Slow Cooked

My Last Supper, the Book

One of my favorite Christmas gifts this year was a copy of My Last Supper, a book featuring 50 top chefs and their preferred final meals.   My whole family enjoyed flipping through it, and what I loved most was comparing who would pick comfort and who would pick luxury.  It was fascinating to read the menus, and also to compare which chefs absolutely wanted to cook their own final meal and those who absolutely wanted someone else to prepare it.  There are recipes and fun photos and interesting glimpses of personality, and I highly recommend the book to anyone who shares a curiosity about food, restaurants and chefs. 

As for me, I think my final meal would begin with raw oysters and Champagne, then sashimi or crudo and a crisp white wine, followed by a pasta course with a fresh tomato sauce, then a thin, crisp pizza with fennel - like the one at Otto - and for dessert, either my mother's lemon cheesecake or plain vanilla ice cream with hot fudge sauce.  Or a box of chocolates.  Or a really tart lemon dessert.  Or bread pudding.  Oh, and I think I want a nice Barolo with the pasta and pizza.  And then more Champagne with dessert.  Although I might prefer a multi-course Basque feast, now that I think about it.  Or Mexican food and margaritas.  Sushi and pizza.  Maybe a meal of all pastries?  The more you think about it, the harder the question is to answer!  But, it also never gets old...yum.  What would your last meal be?

From the Archives: Pecan Crusted Beef Tenderloin

I'm not cooking Christmas dinner this year, but that doesn't stop me from fondly remembering one of my favorite holiday meals in recent years: a pecan crusted beef tenderloin served with a jalapeño-cranberry chutney, a caramelized onion and brie tart, and roasted cauliflower and brussel sprouts.  And yes, all for just two people.

My friend Sara had first served the tenderloin dish at a dinner party, and I was hooked, so Christmas (of 2005?  Wow, time is really starting to fly...) was the perfect opportunity to try my own version.  Or rather, my version of a recipe I found on-line, which came courtesy of the BEEF! It's What's For Dinner website.

I firmly believe that the secret to most meat dishes is starting with a good cut of meat, and then doing as little possible to interfere with the natural flavors.  The tenderloin I roasted came from Staubitz, my local butcher, and cost around $50.  I don't buy tenderloin often and remember feeling a bit of sticker shock, but when all was said and done, the beef was fantastic.  Scary good, like, "I can't believe I made this, it's so effing good" good.

Another thing I like about roasting meat is that you don't really DO very much; you brown or you season, but that's about it.  Mostly you stick the thing in the oven and let it do all the work, then happily remove the finished product, and carve with a flourish.  This was one of those kinds of dishes, and I highly recommend it to all you carnivores out there.  We paired the tenderloin with a delicious bottle of Spanish red wine that was a gift from my parents - 2002 Finca Sandoval.  Yum.  I might need to revisit this dish again soon; it serves at least eight people, I'd guess, so I'm thinking it's time for another dinner party...

Pecan Crusted Beef Tenderloin with Jalapeño-Cranberry Chutney

2-3 lbs. beef tenderloin roast, trimmed 3 Tbsp. coarse-grain Dijon mustard 1 Tbsp. maple syrup 1 clove garlic, minced 1 shallot, chopped 1 tsp. dried rosemary 1 tsp. dried thyme 1 cup pecans, finely chopped 1 cup fresh cranberries -- Juice of half an orange 1/3 cup sugar 1 jar (7 ounces) roasted red peppers, drained and diced 1 small fresh jalapeño, seeded and diced 3 Tbsp. chopped cilantro -- Zest of half a lime -- Zest of half an orange

Preheat oven to 425ºF. Mix mustard, maple syrup, garlic, shallot, rosemary and thyme. Spread evenly over entire surface of tenderloin. Roll beef in the pecans, pressing firmly to cover tenderloin with nuts. Roast 45-60 minutes on a rack in a shallow roasting pan. Remove when meat thermometer inserted in center reads 140ºF for medium-rare, 150ºF for medium. Allow roast to stand for 15 minutes before slicing. While roast is cooking, blend cranberries, juice and sugar in food processor for 30-45 seconds. Transfer to a saute pan and add roasted red peppers, jalapeno, cilantro, lime zest and orange zest. Stir to mix. Allow sauce to stand for at least 30 minutes for flavors to blend. Warm sauce over low heat before serving. Do not boil. Add salt to taste. Carve tenderloin into 1/2-inch thick slices and serve with cranberry-jalapeno sauce.

Prune

Prune is so cute that it seems almost dangerous; it's easy to think that surely the pink t-shirts and mismatched flatware, the tiny tables and cheerful staff are all part of a downtown neighborhood bistro gimmick.  But the constant crowds at Prune all seem to indicate that the food can stand up for itself (especially at brunch, as Prune is known for the wait as much as the fare), so I was anxious to finally eat there.

I ate with a party of nine people, and negotiating a party that size in a space that small can sometimes be tricky, but Prune welcomed us eagerly.  Prune's menu has a sort of an eclectic home-cooking slant to traditional bistro dishes, with some Mediterranean flair as well.  The table started off with several appetizers to share, and the bone marrow and sweetbreads both won raves.  I split an order of three generous bones - roasted and full of rich marrow, served with toasted bread, sea salt and fresh parsley - and was digging with my friends, flipping the bones over and over, scooping out every bit of the yummy goo.  The table also split several of the vegetable sides, and we were in agreement that the roasted yams in brown butter were the favorite, although I personally was a bigger fan of the creamed chestnuts, served with a generous dollop of ricotta. 

I had P.E.I. mussels in a spicy almond-chili broth as my entree; the mussels were plump and sweet and the broth rich and vibrant.  Several of my friends ate the slow-cooked pork shoulder with salsa verde which was tender and tasty, and the whole fish of the day - a grilled branzino stuffed with greens and lemon, and dressed with fennel and herbs - won raves as well. 

The dessert menu is somewhat limited, and we again split a few items among the table; I was most intrigued by the "sugared hay" dish, which turned out to be sweet shredded phyllo dough (imagine shredded  wheat, but with phyllo, sort of) topped with Greek yogurt and squares of candied pumpkin.  I'm not a fan of too-sweet desserts, and this dish could have been a breakfast as much as a post-meal treat, and won points for being something utterly new to me. 

One impressive note: Prune boasts an extensive cocktail menu, surprising for such a small restaurant, but there were a good number of wines by the glass available, many beers, and well over a dozen cocktails - both classic and signature.  I had a glass of Cava and then two glasses of a crisp, refreshing Chardonnay from a new-ish Sonoma winery - Lioco - that I almost never find on a wine list and was more than happy to encounter at Prune.

Dinner and drinks came out to just under $90 per person, including cocktails, appetizers, sides, entrees and tip/tax.   The menu is priced moderately high for the casual neighborhood spot it is, but the foodie crowd that's found a fit on East 1st Street doesn't seem to mind (The Tasting Room is just a few doors east of Prune).  Prune (212.677.6221) is located at 54 East 1st Street and accepts all major credit cards, but doesn't allow cell phones.

Pistachio Cranberry Cookies

I have been eating cookies for most of my meals these past few days, courtesy of a cookie exchange at Book Club.  And the members of my book club don't mess around; there were scotch balls, homemade Almond Joy, caramel nut bars, giant blobs of chocolate full of peanut butter, chocolate covered crystallized ginger, etc etc etc.  My cookies were the most boring by far but they were high on my list of favorites for a few reasons.  One, they have green and red flecks in them, so are seasonal and festive.  Two, they are not overly sweet, meaning I can eat many more of them than the caramel nut bars.  And three, they were super easy to make.

I was inspired by Luisa but stuck to this recipe pretty much to the letter, adjusting only the amount of pistachio and cranberries (I upped both by a small handful) and I threw in some dried strawberries too.  The cookies were good.  I ate about 17 on my own, and they get enough of a salty kick from the pistachios to offer a nice salty/sweet thing, which can almost serve as a palate-cleanser when you are midway through a dozen ooey gooey cookies and candies, I have to say.

Pistachio Cranberry Cookies
LA Times, Feb 2004

Servings: About 3 dozen cookies

• 1 3/4cups flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 3/4teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2teaspoon kosher salt
• 3/4cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
• 1 1/4cups packed light brown sugar
• 1 large egg
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 cup shelled salted pistachios, coarsely chopped
• 1/2cup sun-dried cranberries (or dried cherries or diced dried apricots)

1. Stir together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt and set aside.
2. Cream the butter and brown sugar together with a wooden spoon until smooth. Blend in the egg and vanilla. Gradually blend in the dry ingredients until well mixed. Stir in the nuts and cranberries.
3. Drop the dough by tablespoons onto ungreased baking sheets, leaving about 2 inches between each. Bake the cookies in a 375-degree oven until light golden brown (centers should be soft), about 10 minutes. Remove from oven and let stand 2 minutes, then transfer to a rack to cool completely.

Paris, in Brief

The single greatest thing I ate in Paris was a pistachio macaroon from a teeny boulangerie around the corner from my hotel that the internet tells me is called Boulangerie Malineau, and may I just say that I adore the internet, because I Googled "rue st paul paris boulangerie" and PRESTO, I found my lovely little bakery, which happened to be next to this precious English-language bookstore called - adorably, because everything on Rue St Paul is adorable - The Red Wheelbarrow.  I love many parts of Paris but have such fondness for the 4e and for its teeny little streets with little shops and cafes.  J'adore.

On my first night in Paris, I walked and walked and walked and walked and then walked some more, and wound up somewhat lost, not very near my hotel at all.  I got on the Metro and found my way back to the St Paul station and - hungry and jetlagged - walked into L'enoteca, which happened to be just down the block from my hotel.  As you all probably know by now, rustic little spots with casual fare and lots of nibbly things and good wine are my favorite type of restaurant, and I more or less stumbled into this one.  It was nearing midnight, so the waiter who greeted me told me that unfortunately the kitchen was closed, but "we do have leftover one thing we can serve you, the lasagna..." and I eagerly accepted and found myself quickly tucked into a corner table with a hearty red blend from Puglia and a browned and bubbling gratin dish of lasagna - lasagna which turned out to be layers and layers of veal, cream sauce and mushrooms, topped with more shaved black truffle than I've ever seen on one dish.  This was the second greatest thing I ate in Paris.

The third greatest thing I ate in Paris is really an assortment of things, and it's somewhat embarrassing to admit just how much chocolate I was able to eat, but I ate an entire 1/4 lb box of truly delicious chocolate from the lovely Maiffret chocolate shop.  My favorite bites were the caramels and the pistachio chocolates, although there was a dark, rich espresso one that was divine.  Oh, and the nougat - I looooove nougat.  And I should also mention that I had one of their pistachio-cerise financiers.  Because I was on vacation and I was in Paris, and really, why not?

Appreciating Otto

I'm leaving for a quick trip to Paris tomorrow evening, but before heading to France I thought I'd mention a brief but noteworthy visit to Italy, or rather, to a corner of the Batali empire, here in New York.

I love Otto.  I love love love it.  One of my best afternoons this past summer involved leaving work early on a Friday and sitting at the bar with a book, a pizza, and several glasses of wine, chatting with the bartender and fellow office-sprung lunchers.  Otto can be noisy and crowded, but I'm rarely interested in waiting for a table; my heart belongs to the bar, always.

Eating at a restaurant's bar gives me much more freedom to scan and pick and order something, then a little something else, then maybe a bite of this, followed by some more of that.  Plus, I always love the birds-eye view of the action behind the bar - I am nothing if not nosy.  Which is how I ended up squeezing into the bar at Otto on Saturday night, and having a few glasses of wine - first, the Dolcetto D'Alba followed by the Barbera D'Asti - and some cheese and pasta.

Now, I don't think I've ever eaten at Otto and not ordered pizza, but after a plate of three cheeses (which, if I remember right included a New York State triple cream goat cheese, a Parmigiano Reggiano and a Pecorino Di Fossa, all served with a trio of sweet condiments: red-pepper flaked honey, an apricot compote, and something divine with sour cherries) we found ourselves looking longingly at the diner next to us.  First a plate of salumi tempted us, then a serving of pasta, and fearing that asking the gentleman for a bite of his dinner would be considered rude, we ordered the pasta for ourselves.  It was the bucatini, thicker than spaghetti noodles with a hole in the center, with tomato, red onion and chilies.  I love - love - anything with chilies in it, and though we couldn't finish the dish, I have to say that it gave the pizza a run for its (or would that be my?) money.

Of course, the perfect solution is just to show up hungry and try a little of everything, no?

Thanksgiving, on East 4th Street

November is a funny time to stop writing about food, I suppose; after all it's the perfect time for both eating and entertaining, both of which I've been doing plenty.  But, there's also that inevitable whoooosh of the days flying past as December - and then Christmas - and then New Year's - approaches, and well...time has gotten away from me.

But I've been doing plenty of eating, don't worry!  This year for Thanksgiving Kevin and I found ourselves with no travel plans and no urban orphans to adopt at our table, so we tried something new: we went out for Thanksgiving dinner.  It was a completely strange sensation to make zero runs to the store for last minute items, to have no worries about timing the bird with the side dishes, to not have to set a table.  It was nice.  I'm not going to lie, I'm a big fan of the Process, so not having a kitchen teeming with foodstuffs felt weird, but on the other hand, we had a great meal.

We ate at Knife and Fork, which offered a $65 four-course tasting menu starting with a goat cheese salad, then poached lobster in a tangerine-pumpkin soup, turkey and ham with chestnut cream and brussel sprouts, and then a ridiculously rich chocolate fondant dessert which consisted of, basically, chocolate and butter.  The end.  I splurged on a gorgeous bottle of Stags Leap "Artemis" Cabernet ($117) which was staggeringly good, and then took a cab home to a kitchen with nary a dish to be cleaned.  And lo, I was thankful.

Mustard-Crusted Pork Tenderloin with Carrots and Lentils

Although I am far from a finicky eater, there are some foods I just don't like, and cooked carrots have always fallen into that category.  Which might make this dish an odd choice for dinner, but it looked easy, hearty, comfy and inexpensive - all things I like on a Monday night.  And it turns out that my OOSP dictum holds true; if you roast anything in olive oil, salt and pepper, it will be good.  Even carrots.

This was really good.  It wasn't fancy or special or impressive, but it was French-y and good and I like anything with a mustard zing to it.  I followed the recipe pretty closely, altering only the lentils, as I couldn't find cans of lentils and had to go with dried - to which I added additional mustard and white wine while they were simmering.  It was good.  I ate all my carrots.  Not bad for a Monday night!

Mustard Crusted Pork with Carrots and Lentils
Gourmet, Oct 2007
Serves four

•   1  pound precut fresh carrot sticks, cut into slivers
•   5 1/2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
•   1  (1 1/4-pound) pork tenderloin
•   2  tablespoons Dijon mustard, divided (I used way more, but am a mustard freak)
•   1/4  cup fine dry bread crumbs
•   2 garlic cloves, smashed
•   2  fresh thyme sprigs
•   2  (15-ounce) cans lentils, rinsed and drained (I used a few cups of dried French lentils)
•   2/3  cup reduced-sodium chicken broth (I used veggie broth because the grocery store was inexplicably out of chicken broth and higher volume of it because of the dried lentils, plus white wine)

Preheat oven to 425°F with rack in middle.

Toss carrots with 2 tablespoons oil and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper in a shallow baking pan and roast while preparing pork.

Pat pork dry and sprinkle with 1/2 teaspoon salt. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium-high heat until it shimmers, then brown pork all over, about 3 minutes total.

Put pork on a work surface and brush with 1 tablespoon mustard. Stir together bread crumbs and 1/2 tablespoon oil, then press onto mustard on pork to form a crust.

Transfer pork to pan with carrots and roast until carrots are browned and tender and an instant-read thermometer inserted into center of meat registers 140 to 145°F, 15 to 22 minutes. Let pork stand 5 minutes; keep carrots warm, covered (or continue roasting if needed).

While pork roasts, heat remaining 2 tablespoons oil with garlic and thyme in a small saucepan until fragrant, about 1 minute. Stir in lentils, broth, and remaining tablespoon mustard and cook until heated through. Season with salt and pepper and discard thyme. Serve pork with carrots and lentils.

Knife & Fork

Tasting menus are always a gamble; diners are often asked to shell out money in the hopes that they get enough of the dishes they like and not too much of those they don't, on top of which is the suspicion that the dishes are showcasing what's plentiful in the kitchen, but not necessarily special.  On the other hand, a tasting menu is a good way to get a sense of a restaurant's story, and to understand the chef and the menu in a larger context.  Then again, tasting menus can be over priced and poorly paced…you see why I think of them as a gamble.

The tasting menu at Knife & Fork seemed like a sure thing, however: $45 for six courses at a restaurant where nearly everything on the menu appealed to me.  And surely for a very reasonable $45, the six courses would all be small, after all, most tasting menus cost more and feature five dishes at most.

Well, we were wrong about the size of the dishes, but the cost of the meal seemed even more reasonable once we started eating.  And eating.  And eating.  None of the courses was a miss, but by the fifth course, we were ready to cry Uncle.

First, a little about the restaurant: small, exposed brick, narrow bar, heavy rustic tables featuring a surprisingly fish-heavy menu and a wine list that includes both sake and an entire page of beers – in fact, the room itself has a casual, pub-like vibe that almost undercuts the serious food being served there.  Chef/owner Damien Brassel opened Knife & Fork in 2006 and designed his menu with an emphasis on sustainability and seasonality.  Starters are almost all $14 or $15, and entrees are priced at $27 or $28; there are many slow cooked and smoked dishes, with occasional Asian flourishes, like lemongrass and ginger in a butternut squash puree.

Our tasting menu started with an appetizer of fromage blanc over a disk of  butternut squash, topped with a sun-dried tomato tapenade and elderberry flower, which was notable for the unusual blending of both flavors and textures – it was refreshing and rich at the same time.  Next was one of my favorite dishes, a delicate piece of cured salmon topped with salmon roe, alongside wasabi crème fraiche and a sake-poached pear.  The third course, which was still considered an appetizer, was an enormous slab of pork belly served over creamed savoy cabbage with butternut squash-lemongrass-ginger puree, and it was so good, so rich, so over the top that I couldn't finish it, although the caramelized crust on the pork belly was basically meat candy.

At this point, we started to get really full and were speculating that maybe the additional courses included a palate-cleanser.  Not so.

The fourth dish was a grouper entrée, served with sautéed Russian fingerling potatoes and chanterelle mushrooms.  The fish itself didn't do much for me, but the potatoes and mushrooms were fragrant and delicious.  As the servers cleared our plates, we mentioned how full we were starting to feel.  Oh don't worry, you only have two courses left, they said, Just the meat and the dessert.  A meat course, we repeated.
The meat course was braised short ribs served over vanilla-infused potato puree.  I know that short ribs have become ubiquitous to the point of overkill on menus these days, but I still love them.  If left to order straight from the menu, I would happily have the cured salmon starter and the braised short rib entrée.  Happily. 

Dessert was a ginger crème brulee, and the only thing wrong with it was that we were too full to totally enjoy it.  And then, the chef sent out a dense chocolate cake topped with pistachio ice cream, just because.  We forced a few bites down and then more or less rolled ourselves to 2nd Avenue in search of a cab.

We had a bottle of Barbera D'Asti with out meal, moderately priced at $38, and the $45 per person tasting menu seemed beyond reasonable, considering the amount of (really, really good) food we were served.  When I return to Knife & Fork (and I plan on returning) I will stick to the menu, but this tiny rustic spot is definitely worth your time.

Knife & Fork (212 228 4885) is located at 108 E. 4th Street and accepts all major credit cards. 

Home unCooking: Tuna and White Bean Salad with Chili-Mint Vinaigrette

After a series of misses in the kitchen (bland arroz con pollo, gummy buckwheat soba noodle salad, disappointing pad thai) I am so happy to finally have landed on a meal that actually made me want seconds, and I don't even feel like I'm bragging when I tell you how good this was, for two key reasons.  One, it wasn't cooking so much as "chopping and assembling" and two, I was really just copying a dish I had at Po, in an attempt to replicate their cured tuna appetizer.

It's been a while since I had Po's version, but my attempt hit on all the notes I remember from Po: it was fresh, tangy, crunchy and meaty, and most of all, it was uncomplicated.  I served my cured tuna salad with toasted bread, courtesy of the nice folks at Zaro's Bakery -- I attended a tasting at the foodie-mall-fantasy market at Grand Central Terminal on Tuesday night, and while chatting with other food bloggers suddenly found a giant sack of bread being thrust into my hands.  I never turn down a carb, and the 8-Grain Bread toasted up nicely, two days later.  This was a good dinner and as I am - despite any indications I've given otherwise - a lazy and impatient cook, the fact that the only time I ventured near the stove was to toast my pine nuts, and then the bread, it was a perfect weeknight meal.

Tuna and White Bean Salad, with Chili-Mint Vinaigrette

• 1 can butter or cannellini beans (14 oz)
• 1 large can Italian tuna, in oil (200 g - sorry, am bad at conversions)
• 1 small head frisee lettuce
• 1 small-medium red onion, thinly sliced
• 1 handful pine nuts, toasted
• juice of one lemon

(for the vinaigrette)

• 1 bunch mint, minced (about 1/4 cup when chopped)
• 1 shallot, finely minced
• 2-3 glugs chili oil
• 2-3 glugs olive oil
• apprx 1 tablespoon sherry vinegar
• 1/4 tsp chili powder
• salt, pepper to taste

Coarsely chop half the head of frisee.  Add tuna, white beans, sliced onions, toasted pine nuts (toast in skillet about 4 minutes, until brown and fragrant) and toss with juice of one lemon.  Prepare the dressing: mince the mint leaves and shallot, add chili oil, olive oil,vinegar, chili powder and salt and pepper to taste.  Whisk, and then add to the tuna and white bean salad.  Toss gently and serve over toasted rustic bread.