Gastronomie

Food, Life, Death & Being Iranian

^{Image courtesy of Peyman Meli}

It's self-evident why I'm writing this post today, I suppose. For two weeks, I have been watching, along with the rest of the world, the devastation in my homeland.

Some four years ago, I wrote these words:

"Nearly 70% of Iran's population is under the age of 30, and the median age is 23. That's an awful lot of young people who are champing at the bit for change."

While I am not surprised by what is happening in Tehran, I am shocked and saddened at its course.

I wouldn't have expected myself to be as gravely affected by the images, by the Tweets, by the words of the scholars and theologians who've been interviewed. I certainly did not expect to be this angry at or disappointed in President Obama, for whom I cast my first ballot ever. And to be honest, I kept it together fairly well until I finally watched the video of Neda Agha-Soltan's death. Since then, I find myself dissolving into tears frequently, and unable to process the myriad articles and blog posts and news stories. I mean that quite literally -- I read the same sentence over and over, keep rewinding the clips, and somehow the words just don't come together in any comprehensible way.

So I decided that since I can't control or comprehend or, frankly, deal with what's going on back home, I would make halva in honor of the brave, willful, hopeful Iranians who have spilled their blood in the streets while the Persian diaspora looks on.

We Iranians are a people for whom food is sacred. Like most ancient civilizations, we still eat dishes that have survived invasions, dynastic changes, and cultural revolutions. Our halva is quite different from those you are probably familiar with (which we call "halvardeh"). It's a sweet, slightly bitter, highly fragrant and somewhat dense paste, traditionally made and eaten during occasions of mourning -- wakes, memorials, even simply to honor a lost loved one. It seemed a fitting food to come from my kitchen these days.

Persian Halva

• 1 c. white granulated sugar
• 1/2 c. water
• 1/4 c. rosewater
• 3-4 threads good quality saffron
• 1 c. unsalted butter
• 1-1/2 c. white flour

1. Heat sugar and water in a saucepan, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Add the rosewater and saffron, cover and remove from heat.
2. Melt the butter gently over low heat; do not allow it to brown. Add the flour, stirring to create a "roux". Keep stirring (I use a wooden spoon) until it takes on a deep gold color and begins to smell quite nutty -- about 7-10 minutes*.
3. Slowly add the sugar syrup to the flour paste, stirring well to incorporate completely.
4. Turn the paste out onto a serving plate and press into place -- it should be about 1/3" or so thick. Press patterns into the halva using the back of a spoon or the tines of a fork. Allow to cool, and serve with hot tea.

*I like my halva with a little more color; if you prefer it sweeter and less "burnt" cook it a bit less. Just make sure to cook off the raw flour taste.

Pasta Cacio e Pepe

Last Friday, Colin and I had dinner with my girl and her boy at her second home, Delfina. Just before I left for Italy, though, she said to me, "I don't think you're going to want to LOOK at Italian food for a while after you get back -- are you SURE you want to go to Delfina?"

Little did she know that, when I get back from a vacation, ALL I want to eat is the food from the places I've just been. It's a way for me to transition slowly back into the real world, as opposed to flinging myself in headfirst -- an approach which has been known to cause blinding headaches, go figure.

Plus, because I had taken this trip without C, there was a part of me that was happiest telling him all my stories over salumi and pasta, Brunello and Sangiovese. I guess it made it feel a little more... real.

So, the second night I was back, after dragging him all over town buying good Pecorino, and olio nuovo, I cooked us a very traditional Roman dish -- Cacio e Pepe. It's outstanding with a fairly simple Chianti Classico (we actually had a Rosso Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, which picked up the pepper notes nicely).

Pasta Cacio e Pepe (Pecorino & Pepper Pasta)

• 1lb broad pasta (calamarata, farfalle, papardelle)*
• 2 T cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil
• 1 c. Pecorino Romano, freshly grated + more for garnish
• 2 T freshly ground black pepper
• 1/2 t freshly ground white pepper

1. Cook the pasta per the instructions in very well-salted water, leaving just the other side of al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup of cooking water
2. Drain the pasta, return to the pasta pot, and toss gently with the olive oil.
3. Add in the cheese and pepper, stirring to coat; add cooking water back in as needed so that the "sauce" coats the pasta.

That's it. It's an incredibly simple, incredibly satisfying dish which is totally dependent on the quality of the ingredients. So make sure that cheese is freshly grated, and if you can find fresh egg pasta, all the better. And don't even bother trying to make this with ground pepper out of a tin -- it absolutely MUST be fresh-ground.

*Some recipes I've seen suggest spaghetti or linguine for this dish, but I was served it with pappardelle, and I think the greater surface area of these pastas and "meatier" texture is more pleasant.

A view from Cortona, Italy

Over the next couple of weeks, I'll be posting photos and reminiscences of my trip to Italy. While I was definitely ready to be back home, and sleeping in my own bed, I had an incredible time -- I met some amazing people, saw things that awed me like nothing I've seen before, and ate food that I suspect I'll be able to "taste" for years.

The first set of photos I wanted to share are of Cortona, a beautiful little hillside town in Tuscany that we called "home base" for five of our days in Italy. Cortona may be most well-known as the setting for that gagalicious chick-flick "Under the Tuscan Sun", but it's so much more than that. It's the seat of Etruscan civilization in Italy, and the place St. Francis of Assisi chose to spend his final days.

It's vineyards and olive groves, umber-colored buildings set against verdant hillsides and slate gray roads -- all leading to Rome. I'll post some photos of the villa we stayed at soon, but to start, I wanted you to see the town as we saw it when we drove around with our friend Coky, a native of Cortona.

Food here is simple... and wonderful. Wild boar (cinghiale) dominates, from ragu to salumi. And beef here -- it's Chianina as it is in most parts of Tuscany -- is the most amazing beef I've ever eaten. Kobe is for pussies -- real men eat beef that's so rich it tastes like organ meat. (I'm salivating as I write this).

Most often, we paired our meals with local wines. As you might expect, they do a lovely job with Sangiovese, but we discovered that Cortona also grows a mean Syrah. Gamy and spicy and a little bit barny, these Syrahs were perfect with the traditional dishes of Cortona.

My two greatest culinary discoveries in Cortona, though, have to be Amaro di Miele, a liqueur made from wildflower/orange blossom honey, and the perfect simplicity of crostini al olio. More on each of these on Wednesday!

Tags: Food, Wine, Food & Drink, San Francisco, Italy, Tuscany, Cortona, Photos

Tabbouleh-ish

Yesterday, Stephanie and I used "the farmer's market" as an excuse to spend a leisurely day catching up. In the process, though, I did manage to pick up a few things that I'd been craving, and which made for a delicious "tabbouleh-ish" dinner tonight.

Tabbouleh-ish Salad

• 1/2 c. dry couscous (this would be equally delicious with quinoa - just prepare as per the instructions)
• 1.5 T extra virgin olive oil
• 1/2 c. less 2 T boiling water
• 1-2 T excellent red wine vinegar (I used some home-made gifted by a talented friend)
• 1 T truffle oil
• 2 T chopped flat leaf parsley
• 2 c. diced summer tomatoes (as usual, I used dry-farmed Early Girls)
• 1 handful purslane, chopped coarse
• salt & pepper to taste

1. Toss dry couscous with olive oil, coating grains thoroughly. Add the water, stir briskly, and cover. Set aside for 5 minutes.
2. Uncover couscous, fluff with a fork, adding the vinegar and truffle oil as you do.
3. Gently toss in the parsley, tomatoes and purslane. Season with salt and pepper, and refrigerate for 10-15 minutes.
4. Check for seasoning, adjust as necessary, and serve.

Eat while watching the following Burning Man video, and consider the epic greatness of a place where really fearless people can blow up a 90-foot oil derrick with 900 gallons of NASA-dumped jet fuel.

Tags: Food, Food & Drink, San Francisco, Black Rock City, Recipe, Video, Burning Man

The Who: Eric Gower. The Where: Purcell-Murray

I'm mighty impressed with Brett for having guessed the chef in this post. However, no one guessed that we were watching Mr. Gower do his thing in the epic demonstration kitchen at Purcell Murray's Lifestyle Showroom.

Purcell-Murray is a fascinating business. They are the wholesale distributor for several extremely high-end kitchen appliance brands (think La Cornue, Gaggenau, Thermador... you get the idea). Instead of leaving all the brand marketing to the retailers they furnish, they have taken product education to the next level by offering classes and demos to the public in their showrooms. 

In other words, before you drop a mint on your fabulous new kitchen, you can try out the brands and appliances you're interested in. Brilliant people, I tell you.

So, when we were recently invited to attend a cooking demo and dinner with Eric Gower, author of The Breakaway Cook, we jumped at the opportunity.

I'll let you explore that website to learn about Gower's philosophy and all that -- there's nothing I could write here that hasn't been written better there. However, what I CAN tell you is that he is definitely on to something here.

So often, throwing together a meal on short notice or after a long workday (hah!) results in a "good-enough" meal, but one without much punch. Gower's idea that a handful of un-basics, kept on hand in the pantry or fridge, can turn simple dishes into extraordinarily flavorful dishes is one worth exploring.

Witness: Replace 1/3 of the water in a basic basmati or jasmine rice preparation with carrot juice, and add a bay leaf or two. The result is a fragrant, exotic rice which bears little resemblance to its bland predecessor.

Another one: He served us some scallops crusted with -- get this -- ground lentils. Again, taking something simple but giving it a kick with something you probably already have in your cupboards.

Gower refers often to what he calls "flavor blasts". It sounds a little cheesy on paper, but it sort of works once you taste some of his dishes. He's kind enough to put some of them on his website, here, but I have to tell you -- his is a cookbook worth picking up.

You'll find perhaps handful or two of recipes with more than 10 ingredients. The majority are simple but flavor-packed, and truly easy to put together on short notice, so long as you keep his few ingredients on hand.

Tags: Food, Food & Drink, San Francisco, Purcell-Murray, Eric Gower, The Breakaway Cook, Cooking

Sweet & Sparkly

I don't know about you, but making grand plans for New Year's Eve always seems to leave me a bit, well, limp. I hate spending a ton of money for mediocre meals and service from surly waiters who are pissed to be working that night. I hate trying to find cabs, and waiting in line trying to get a drink at whatever party I spent a mint to get in to, and most of all hate the melodrama that invariably plays out three feet away from me.

So for the past three years, I've been holding a late-starting party with lots of sweet treats, bubbly and cocktails. It's great because people can have dinner at their favorite restaurant and still make it over in time to "Auld Lang Syne" with friends and really, what more could you ask for?

Since I've been such a ('scuse my language) slack-ass when it comes to recipes lately, I thought I'd share one for a Coffee-Caramel Trifle that has made it into the annual rotation. However, despite the pleas I'm sure to get in that there comments section, I will NOT share the recipe for my Fleur de Sel brownies (aka "crack brownies", as Alder called them). Some things are just not meant for sharing

Chicken Under A Brick

I've long been intrigued by the idea of cooking chicken "under a brick". I was never inspired to try my hand at it, however, until I realized last night that it was 6:30pm, we were both starving, and roasting that Rocky Jr. in the fridge wouldn't get us to the table until at least 8pm.

Necessity being the mother of invention and all that, I proceeded to rummage around the kitchen and deck looking for a weight heavy enough to pull this off. The two pieces from my Le Creuset Multi-Pot, nestled inside my 4.5 quart Dutch oven, worked nicely.

As I was pulling the chicken out of the oven (40 minutes, people, 40 minutes!), the doorbell rang, and my awesome, wonderful neighbor J was standing there with a bowl full of tomatoes and peaches she'd picked earlier in Brentwood. As the bird rested, I threw together what turned out to be an incredibly delicious salad -- wedges of peach and heirloom tomato, chopped basil, good sea salt and freshly-cracked black pepper, drizzled lightly with olive oil.

Summer never tasted so good.

Chicken Under a Brick

• 1 3lb bird, the fresher the better, and free-range is best
• 4T + 2T olive oil
• 1 medium onion, slivered
• 1 clove garlic, minced fine
• 1t sweet paprika
• Several sprigs fresh rosemary, half of them de-stemmed & chopped fine
• Several springs fresh thyme, half of them de-stemmed & chopped fine
• Salt & pepper to taste

1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees*.
2. Butterfly the bird by removing the backbone, and pressing flat. Cut off the first two joints of the wings, and the last joint of both drumsticks to prevent burning.
3. In a large, flat pan, heat the first 4 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat and add the onion. Allow to cook a few minutes as you season the chicken.
4. Make a paste of the remaining olive oil, garlic, paprika, chopped rosemary, chopped thyme, and salt & pepper.
5. Rub all over the bird, on both sides, coating well.
6. Tuck the remaining sprigs of rosemary and thyme under the skin, being careful not to tear it.
7. Turn the stove up to medium-high, and when good and hot, set the chicken, breast-down, in the pan. Set a heavy weight atop the chicken to press it flat.
8. Cook for 10-12 minutes -- you'll know when it's ready because the smell from the kitchen will cause your husband to begin drooling.
9. Move the pan (with weights) to the lower rack of the oven, and allow to cook for another 15 or so minutes.
10. Carefully remove the weights from the chicken, and gently turn it over.
11. Continue cooking for an additional 10-15 minutes, or until a thermometer inserted in the thigh registers 160 degrees. Alternately, look for the juices to run completely clear. The skin at this point should be a gorgeous golden-brown, and exceedingly crispy.
12. Remove chicken from the oven, tent with foil for 5 minutes, and cut into quarters (this will be very easy to do).
13. Serve with salad or roasted potatoes, as you choose.

Tags: Recipes, Chicken, Summer, Food, Food & Drink, Salad, Oakland, San Francisco

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Summer, How Do I Love Thee?

This evening my wonderful neighbor, JA, brought us a basket of the season's last Blenheim apricots, along with some simply delicious Flavorcrest peaches and half a dozen beautiful heirloom tomatoes.

When C got home, I wanted to make something flavorful and brimming with the bounty of this beautiful summer.  This Farmer's Market Penne was just the thing, and could be easily modified with your favorite summer squashes. This dish was on the table in under 30 minutes.

Help Me With My Rancho Gordo Purchase!

Some cooks like to braise and stew and confit. Others have little patience for things that require advance planning and long cooktimes. Me? Squarely in the latter camp.

Which means, of course, that working with dried beans is definitely outside my repertoire. So far, my only experience with the soak-and-soak-then-cook-forever dried bean has been with Persian Aash-e-Resht-e, made from bulk bin beans.

So, after lots of nervous consideration and totally ignorant questions, I have finally made my first purchase from the King of Heirloom Beans, Steve Sando.

The pretty white beans on the right are Cellini Runner Beans which I can't wait to cook up and have on hand for my lunchtime salads - Steve said these are very rich and hold together better for salads than regular Runner beans.

On the left are Red Nightfall Beans which I'm not sure what to do with. From the RG website, "They hold their shape but almost melt in your mouth when you bite into them."

So tell me, what do YOU with your dried beans? Oh, and how long can I keep simply-cooked beans in the fridge?h

 

Technorati Tags: Food | Food & Drink | Recipes | San Francisco | Oakland

Taylor & Toponia, How Do We Love Thee?

I've written about Fatted Calf a couple of times before. But for some reason, I've never actually sung the praises of the pirate's booty we bring home from their stand at the Farmer's Market once a month.

Unlike so many more forward-thinking folks, I never place my order prior to market day, primarily because I am kinda wishy-washy, and not very good at planning meals that far in advance. Plus, I like walking up and taking my pick of what sounds best to me at that moment.

And so it was that a couple of weeks ago, I found myself giddily asking Taylor to pack up a pair of Lamb Crepinettes with Cumin, Persian Mint & Orange for me. I had visions of using the fat from the crepinette to make a warm vinaigrette for a pungent greens salad...

Of course, after getting home, I realized I'd failed to PURCHASE any pungent greens, and all I had in the fridge was a sad, slightly wilted bunch of baby arugula. So I set about frying up these bad boys (using Biggles' suggestion to use a dutch oven to minimize oil spatter), and rooting around the crisper to find something suitable to accompany such delectable charcuterie.