got me--I don't even really know what an ordinary fish cake would be. Fact is, you don't see too many people routinely whipping up fish cakes at home. I don't think. But they happen to be a delicious, inexpensive and easy dish that are all too easily overlooked by the home cook. Growing up, my mom routinely prepared salmon cakes using canned fish--unappetizing sounding, perhaps, but in fact they were delicious, quick to throw together, and because they relied on pantry staples, they could be made at almost any time.

I was thinking about those salmon cakes about a week ago when, as I usually do during my half hour bus ride home from work, I was pondering what to make for dinner. It was getting late, I was hungry, and I wanted to make something fast and easy. On the other hand, I was in the mood for something a bit out of the ordinary. And finally, I was feeling like I should eat some fish. At this point in my life, I like most kinds of fish ok, but as a child I found them all to be disgusting, nauseating specimens and I couldn't believe that they passed as food. I remember that when I was young and my parents worked a lot, they designated certain nights of the week for certain foods, for example Pizza Friday, presumably to make the job of the babysitters feeding my brother and me a bit easier. Pizza Friday (always accompanied by a red Hawaiian Punch, in my case, except for that one week in 1992 when clear Pepsi was all the rage), in all its glory, shone even more brightly each week in comparison to the dreaded Fish Thursday. Much as the name implies, Thursday nights were reserved for fish, most often some bland tasteless fillet coated in breadcrumbs and fried in oil, but my delicate palate couldn't handle even that, and nearly every week I would feign illness or even lock myself in the bathroom pretending to throw up, attempting to weasel my way out of having to consume the fetid flesh. To no avail, I might add.

These days, I'll happily eat nearly anything put in front of me, and fish is no exception. And yet it's certainly never found itself on my list of favored foods. In fact, I often simply forget about fish and have to remind myself to eat it since it's light and healthy, and a good swap for meat when I'm not feeling like going totally vegetarian. It doesn't help that fish is often one of the worst purchases you can make these days, what with rampant overfishing and all, and that it can also be pretty pricey.

I'll readily admit that, like most people, price is what I think about before I consider the provenance of the fish and whether it's endangered or not. So that very night when I entered the grocery store and found cleaned, filleted lieu noir for something like 6 euro a kilo, making the one large piece I bought about $1.75, I scooped it up. Later, I did look up the fish--called Atlantic pollock in English (at least before a 2001 marketing campaign attempted to rebrand it colin)--and according to the Monteray Bay Aquarium's Seafood Watch List, wild, net-caught pollock is a sustainable choice. So let's hope my lieu noir was, in fact, fished in that manner.

But on to its preparation. As I mentioned, I wanted something a little out of the ordinary, and decided that an Asian flavor profile was the way to go. Actually, since I cook Asian food at least twice a week, it's no longer that out of the ordinary for me personally, but those flavors--soy, sesame, cilantro, lime--never fail to taste beguiling and, yes, exotic. After choosing the pollock for its low price and neutral flavor, I picked up some baby spinach leaves and a carrot to cook with the rice I planned to serve alongside the fish cakes and headed home--all the rest of the necessary ingredients were already there.

After making sure my fish fillet was free of any lingering bones or skin, I cut it into large pieces and dropped it into the bowl of a food processor, then pulsed carefully to achieve a ground, but not puréed, texture. I transferred the fish to a mixing bowl and added salt, pepper, toasted sesame oil, fish sauce, minced shallots, a drop of rice vinegar and a small mountain of chopped fresh cilantro. I stirred this mixture with my hands until it just came together, then formed it into small cakes, rolled them in breadcrumbs, and let them firm up in the refrigerator before frying them in a hot pan. The result? Just as satisfying, and nearly as easy, as my mother's salmon cakes, and somewhat lighter and brighter. Call them fish cakes 2.0.


















Asian-Style Fish Cakes
Makes about 6 medium cakes, or 2 servings

Ingredients:

- 1 lb. neutral white fish, such as pollock, cod, scrod or tilapia, cleaned and filleted
- 1 shallot, minced
- 1/2 c. fresh cilantro, chopped
- 2 tsp. sesame oil
- 1 tsp. rice wine vinegar
- Dash of fish sauce
- Salt and pepper, to taste
- About 1/2 c. plain dry breadcrumbs
- Vegetable oil

Preparation:

1. Check fish for any remaining bones or skin and remove. Cut the fish into several large pieces and place them in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse carefully to achieve a ground, but not puréed, texture. Transfer to a mixing bowl and add the shallot, cilantro, sesame oil, rice vinegar, fish sauce, salt, and pepper. Mix gently just until everything comes together. Shape into 6 medium cakes, roll in breadcrumbs, and let rest in refrigerator for 30 minutes to an hour.
2. Heat a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat and add about 1/4 inch of oil. When oil is hot, add fish cakes and fry, turning as necessary to avoid burning, until completely cooked through, about 12 - 15 minutes. Drain briefly on paper towels and serve.

Not your ordinary meatball

Because meatballs--whether made of beef, pork, veal, the classic combination of all three, or some other type of flesh--are among my favorite foods of all time, I was somewhat shocked to realize that I've never shared a recipe for them on the blog. In fact, they're not something I prepare all too often, which is a shame. I guess the reason for this is that meatball-making is a somewhat lengthy process, but since there's nothing complicated about it, it's really something I should tackle more often.

















I recently invented a meatball recipe that, I have to say, has become my favorite way to prepare them. I've been lucky enough to have been hired to cater two events while here in France, both birthday parties, and it was for the occasion of the first one that I made this recipe up, subsequently preparing (and perfecting) it for the second one. I thought meatballs would make the perfect party food, since they're easy to spear with a toothpick, and I also wanted to make something unusual, that would stand out more than the average meatball. That's when I thought to take a cue from Greece, using a meat less commonly seen in meatballs--ground lamb--and to load it up with fresh herbs and chunks of feta. The resulting meatballs, served in a simple tomato sauce, are meaty but not heavy, their richness cut through with the brightness of the herbs and the sharpness of the feta. For the parties I served them on their own, but for a complete meal I think they'd be lovely over some rice, cracked wheat or bulgur.



















Lamb Meatballs with Fresh Herbs and Feta
Serves 8 - 10

Ingredients:

- 2 lbs. ground lamb (or substitute ground beef)
- 3 eggs, lightly beaten
- 1/2 c. breadcrumbs
- 1/2 c. finely chopped parsley plus extra for garnish
- 1/2 c. finely chopped cilantro
- 1/2 c. finely chopped mint
- 6 oz. feta cheese, cut into a small dice
- Salt
- Pepper
- 4 tbsp. + 1 tbsp. olive oil, divided
- 1 large can peeled plum tomatoes in juice

Preparation:

1. In a large mixing bowl, combine the lamb, eggs, breadcrumbs, herbs, feta, and a generous amount of salt and pepper. Mix gently to combine. Roll mixture into small- to medium-sized balls. You should end up with about 30 meatballs.
2. Heat 4 tbsp. of olive oil in a large, wide, heavy-bottomed skillet set over a medium-high flame. When oil is hot, add meatballs in batches, turning and shaking them occasionally to ensure even browning. Remove meatballs with a slotted spoon.
3. Empty canned tomatoes into a deep bowl or pot, then use your hands to crush them, leaving some chunks for texture.
3. When all meatballs are browned, wipe out pan and heat remaining 1 tbsp. oil over a medium flame. Add the tomatoes and a generous sprinkling of salt. Cook, stirring, for about 3 minutes. Add meatballs, lower flame and cover partially, allowing meatballs to simmer until completely cooked through, about 30 minutes. Serve garnished with a sprinkling of fresh parsley.