Chicken Stock

At some point in my life I became moderately obsessed with stocks. No not like "Hi I'm Bernard Madoff and I love spooning with my cellmate because I sold bad" stocks. I'm talking chicken, beef, and veal stocks. Like the bowl cut I had in kindegarten (see Exhibit A), I am not entirely sure why this came to be, but it has. I am fairly certain that Nina Planck's Real Food had something to do with it. I am also relatively certain that it had something to do with my rather unattractive Type-A-I-Must-Control-Everything personality that my 11th therapist told me was irrational. I am positively sure, that it also had something to do with money, because my first 8 years in New York City were spent being broke, tired and hungry. In that order.

Exhibit A: Yeah... you want the knee socks don't you?

Now stocks and stockmaking techniques are essential for so many delicious things. All sauces. Soups. Stews. Remouillage. Broths. Fumes. And unlike my paycheck... a little goes a long way. Now if you are a stock virgin (which we all are at some point), there are a few principals that all good stocks obey. In no particular order, they are:

1. Impurities are bad. Bone stocks are delicious but there are a lot of impurities in bones. Blood. Cartilage. Fat. All of these things will leave a good stock looking (and tasting) like the East River (google it if you do not know what the glorious East River looks like). The "impurities" by the way, end up looking like a gross gray brown foam on the stop of your stock. And getting rid of these impurities is essential. There are a variety of ways to do this. Like most, Thomas Keller espouses skimming and a very slow simmer. But skimming every 5 minutes is only fun for approximately the first 5 minutes... after that it is the equivalent of watching wet furniture dry, Thoreau style. Tom Colicchio swears by a 2 minute impurity removing pre-boil. I was fairly resistant to this at first. All those yummy flavors literally down the drain. But this method (which is my current favorite) does not lose a lot of flavor though it does get rid of a lot of impurities. And then you can skim a little less frequently.

2. Low and Slow. I had a Home-Ec teacher in junior high school named Miss Bacon. Really I did. And whenever we cooked with milk, she would chant, "Low and Slow". Like the lyrics to "Islands in the Stream", those words play back in my head at rather inopportune moments (e.g. during college soccer games). But for stock-making, low and slow is key. Rapid boiling will recirculate impurities back into the stock. Always start with cold water. Warm slowly. And keep at a low simmer. Thomas Keller recommends one bubble per second.

3. Bones first. You can't skim once your veggies go in (because a lot of them are floaters). So simmer your bones first and once you are impurity free (and after about 2 hours... or whichever is longer) add your veggies.

4. Strain. Yeah, you think your skimming got all of the impurities out? You're WRONG like that MTV show "Jersey Shore". And that is where this final step is sort of important. When your stock is done it must be strained. Now Thomas Keller has all this fancy stuff, but a piece of doubled over cheese cloth in a sieve has worked perfectly fine for me. He recommends ladeling the stock into the sieve because pouring can force some of the chunks right on through. Ladel. Pour. Ultimately it is your decision, but I've already drank the Ladel Punch and that is where I stay.

4. Chicken Feet. Cow Feet. With those 4 words, I probably lost both of my readers as fast as I turn off a Cagney and Lacey re-run. And there is something weird about looking at unpedicured chicken toe nails (nee claws), that seems about as appealing as being one of Tiger Woods's girlfriends. But take my word, they do add a lot of flavor, they find a nice use for what is often considered waste, and nutritionally there is a lot of protein is those little feet.

5. Fat. I have no problem with chicken fat, but a fatty stock makes for a greasy soup/stew/sauce or whatever it is that you are making. So after my stock is done, I bring my stock to room temperature and stick it in the refrigerator overnight. Thomas Keller does this ice "shock" thing, but I don't have an ice maker and my little 12 cube tray doesn't fit the bill. The good thing about animal fat in cooking is that it solidifies and is easy to remove. The bad thing about animal fat in your body is that it solidifies and is NOT easy to remove. And not for nothing... (my English teacher just rolled over in her grave with that last piece of fine writing) there is a reason that the day after every Thanksgiving is like winning the lottery for most plumbers. Don't throw this stuff down your sink. Really. Unless you think your plumber is hot. If that's the case, throw it all down there... and find yourself a good therapist.

6. Garbage in... There is a difference between being resourceful and using disgusting. Stocks make good use of things that you might otherwise throw away (bones, etc.). Stocks are NOT, however, good hiding places for rotten vegetables. Garbage in = Garbage out.

7. The Great Celery Debate. Typical stocks use leeks, onions, and carrots. But celery... It depends which camp you join. Thomas Keller and the saucier's at Le Ferrandi do not add celery. They think it is too strong for a good stock or demi-glace. Tom Colicchio will use celery. Alice Waters uses it in her broths. Who is right? Well, I've never done a randomized, double blinded placebo controlled trial to be honest, but no celery means one less thing I have to buy (or one more thing for me to munch on while I skim). And thus, for no particular reason, I've joined the celery-free camp.

8. Brown stocks. You can make brown stocks brown by doing two things. First, you have to roast the bones. Second you add tomato paste. Lest you get romantic ideas of deep brown stocks arising from lovely roasted bones, the brown coloring of these stocks comes from the addition of tomato paste. (Sorry to disappoint you.) Tomato haters: don't worry. the tomato paste is not for flavor. And roaster beware: if you burn your bones you might as well just stop there. Burned bones make a ridiculously bitter stock. Don't bother. I found this out the hard way and expensive way while making demi-glace.

9. Herbs. To add bouquet garnis, or not add bouquet garnis. That is the question. Well sort of. It really depends what you are using your stock for. I tend to add it. Plus it is a great way to use the stalks (as opposed to the leaves) of your parsley. So I throw in some parsley stocks and a few sprigs of thyme.

10. A 10th rule would have been nice. Lots of good things come in 10's. But my rules for stocks do not. Sorry.

Stuffing and other such matters

Stuffing is a bit like underwear. When you are little, you take what your mother gives you. It may inform your later choices. It may cause a deep-seated aversion later in life. But as a youngster, you are a captive audience to your parents' stuffing whims.

Stuffing is also a bit like meatloaf. You can put anything in it, for better or for worse. When I was a child, my then unmarried uncle had us over for dinner. Meatloaf was the cuisine du jour, and it came as quite a surprise to all that it was actually very good. My dad, being my uncle's brother, commended him, "This is pretty good, Jerry. What did you put in it?"

"Everything left in my refrigerator, " he replied, smiling proudly.
"Sour cream, carrots, raisins, mayonnaise, bread, beer...."

I watched my little sister hold back a gag. She was the child who did not like the food on her plate touching and insisted until the age of 14 that all foods went to separate sections in her stomach. Conveniently the dessert section of her stomach, much like a David Hasselhoff concert, always seemed to be empty.

I'm not sure what bothered me more. The fact that I liked the meatloaf, or the fact that you could hide any food in that meatloaf. I became convinced that meatloaf was some sort of culinary conspiracy, capable of hiding anything within its meaty center. But either way, it took another 25 years for me to eat meatloaf again.

Now, I was raised on sausage stuffing. My Italian grandmother made stuffing that was 100% meat: sausage to be specific. My mother added her own mom-tastic blend of bread, Stove-Top, mushrooms, veggies and spices. Over the years I've been working on my own stuffing, and it does, of course, contain sausage. To me stuffing without sausage is like a pool without water. You could... but really, what's the fun in that?

There have, of course been many mis-stuffs along the way. The year of white wine in the stuffing was not a good one. And the year of brioche also tasted pretty terrible. There was another year where I decided "rustic" was the order of the day, but the super large cubes didn't say "rustic"; they screamed "inside out sandwich".

And so it is with no small degree of pride that I present:

The Trial and Error Contessa's Thanksgiving Sausage Stuffing

(because, as always, being barefoot is overrated)

This recipe makes a 14x10 glass pan of stuffing as well as a small 9 x 9 glass pan. It serves a small army.

Bread:

I'm a big fan of plain and simple. But I took a rule from the strata rule book which says: dry out your bread to get rid of the bready-water so that it will soak up all your stuffing-y goodness.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Slice 2 French baguettes into 1/2 inch cubes. Place cubes in a rimmed sheet pan in a single layer and toast for approximately 20-25 minutes. Don't layer it, or your under layers will stay soft. It may take a couple of pans to get everything toasted.

Sausage and Veggies:

Uncase and saute one pound of spicy Italian pork sausage and one pound of sweet Italian pork sausage. As I put it into the pan, I rip it into 1 inch chunks which makes breaking it up a little easier, instead of chasing large chunks around the pan with a wooden spoon. Cook sausage until just slightly pink in center. Cooking to fully done will make for VERY done sausage in your stuffing. Put your stuffing in a big huge mixing bowl. Don't even think about mixing your stuffing in your glass pan. It is a bad idea and results in stuffing stuck to your pan, not to mention a mess.

When the sausage is done, use the fat left from the sausage to saute your chopped veggies. You can play around with this. I use 3 (peeled, chopped) carrots, (4 stalks, chopped) celery and (2 large, chopped) onion, but certainly this is up for grabs. As this sautes, add chifonnaded sage (about 6-8 leaves), fresh thyme (2-3 tablespoons), and 2 T chopped rosemary. I also add some red pepper flakes, though this is purely optional.

When veggies are tender, add to big fat mixing bowl.

Liquids and Extras:

Now this is a matter of taste, for sure, but I like a moist stuffing, but not a custardy stuffing and I certainly love a crispy top. Because of this I combine 3 cups give or take of chicken stock and 1-2 cups of heavy cream together and then add these to the stuffing. Fold in the liquids until all the bread pieces are moist but not swimming in liquid.

This is when I add extra yummies. This year I added 1 cup of dried cranberries, 2 chopped and peeled Granny Smith apples, 1 cup of pecans (toasted in a hot pan, tossing frequently, until slightly browned and nutty smelling, but not burned!) and 1/2 - 1 cup of chopped flat leaf parsley. (No, please don't use that curly parsley. It's useless.)

This is when I add salt and pepper to taste, because once you add your raw eggs, you probably aren't going to want to do the "taste" part of "to taste". Taste some bread with a bit of sausage because the sausage adds a lot of salt and if you don't taste it with the bread, you will over-salt your stuffing.

Whisk 4 large eggs together and add to the mix as well. Spread this mixture into buttered ceramic or glass pans. These can be refrigerated up to 12 hours. Make sure that you take your stuffing out of the refrigerator about 45 minutes prior to cooking so that it comes to room temperature.

When your turkey comes out to turkey perfection, increase your oven head to 425 degrees. Once heated, cook your stuffing, covered with foil, for 35 minutes. Remove foil for the final 15 minutes of your cooking if you like a crispy top.

The Morning After

As the sun rose, and the dust cleared, one thing was certain: Nothing was left. The rising sun slowly drew an outline around each remnant of the prior day's battle. There was no evidence of the lives that were at that very spot just 12 hours prior. Only carnage and refuse. In this battle, there were no victors. And somewhere, in the distance, just barely audible above the wind rifling through the previous day's remains, the soft sound of "Taps"played.

(insert record scratching sound here)

Yeah, that's bullshit. Let's throw it out there: I've declared victory against my age old nemesis; the Puddy Tat to my Tweety bird; the Tom to my Jerry: The Turkey. This is a victory on a grande scale: so grande that the word grande deserved that extra "e".

So what was on the menu?
Turkey: As I mentioned prior, I had considered dry brining. Certainly would have been far easier given my space limitations, but because my DiPaola's turkey didn't arrive until the day before Thanksgiving I was left with a wet brine. I used Alton Brown's Good Eats recipe, with a couple of tweaks.

Stuffing: There are only two reasons for Thanksgiving to exist: football and stuffing. Growing up, my grandmother, who is Italian, made a bread-less stuffing. I get quizzical looks from most people. "Did she stuff it with air?" ask my favorite anorexics, their eyes glittering with excitement. But, no, my grandmother's stuffing was pure unadulterated sausage. Now before you make some snide comment about a pig crawling up a turkey's ass... well what do you think a terducken is? Now, I've never been able to embrace full-on sausage stuffing for myself, but every year, my stuffing has a healthy dose of pork-a-liciousness. This year I think I have come upon the magic formula.

Pumpkin Soup: I hate making pies. It is the whole crust thing. I hate rolling out pie crust, and the thought of a store-bought crust makes me feel like a David Beckham-size sell-out.  But a Thanksgiving without pumpkin is like a Christmas without a kid peeing on mall Santa's lap: Yeah... it's still Christmas, but it's a lot less fun. And so this year, in lieu of pumpkin pie, I made pumpkin soup. I was going to make Bobby Flay's Pumpkin Soup, but after reading the reviews, I ended up changing it up quite a bit.

Cranberry Sauce: I make a damn good cranberry sauce. I've made approximately 583 types of cranberry sauce, and I think that all of them have been pretty damn good. And yet, every year, 80% of each goes uneaten. (The line my dad used to pound into my head, comes to mind: "Courtney, maybe it's not everyone else. Maybe it's you.") Bearing this in mind, and with my therapist's phone number clenched tightly in my fist, I took a different route this year. Most complain that cranberry sauce is too sour. So I soured up something sweet instead: I made Brian's Pickled Raisins from Susan Goin's cookbook.

Green Beans: I figured a lack of green on the table would be a mistake, and though my preference would have been brussel sprouts, roasting them for an hour would have been impractical. So green beans almondine with lemon it was.... courtesy of the amazing Alice Waters.

Rolls: yeah. I bought these. And then... I forgot to serve them. Oops.

Chocolate Terrine and Caradamom Creme Anglaise: I make Thomas Keller's recipes with very little regularity because I actually have a day job. But Thomas Keller's Chocolate Terrine is easy to make and can be made up to 3 days ahead. His Bouchon version is served with Creme Anglaise and hand peeled pistachios (See: "Day Job"). And so for this iteration, I served it with something that didn't require hand peeling little green nuts: Cardamom Creme Anglaise.

Goat Cheese and Pumpkin Panna Cotta: Approximately 3 hours before guests were to arrive, I panicked: What if there wasn't enough food? Or wine? Or even worse than all of these things: dessert? And so, thinking about as lucidly as Kanye at the VMA's, I decided to come up with a dessert. This is it.

Recipes will follow... I'm going to go eat some stuffing.

Turkey

There are few foods that give me more anxiety than Thanksgiving Turkey. Perhaps it is really post-traumatic turkey disorder. Thanksgiving turkey anxiety started approximately 4 years ago.  I was a resident, on home-call for Thanksgiving. Having never made a turkey before, I naively thought, "What's a turkey? It is really just a big chicken."

Yeah, that's like telling a Pediatrician that children are just small adults.

The trouble started the night prior to Thanksgiving. Being used to dashing into Whole Foods or some other market, and getting a cute, but dead, 3 pound chicken, I left the turkey purchase until the day before. Unfortunately one of my patients decided to come into the ER bleeding, and I didn't get out of work until midnight the night before Thanksgiving. So instead of a lovely, free-range, organic turkey, I was left staring at mass-market birds perched, frozen solid as rocks, under fluorescent lights bearing names such as Hickory Hills and Green Acres.

Being rather sure that my turkey had never seen hickory, hills or any sort of green acre, I walked home, lugging the equivalent of an 8 pound ball of ice, back to my apartment, muttering curse words at the store manager who had not thawed the birds the night before Thanksgiving, and not really placing blame on the person who deserved it most... me.

A quick google search, and I came upon the cold water method of thawing a turkey. This involved sticking your turkey in a pot and rinsing it with cold water, frequently changed, until the bird was in a state where it would no longer shatter when dropped from 10 stories. Now this all sounded good and easy, but google failed to mention that as my turkey thawed, my fingers would freeze.

I proceeded to mutter more curse words, this time at google, at 1am.

At approximately 2:30am, I had the turkey thawed to the point where I could remove the giblets from its rear. I reached one of my numb and frozen hands into the turkey's rear and with a quick snap of ice, a bag of giblets and a turkey head went flying into my sink.

I don't really remember what happened next.

When I came to, the turkey (thankfully) was not on the floor, though I was, shaking at the thought of pulling a turkey's head out its ass with my bare hands. Now I've always been a bit squeamish about what my friend calls "Food with a Face", regardless of how ugly or cute that face is. Hypocritical, I know, but it is a problem I face every time I cook a lobster or avoid a whole fish.

By 4am, I felt fairly comfortable that the turkey, sans head, that had frozen my hands and given me a heart attack, was thawed to the point of being cookable that afternoon.

After 4 hours of fitful sleep, dreaming of turkey heads falling from the sky like hail, I awoke and consulted the world of the internet on how to cook a turkey... because clearly everything on the internet is true. In A Cook's Bible, Christopher Kimball had eschewed brining chickens, and since his recipes had never let me astray, I eschewed all recipes involving brine. And since "Mon Poulet Roti" is my favorite Thomas Keller recipe (and perhaps the only one I make with any regularity), I went for high heat until my turkey's thigh was of the appropriate temperature.

Did I mention that turkeys are not big chickens?

Well, thank goodness for gravy, and the good patience of my guests. That Thanksgiving was a dark meat Thanksgiving and the breast meat ended up simply being the butt of future turkey jokes. (What's tougher and harder than Courtney's turkey? Joan Rivers.)

Two years later I was forced into yet another turkey episode. Determined not to face another Great Turkey (are not big Chickens) Debacle, I started researching turkey roasting methods a month ahead of time. I had a new boyfriend of only a few months, and I was determined not to have him make turkey jokes for the rest of our relationship, regardless of how long or short that time was.

"Why don't you braise your turkey? Mark Bittman does it. Turkeys are really not built for roasting, " said my Smart Wine Friend (SWF), whom I've known since I was 4 years old. Of course at that time, he was not a Smart Wine Friend, he was just a Smart Friend.

"I know," he continued. "You want that Norman Rockwell moment when the big fat turkey comes to the table."

In theory I did, even though my "dining room" table was merely a 36 inch round piece of particle board coated with cheap beige laminate, circa early 1990's K-mart. But determined to conquer my Turkey-Phobia, I moved forward.

Dry brining, as it happened, had become de rigueur in the years since the Great Turkey Debacle, and so dry brining it would be. Oddly, the concept of dry brining came to most people's consciousness via Judy Rodgers' Zuni Cafe Cookbook recipe for, of all things, chicken. Several people immediately espoused the idea, including Russ Parsons of the LA Times. Every year since 2006, Mr. Parsons had written about, added and tweaked his version of a dry-brined "Judy bird", starting with a full on, LA Times turkey-roast-off in 2006.
http://www.latimes.com/theguide/holiday-guide/food/la-fo-turkeycontest,0,3586629.story

Needless to say, the dry-brined turkey won the LA times turkey contest, neck and wings above the rest. (Sorry, I couldn't resist that one.) And with Martha Stewart dry brining and Cooks Illustrated dry brining... really, how could I say no? (Even if the recipe came from a chicken) And so I embarked upon a 3 day salting expedition of a 12 pound bird, using a bit more than the recommended 1 tablespoon of kosher salt per 5 pounds of turkey rule.

It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. I ordered an organic, free-range turkey from Gramercy Meat Market and followed the Parsons' recipe to the letter, with the exception of adding a bit of bay leaf and sage to the salt brine a la Martha.
http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/roasted-dry-brined-turkey
Once again, turkey disappointment. The skin looked a pale and uneven, and the breast meat was pretty dry again despite my rigorous thigh temperature checks. Turkey 2. Me 0.

This year my turkey anxiety started after the Fourth of July. I found out that, once again, I was on-call over Turkey weekend, and thus would not be leaving the isle of Manhattan or my 400 square foot apartment for Thanksgiving. I started reading, studying, reviewing, and taking notes. I've been watching turkey videos the way college boys watch football, living vicariously through someone else's poultry. And I've been having turkey nightmares.

This year, Mr. Parsons will again, be dry brining his turkey.
http://www.latimes.com/theguide/holiday-guide/food/la-fo-calcook18-2009nov18,0,4954438.story
Martha, on the other hand, will be making a turkey that looks like roadkill 
http://www.marthastewart.com/how-to/how-to-spatchcock-a-turkey
(Though, this method will likely lead to a more evenly cooked turkey than anything that I make).
Dean and Deluca will be serving the breast first and putting the thighs back in the oven, and I, well... I was going to give the dry brined turkey another try, fiddle with temperatures, tin foil and flipping. Basically the poultry equivalent of Mary Lou Retton dressed like Liberace in my oven.

However, I ordered my turkey from DiPaola's turkey farm, and it is arriving the day before Thanksgiving essentially nixing the dry-brining option. (From all my research, if you dry-brine for only a day or two, you will end up with a dehydrated bird that never got to rehydrate itself.) And so, this year, I shall be wet brining in my 20 square foot kitchen. My boyfriend (yes, the same guy, stayed with me despite my dry turkey last year) has been laughing at my turkey nightmares, my turkey video watching and my basic obsession over November 26th. But Big-Chicken be damned.

This year, I will win.

My Last Meal

NYC restaurants come and go, much like Mariah Carey's mustache in "Precious" and Lindsay Lohan's addictions in real life. (Well, actually, maybe the latter never really "go", they just sort of mutate.) And though I'd be hard pressed to tell you what my favorite restaurant is, I'm never at a loss for my favorite dishes. So here we go, in no particular order: these are some of my favorite dishes from restaurants big and small. No doubt this list will need to be updated again, maybe when Mariah grows a beard.

LA ESQUINA: Tortilla Soup this soup is thicker and less limey than your average tortilla soup. It has plenty of shredded chicken and adobo and, unlike most, the tortillas are always crunchy. There will definitely be a blog about this in the future.
RAOUL'S: Frisee Lardons: you want the Lardons? You can't handle the Lardons. But for once, it is not just the bacon that makes this densely packed frisee salad stand out. The two dressings are amazing and the blanched, toasted pistachios add both texture and taste. Without a doubt this Frisee puts all others to shame.
BALTHAZAR: French Fries: While some of you are rolling your eyes, I will be stealing your fries. These double fried, well salted, skinny fries are the best I've had short of Thomas Keller's at Bouchon and...
SPOTTED PIG: French Fries: I feel like a kid at an Easter Egg hunt when I get a side of these super-fine fries. They are fried with small slices of garlic and rosemary leaves which may be the best part of the fries.
MAIALINO: Porchetta Sandwich: This is a new addition and will likely be responsible for several inches of fat on my thighs. I'm not quite sure how to describe this delicious porky wonder other than the fact that the pork is all at once salty, creamy and garlicky. And hey! Don't judge a Porchetta by its pricetag, because this sandwich is worth way more than $10.
AROMA KITCHEN and WINE BAR: Calamari: Fried calamari is the food equivalent of Ked Sneakers and tie dye. So yesterday. And you could play a good set of handball with the grilled calamari at most places. But you won't want to throw the calamari at Aroma against a concrete wall. This perfectly cooked calamari is stuffed with a soft, bread based stuffing replete with almonds that add a crunch.
FATTY CRAB: Chicken Rice: Despite the fact that I am Asian, I hate rice. Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all. "Thank goodness you're not still in Asia, or you would have starved." So it was with tremendous skepticism that I put Fatty Crab's Chicken Rice in my mouth at all. But one taste and the rice seemed to be inconsequential next to the rich chicken flavor... without a chunk o' meat in sight. So maybe I do like this rice... but I'd probably still starve in Asian according to some people.
MINETTA TAVERN: Black Label Burger: No doubt you have read other blogs about the "$26 dollar burger" or the "burger that's not really a burger, but more of a steak". That's like saying that Chanel Haute Couture isn't really clothing just because the majority of  us can't fit into it or afford it. It's still clothing. And this is still a burger. Made out of a secret blend of Pat LaFrieda beef, this magical burger is set on a dense half-brioche Balthazar roll and served with slowly sauteed onions. No there is no cheese. Yes, you may get dirty looks if you ask for cheese. But do me a favor, the first time you try it, get it without the cheese. Come on. You can do it. You'll see that adding cheese to your first Black Label is like adding salt to Thomas Keller's food without tasting it first

Restaurant Lowdown: Maialino

Life is full of disappointments. Getting the "Darbie" doll instead of the real "Barbie" doll at Christmas. When college admissions committees decide that your "safety" school really should have been a "reach" school and then that same safety school dings your financial aid. Your prom date (or lack thereof).

This was the disappointment I felt when a small, fairly well known Italian eatery opened on my corner. I liked its LES sister and now it was mine for the eating. Morning, noon or late night. Paninis galore.

But alas. Like my prom, the experience is a let down, and the food is rather dull.

A mere 2.5 blocks further, Danny Meyer opened Maialino in the former Wakiya space in the Gramercy Park Hotel. Now Mr. Meyer is a quintessential host with gracious sensibilities, a discerning palate and a keen eye. I sat next to him once at Ed's Lobster Bar and he was reserved, though kind, and very soft-spoken.

And unlike the Darbie Doll, Danny Meyer has never disappointed me.

The front area (Bar Maialino) consists of a bar and other long high rise tables with barstools where you can dine on wine, salumi, formaggi and small plates. There is a $10 porchetta sandwich, which, may have been one of the finest new pork products to enter my mouth in years. The Italian Kale and Pecorino, was at once light, salty and creamy. And at $13, the eggplant parmigian (which is the most expensive of the small plates) is a hearty, thick cut, not over-cheesed version of my favorite vegetable in a portion that would feed more than 5 models screwing in a lightbulb.

The back of the house is formal dining. (This menu is not available at the bar.)

The wines were reasonably priced by the glass and the quartino and the service was exceedingly gracious and hospitable.

So sayonara little Italian-place-on-my-corner that will disappoint me no more. (If I wanted that, I'd try to on the size 25 jeans that sit in the back of my closet like a wardrobe arch nemesis, taunting my ass.) The extra 2.5 blocks to Maialino is worth it. And I'll need the calorie burn for the porchetta sandwich.

The Trial and Error Contessa: Because being barefoot is overrated

Zak Pelaccio's Pork Belly (and my fear of frying)

As a part of my blog I will be featuring the occasional "Trial and Error Contessa" posts. These posts will be dedicated to a particular dish, as well as my failures, triumphs and downright missteps while attempting to make it. It is my hope you won't make all the mistakes I have... but what is a little kitchen fire among friends?

There are few things that make my heart sing like pork belly. I know, there are those of you out there who are thinking, "That is not your heart singing. That is your heart screaming from cholesterol toxicity." Well, consistent with Rule #14, Subclause 8a in The Courtney Guidebook:

My body is not a temple. It's a circus.

I can wax poetic about pork belly for rather absurd lengths of time and still not get enough. Pork belly is bacon's sophisticated older sister. There is a special part of my coronary arteries reserved for pork belly. There was a time in my life when I was vegan. I realize in hindsight that it was a rather ill attempt to avoid my mother's roast beef and pork chops, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Spaghetti and eggplant all day? What could be better?

But, alas, as a wise soul once said, "Bacon is the gateway meat." (You'll notice I'm getting all of the sage quotes that I had once intended for my inaugural blog entry, out here.) And if bacon is the gateway meat, then pork belly is full on porcine heroine. And thus, bacon called me back to the land of omnivores.

Now unlike sea urchin and heirloom tomatoes, pork belly is best not eaten raw... ever. And while there are several ethereal iterations of pork belly, none, in my humble opinion, quite matches Zak Pelaccio's Pickled Watermelon Rind and Pork Belly Salad. The first time I had it, I was with a friend who puts anything in his mouth... including his foot... a lot. Needless to say, the appetizer course went by without a sound uttered between the two of us: the pork belly was crisp on the outside but soft, sweet and salty all at once on the inside. The pickled watermelon rinds were cool, crunchy and tart and the watermelon itself was refreshing and juicy.

And then it was gone.

I, of course, had wrongly assumed that I could have this pork and fruit delicacy whenever my heart felt a little too healthy (or my stomach felt a little too pork-less). But alas, the  lines are always long at Fatty Crab and watermelon season is just a blip on the seasonal vegetable radar. And so, as quickly as it came, the pork belly salad went. Apparently I am not alone in my Pelaccio Pork Belly Mania. And finally, Melissa Clark (who is at once a food and diet book author, cook in her own right, and overwhelmingly thin) convinced Mr. Pelaccio who is  a generous and kind soul, to share his recipe with the world.


http://www.nytimes.com/2006/08/16/dining/16chef.html


I ran home with the recipe, printed in triplicate, just in case the New York Times were to pull it off their site.

Now the first time I made this, I had read the recipe 50 times and had a 3 day game plan laid out. And yet, it somehow did not quite work. The pork belly skin was a little tough. The pickles were a little unpickled and the watermelon fell apart. The dressing came out perfectly.

But what is 3 days? And it certainly did not involve the "You must be Hannibal-ette Lecter" looks that you get on the subway when you are carrying 10 pounds of veal bones home from Lobel's to make Veal Demi Glace. (That epic disaster shall be the subject of another blog).

Attempt #2 (which occurred after hours of therapy and self affirmation in front of the bathroom mirror) was only slightly better. I let the pickles brine longer which was critical. The dressing was good again. But again... the pork belly meat was a little tougher than it should be and the skin was a little chewier than I would like.

And one day, at Minetta Tavern, Zak Pelaccio walks in. I quickly (and admittedly, slightly drunkenly) barraged him like a 12 year old girl in front of Miley Cyrus with my two moderately failed attempts at his recipe. Without a drop of annoyance, he starts politely, "Don't be afraid to fry the meat really well." Well maybe those weren't his exact words but they were close.

Now as a child of the 80's, I was raised with a dollop of corn oil and a shmear of margarine. There would be no lard or butter in my mother's household. Now that we understand the lies that hydrogenated fats tell us, I keep containers of rendered duck fat in my freezer and bottles of olive oil and sticks of butter all over my kitchen. But frying has always eluded me. Deep frying has downright frightened me. Yes I am kitchen-frying-phobic. I eat fried foods. I like them more than I should. There, no doubt, will be a whole blog dedicated to Balthazar's french fries. However when it comes to frying at home... well I guess I was a fry-phobic living under the cloud of the omnipresent fry-guilt (a very distant cousin of Catholic guilt), both of which were burned into my brain by my mother.

So last Sunday I overcame these fears and dumped 3 bottles of oil and a thermometer into a pot and voila! The pork belly I longed for, finally came out of my kitchen.

The Trial and Error Contessa's Saga of

Zak Pelaccio's Pork Belly and Watermelon Salad

My random mental wanderings, useless suggestions and occasional bad jokes are in red
Adapted from the New York Times... in case you didn't read the above part
Published: August 16, 2006
Time: 4½ to 5½ hours, plus at least 24 hours’ marinating

FOR THE PORK BELLY:

3 pounds raw, uncured pork belly, skin on (I get this at Deluxe Food Market at 79 Elizabeth, skin on, boneless)


2 cups kecap manis (This is sweet soy sauce. NO! Normal soy sauce will not do! This is thick and sweet and delicious. I buy it at Asia Grocery at 7 1/2 Mulberry, near Bayard Street.)


6 tablespoons Chinese black vinegar (I get this at Asia Grocery too)


3 tablespoons dark soy sauce

3 tablespoons Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce (You can get this at most grocery stores now, but the Kikkoman version is pretty gross. Get Tiparo's or something good, please)


Freshly squeezed juice of 1 lime

Canola oil or peanut oil, for frying

All-purpose flour, for dusting

Salt, if needed


FOR THE WATERMELON SALAD:

5 pounds watermelon (doing this out of season from the pre-packed Whole Food variety is not advised... see below for my off season adaptation)


2 cups rice wine vinegar

3 shallots, sliced

2 Thai bird chilies, sliced (I grow these... but small hot chilis will do in a pinch)


2 kaffir lime leaves (These things are a bitch to find. Asia Grocery has them (you have to ask) and Whole Foods will rarely have them. They keep rather well in the freezer. Unfortunately lime really won't do as a substitute)


1 ounce (2 inches) fresh gingerroot, peeled and sliced (Do not use powdered ginger.)


½ round (1 ounce) palm sugar or 2 tablespoons light brown sugar  (This I get at Asia Grocery too. Buy the individual disks unless you use it a lot because the big fat jar of it dries out faster than I eat french fries.)


1 tablespoon kosher salt

FOR THE DRESSING:

1½ rounds palm sugar (3 ounces) or 6 tablespoons light brown sugar (see the above note about this)


1 cup rice wine vinegar

½ cup freshly squeezed lime juice (Don't use the bottled lime juice or Rose's lime juice. Squeeze a lime. Come on. You can do it. Pick limes which are not dehydrated and seem to have thin, smooth peels. These seem to be the best for juicing)


6 ounces gingerroot, peeled and sliced (Do not, I repeat do NOT, use powdered ginger.)


6 cilantro roots and 1 inch of stems, cleaned and trimmed (Yeah... bet you've never used the root before. Try to buy cilantro bunches that have the root, dirt and all attaching the bunch at the bottom. Chop off the root part and scrape the outer tough/dirty part off with a knife. Voila. Once you try them, you will never waste a part of the cilantro plant again)


2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped

¾ teaspoon kosher salt

3 scallions, trimmed and sliced, for garnish


1 cup torn Vietnamese coriander (rau ram) leaves, for garnish (Asia Grocery has these too... cilantro, whose roots you used above, is an okay sub)


1 cup torn Thai basil leaves, for garnish (I grow this, but Asia grocery has it. I've never used normal Italian basil. It has a very different taste. I'm not sure I'd recommend that)


Sesame seeds, for garnish (optional) (I've gotta admit, if I add sesame seeds to anything I toast them a little bit to give them more flavor. Otherwise, the only purpose they serve, IMHO, is to get stuck in your teeth and make you look like a baleen whale.)


1. Crosshatch pork belly skin with sharp knife, making cuts ½-inch apart. Place pork belly in non-reactive dish. Combine kecap manis, vinegar, soy sauce, fish sauce and lime juice, and pour over pork belly. Chill for 24 to 48 hours, turning several times. (Okay I cheat and don't turn as much as I should. I use a pyrex and I wrap it well with Saran Wrap because the pork bellies can float up a little out of the marinade and not soak up the gooey goodness. Also when you put this in your refrigerator, I tend to put the pan in a slightly bigger pan. My pork belly has a habit of swelling causing the marinade to overflow... all over my refrigerator.)


2. Preheat oven to 275 degrees. Place belly, skin side up, in baking pan with 2 cups marinating liquid and 2 cups water. Liquid should come halfway up the pork; if not, add more water or use smaller pan. Cover pan with foil. Bake until a skewer penetrates the belly with little or no resistance, 3 to 4 hours. Remove pork from liquid and let cool. Leaving skin on, slice belly into 1-inch chunks.
Suggestion #1: Don't overcook the meat or the bottom of the meat will be tough and dry. And if your oven runs a little hot, back it down to 250 degrees. High heat will kill your pork belly. Do NOT rush this, or you will hate yourself.
Suggestion #2: As a child of the 80's (though born in the decade before), I was born with the the MORE=BETTER gene. This is not a time for that. As your belly cooks it will release a lot of fat which will float to the top of the marinade. If you overfill the marinade you risk overflowing all this fat straight into your oven. This is not a mess. It is a flat out disaster like Bush Part Deux's regime. Only fill the marinade to half and if possible put your baking dish in a rimmed baking sheet or container to catch spills and bubbling.


3. To make salad, cut watermelon flesh into 1-inch cubes (discarding seeds). Reserve rind. Refrigerate flesh until ready to use. With sharp knife, remove outer green skin of rind, reserving white part. Dice white rind into ½-inch cubes. Transfer to a heatproof bowl. (Trimming watermelon rind is not fun but it is worth the pickly goodness. I promise.)


4. In a saucepan over medium-high heat, combine rice wine vinegar, shallots, chilies, kaffir lime, ginger, palm sugar, salt and 1 cup water, and bring to boil. Cook until sugar dissolves. Strain liquid over white rind. Let cool, then chill for at least 1 hour or as long as 2 days.
Rule #1: Okay. You know how in lab class, your teacher told you to NOT breathe in the hydrochloric acid fumes? Well really your teacher told you not to sniff anything unknown. Yeah, well clearly I didn't learn anything in this class. If you take a sniff of the pickling fumes while they are heating, your nose hair will promptly fall out of your nose and your eyes will run screaming to the back of your head. Vinegar is acid. Enough said.
Rule #2: In my opinion one hour is NOT enough. Really. Neither is two hours. Or three hours. I had a pickle brining tasting. They really do need at least overnight to reach maximum pickle potential.

5. To make dressing, roughly crush palm sugar using a mortar and pestle or place in a plastic bag and crush with a hammer or heavy can. In a food processor, combine sugar with vinegar, lime juice, ginger, cilantro, garlic and salt, and blend until smooth. (Yeah... good luck doing this with petrified Cane Sugar)

6. In medium saucepan or wok, heat 3 inches canola or peanut oil to 375 degrees. Lightly dust pork belly cubes with flour, shaking off excess. Working in batches, fry pork belly until dark golden brown and crispy, 6 to 7 minutes. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate. Season with salt, if necessary. (This, my friends, is the key. The secret. The Holy Grail of Pork Belly. It takes very little flour and a decent amount of oil. Thank you, Mr. Pelaccio)

7. In a mixing bowl, toss the watermelon flesh with just enough dressing to coat. Divide pork among serving plates, and top with watermelon flesh and a few cubes of pickled rind. Drizzle additional dressing around plate. Garnish with scallions, coriander leaves, basil, and sesame seeds, if using.

Yield: 8 servings.

Now I've doubled and tripled this recipe with success, but what do you do outside of watermelon season? My solution? If the David Chang Pork Bun marries the Zak Pelaccio salad, the marriage is one that will withstand 18 kids, the recession and 500 pounds of "Fat N' Happy" weight gain.


For a quick party dish, prep the pork belly as above up to the part where you cut it into one inch cubes the night before. Refrigerate.


Buy the buns (like the Momofuku Ssam buns) at your local Chinese Grocery. I use Hong Kong Supermarket. Slice cucumber into thin disks. A mandolin works well, or if you value your finger tips and you are as coordinated like me, a plain old knife is fine as well. I peel about 60-70% of the cucumber peel off in alternating strips. Along with cucumber, you can serve your buns with washed and thoroughly dried cilantro leaves. Or a little chopped boiled egg. Or combinations thereof. Basically, whatever suits your fancy. I bet some toasted pignoli nuts might be interesting. Or a basil, cilantro, and mint salad.
Take the pork cubes out of the refrigerator at least an hour before frying. Fry up the pork the day of. Warm the buns in the microwave for 2 minutes. Serve the pork in a dish with the warm rolls and accoutrement for a build-your-own-belly ssam. Serve with the watermelon dressing, Sriracha and Hoisin sauces on the sides. 


I wish I could say that I had learned some deep life lesson from this pork belly saga. Maybe you will. If you do, please share. I guess I've overcome my fear of frying. But really, maybe it is just one of those life experiences where it is the pork-alicious adventure and not the destination that really matter.

The Dinner Party (The Resources)

Here is a brief rundown of who brought what from where...

Chris R and Ann K...
Sugar Sweet Sunshine bakery
http://www.sugarsweetsunshine.com/
126 Rivington St
New York, NY 10002-2300
(212) 995-1960

Pizza: Red Velvet Cake from
Two Little Red Hens Bakery
http://www.twolittleredhens.com/
1652 2nd Ave # 1
New York, NY 10028-3110
(212) 452-0476

Brad and Lisa: Mac and Cheese and sausage from
Hill Country
http://www.hillcountryny.com/
30 W 26th St
New York, NY 10010-2062
(212) 255-4544

Randi and Rachel: Pastrami, Pumpernickel and mustard from
Katz's Deli
http://www.katzdeli.com/
205 E Houston St
New York, NY 10002-1098
(212) 254-2246

Rob V and Erin: Macaroons from
Madeleine's Patisserie
http://www.nyc.com/restaurants/madeleine_patisserie.949395/editorial_review.aspx
128 W 23rd St
New York, NY 10011
(212) 243-2757

Greg S: Summer rolls from Greg himself.
(http://thedinnersessions.com/)
and Estrella Damm Beer
from his bar: Summit Bar 8th Street and Ave C.

Taj: dumplings and pork buns oh my! from
Vanessa's Dumpling House
118 Eldridge St
New York, NY 10002-4418
(212) 625-8008

Jordana and Mauro: Salmon and baguette;
Visit Jordana at Aroma
http://www.aromanyc.com/
36 E 4th St
New York, NY 10003
(212) 375-0100

AND

Mauro at Falai
http://www.falainyc.com/
68 Clinton St # 1
New York, NY 10002-2408
(212) 253-1960

Greg G and Nancy H: Sausage from
Schaller and Weber
http://www.schallerweber.com/
1654 2nd Ave # 1
New York, NY 10028-3197
(212) 879-3047

Stella: Pork buns and coconut buns from
Mei Li Wah
64 Bayard St
(between Elizabeth St & Mott St)
New York, NY 10013
(212) 966-7866

AND

Pork ssam rolls from Hong Kong supermarket.
157 Hester @ Elizabeth St.

Monserrat and Sarah: Antipasti from
Menna's Salumeria
3639 E Tremont Ave
Bronx, NY 10465
(718) 824-3990

Heidi: Fried chicken
Mad for Chicken (FKA Bon Chon Chicken)
http://www.madforchicken.com/
314 5th Ave., 2nd Floor (between 31st and 32nd Sts).
NY NY 11354
(212) 221-2222

Should you also be in Queen's Heidi recommends:
UFC (Unidentified Fried Chicken)
7122 Roosevelt Ave
Flushing, NY 11372

Jordy:
Check out Jordy's genius at
Bar Celona in Williamsburg
104 South 4th Street
Williamsburg
http://www.barcelonaloungenyc.com/

The Dinner Party

I had so many ideas on how I wanted to start my first blog. Tell a childhood story. Quote Michael Pollan. Make everything in Julia Childs' cookbook. But alas, bad perms, limited brain space and a mediocre movie have resulted in about 534 false starts and another 158 good intentions.

So I've decided to dive right in.
Let me just say, that moreso than anything else, I am lucky to have the most amazing friends and family. Okay, yeah, so the family can be a little whackadoo at times (isn't the word "crazy" next to the word "family" in Websters?) but I am one of those who believes that because her friends are all the best people, they should all meet (in a very small apartment), and what better way, than over food?

So yesterday 25 of my friends crammed into my 450 square foot, one-window, Manhattan studio for a New York-centric "dunch". (It was at 2pm... what did you want me to call it? Tea-time? Well, if tea is made from grapes sitting in amazing French Oak barrels, then, yes, perhaps it was Tea-time.) I digress. You can always tell who your friends are when you cram them all into a 20 x 20 foot space. Regardless, the rules of the game were:

1. Bring something that you think is a New York food and it should be under $20
2. Wear elastic waist pants

It was a BAD day to be a vegetarian. Or even a pescatarian. And definitely a vegan.

Meat: There were chorizos (spicy, sweet and fuet from Despana). There was salami from the expanded DiPalo's. Heidi brought a spicy Korean fried chicken that separated the men from the boys. Taj's pork buns and pork, chicken and shrimp dumplings from Vanessa's Dumpling House were the first to go out and the first to be gone. Luckily Stella came in with reinforcements: pork and coconut buns (not in the same bun, though) from Mei Li Wah both of which were completely different from Taj's buns (did that sound dirty?)

Greg and Nancy went German-style with sausages from Schaller and Weber, while Randi and Rachel represented the NYC Jewish Deli with Katz's pastrami, pumpernickel and mustard which was gone in the blink of an eye and couldn't be more New York. Brad and Lisa were a huge hit with Hill Country Mac and Cheese with a side of sausage. Monserrat and Sarah also brought meaty munchies and Italian antipasti from Menna's Salumeria in the Bronx. It was good to have the Bronx represented... there is amazing food in all 5 boroughs, though I've only eaten in 4.

In homage to one of my favorite dishes from yore, the lamb flatbread from Pipa which was on the menu when Douglas Rodriguez was at the helm, I made spiced lamb meatballs in a spicy tomato sauce. I've made the flatbreads before, but the ground lamb has to be a la  minute which, when serving 25 people from a 20 square foot kitchen, can be a disaster. So lamb meatballs it was... or were. And as I often do with garnishes, I did of course, forget the almonds and raisins. I was also jonesing to make a pate. I've never made a pate, and I realize it is a risky endeavor for a group since there will inevitably be a number of pate nay-sayers. Nonetheless I took a stab at a chicken liver pate with port poached figs and walnuts. And it wasn't too bad if I do say so myself. The 1/4 cup of brandy in the pate didn't hurt. Hey isn't that what a liver is for? Alcohol?

Fish: My ceviche didn't come out good. It was supermodel ceviche. It looked good, but that is where it ended. My hands were numb and burning from squeezing 30 limes, and my ceviche wasn't that good. Sad. As I mourned the demise of my ceviche (and the skin on my hands), Jordana and Mauro walked in with the largest, most beautiful side of smoked salmon I've ever seen in my life along with two baguettes. It was like the clouds parted and the salmon sang... Yeah, it was that good. And if I had had my druthers I would have just sat in front of it and eaten the whole thing. (Here's to self discipline!) If you are one of the two people who eventually finds this blog, reads it up to this part and hasn't stuck a pencil into your eye, and you want to read about food and wine from people who REALLY know, check out Jordana and Mauro's blog at: http://maurocheeseandwine.blogspot.com/.

Dairy: The Sicilian cheese from DiPalo's and the smoke mozzarella from Joe's Dairy have to be two of my favorite cheeses in the city. They are proof positive that cheeses do not have to stink to be amazing. And despite the fact that my genetic paucity of lactase conspires to ruin my life, I will punish my GI tract anytime for either of these two cheeses (the former of which made a showing on the table). It was also my first attempt at making Goat Cheese Pannacotta with Bacon Syrup. It is a Wylie Dufresne recipe and while the syrup was a bitch to keep together (try keeping the fat from a pound of bacon from separating out despite the fact that the instructions tell you to cool the syrup), the panna cotta could not have been easier. I'd say 50% gone, sort of like cars in the parking lot at my grad school in Newark NJ. I also made the Green Goddess dip from Thomas Keller. I made the creme fraiche the day before (3 parts cream to 1 part buttermilk) and used it for the dip, which I over scallioned and under taragonned. But it was good despite this and actually tasted pretty awesome with the salmon.

Desserts: Rob, who is a pastry chef, brought the most beautiful macaroons from Madeleine's Patisserie on 23rd Street. Dare I say, that they could have given Laduree's a run for their money. And Little Pizza, aka Chris, brought a red velvet cake from Two Little Red Hens Bakery, an up and coming UES bakery.

Ann and Chris are two of the most serious foodies I know. They got married at Italian Wine Merchants, Mario Batali's wine store, and had the cupcakes from Sugar Sweet Sunshine Bakery there. And they brought them to the dinner party. It is nice when food has a place in your personal history, and if I ever get married I will definitely NOT be one of those brides who does not eat, and I will get a dress with an elastic waist.

Was it a success? I think. Was the food good? Amazing. New York City has great food. But really it is the people that make the party, and (not to brag) I have the best friends in the world.