Risotto a la Choux de Romanesco

I was paging through a copy of Jamie Oliver's Italian cookbook at my sister in law's and the shape of this funny type of cauliflower (romanesco) lodged itself in my brain because I bought it instantly. Jamie's recipe says it has an unusual taste, and to me it's a combo between brussel sprouts and cauliflower. I took hints from his recipe, adding the diced 'core' with the onions, then the florets in with the broth that the risotto gets frequently bathed with during the course of cooking. Instead of anchovy old for the breadcrumbs (hubby will NOT eat them under any circumstances) I used the firey italian spice mix consisting of red pepper flakes, parsley, and dried tomato heated in olive oil. Then I tossed in the breadcrumbs, and I must say it turned out quite well. I liked the spicy crunch it made mixed with the creamy earthy flavors of the romanesco cauliflower.

Sicilian food

I'm staring at the departures screen in Charles de Gaulle airport tying in vain to guess the destination of my surprise birthday trip. (It was amusing to be the butt of my own joke, as I'm the one who offered a surprise birthday trip two years ago to Sevilla, Spain for my husband.) I've been staring at "Palermo" on the screen and am disappointed rather than alarmed when I hear my husband say that our destination is not displayed on the screen. At the check-in counter, it's unavoidable that I learn we're going to "Catania" somewhere in Italy--but, where the heck is Catania?! I play a quick game of 20 questions with my husband and realize in 3 questions that it is in Sicily.

Even the airport food looks good! Pizza and something that looks like breading-covered meatballs (definitely gunna find out what those are); and passing the Italian 'cafe' the aromas are enough to amp my hunger meter at least 3 notches. Even my husband, a Frenchman--who certainly have an appreciable affinity for their 'cafe' --agrees that Italian coffee is the best.

The super cute couple (Rob & Christina) run our B&B have a whole list of their preferred restaurants prepared for their guests. We go to "al Aldo" where I eat linguine al mare with pomodoro tomato sauce, little clams, mussels and tender, scrumptious baby squid. (An aside: perhaps you grew up in or know of a seafood-loving region in the USA that serves such a delightful variety of small shellfish, squid and the like as you can find here in Sicily or in say, Barcelona, but I've yet to find it). Julien ate macaroni pasta (which looked like penne to me, but I'm not Italian; what do I know) ala Norma--pomodoro, ricotta, and eggplant with a really unexpected flavor; perhaps they used the BBQ that he spied out back on the way to the loo. The waiter was terribly patient with us, considering that the French "Routard" guide had an abysmal excuse for Italian translations. Ok, we're in Sicily, but it's Italy man, and if you're not willing to eat anything here that's local and fresh unless you're deathly allergic, frankly, you've wasted your vacation my friend.

Bellies full to bursting, we spend the rest of the day lazily wandering around the old streets of Catania where the buildings emanate an old-world--yet slightly sooty--charm of long-past days of glory.

Our early morning departure from de Gaulle airport meant we were exhausted by sundown, so we happily tried the restaurant "Camelot" just down the street from our bed. Though the name provoked images of Monty Python characters dancing 'round the dining room, the decor was reserved and rather homey. We watched in awe as a circus of meat was paraded out to hungry diners seated at tables adorned in red and white checkered tablecloths; the quantity of grilled meat and fish on the platters suggested that Camelot's other diners were ravenous as lions--like us, after a long day (hey-sightseeing is hard work!). After an exchange of sign language, necessitated by the non-existent Routard translations; we understood that when the waiter flapped his arms, it signified that "quaglie" was quail. So Julien ordered BBQ meat, and being on a seafood kick, I got grilled swordfish. I'll admit that when the meat arrived, I was disappointed not to have ordered from the meat parade--I hate it when people order better than me! The rolled up meat/cheese/ham on skewers (involtini, perhaps?) were killer, and the barbeque flavor--insanely good.

We explore the impressive fish market the next morning and decide to do some shopping for a picnic lunch. Here's our list:
speck
breseola
salami
grilled (blackened?) ricotta
provolone
grilled red pepper
tomatos
bread

...and the COST - less than what I spend on a sandwich in Boston!

I finally get my fish fix when we have dinner at al Mare. I get the
antipasto tutto mare : 4 cold dishes of squid salad, eels (?), boccarones, shrimp ceviche (very unusual, but I think I prefer my shrimp cooked, which is too bad because I don't think the quality was to blame, given the freshness of the other dishes)

But wait! There are antipasto tutto mare hot dishes too, including:
baby sardine stuffed with breadcrumbs & pine nuts
grilled baby squid
the best damn mussels I ever ate, since they were drowned in olive oil and some killer fish broth.

After all that I ordered pasta (!) and it was so good I stuffed myself to bursting. I've never seen the combination of pistachios, cream and tiny shrimp but I'm going to try it at home!

Oh look what google found for me--and it appears to be an authentic Sicilian who's penned the recipe
http://pinchmysalt.com/2006/12/27/farfalle-with-pistachio-cream-sauce/

Lunch plans were foiled by the fact that Aldo only serves customers during the week, but we serendipitously found a place close to another restaurant that was (also) closed on Sunday. Happily, this was a family place and we ate really well AGAIN! I had risotto al pomodoro with asparagus, with tiny tasty shrimp making another appearance. What I would give to have a recipe for such a wonderful fish stock that totally made this dish. Such simple ingredients, but that stock gave it a depth that I've never achieved in a risotto.

We were so excited to (finally) have pizza for dinner that we didn't even change our shoes when we got downstairs and realized that it was raining. This was a major tactical error as the cobblestone streets do not drain well, and the large umbrella was inadequate to cover our legs, meaning we ended up in jeans and shoes that were drenched from the knees down. And to top it off, we ate in a lovely outdoor pizzaria --that's right, under the covered terrace but with rain falling all around the table and a stray kitten fighting with us for some dry pavement. Ok, the cat was really cute, but the damp meant we ate our pizza in record time--not the way sicilian food was meant to be enjoyed. Mine was procuitto and tartuffo nero black truffles with truffle oil. (Eww, a double dose of mushrooms meant Julien wanted no part of it, so I ate the leftovers for breakfast)!

Oh, and we got to try some of those breaded meatballs, which are actually arancini-or fried, breaded balls of risotto/rice--found everywhere in chic American restaurants these days. According to our B&B hosts, the shape indicates what's stuffed inside like bechamel + ham, or ragu. And yes, even the airport food was good!

Reflections

I apologize to the author I'm plagarizing (badly). You most clearly see your own age reflected, not in oneself, but reflected in the face of a close friend.

I hadn't seen them in perhaps a decade, but they're like my old college friends. I eagerly looked forward to each chance I would get to see them, and indoctrinated many of my friends. I was a member of their fan club, before they became national stars and Brian's face was featured in a major movie. I knew the words to all of their songs and was sure they would make it big one day. And they did for one brief moment, but then it fizzled, while I loved them no less. Brian had a string of solo albums, but occasionally the group would do some infrequent reunion concerts always in Michigan and Chicago, too far to visit. I even tried to get them to come to Paris to play in my friend's flat.

They quietly took the stage, without introduction, and before the lights even came up. Surely these weren't the same skinny, holey T-shirt clad local celebrity rockers from my college days. I was nearly convinced that these guys were the opening act--that is, until I saw Brian. Then I was sure. It had been more than 15 years and my god, do I look that old myself? They're old! I mean, I'm looking at the definition of aging rocksters here. When the hell did that happen? I don't feel old?! Ok, sure I'm married now and have a (very) few grey hairs of my own. But I don't feel like I've settled into grown-upness quite yet! I guess I should have known when this particular reunion tour was promoting their new children's album. So they all have kids, that's cool, I thought.

They played a great set, so me old old stuff and the ghosts of youth flitted across the stage with Brian and the guitarist, AJ, playfully battling over who could out-rock the other. The formerly stick-thin AJ had the same hair, but that angular nose and frame had morphed into, well-- a dad's face. And look at the wedding bands on every finger; I fingered my own and smiled. Perhaps we're all getting grey, but they still rock, man.

Risotto italiano

1/2 c white or red wine
4 c chicken or beef stock
salt, pepper, 1 T italian seasonings, 3-5 cloves garlic
olive oil, butter
block parmesean cheese - about 1 cup shredded
1 box Trader Joe's risotto arborio rice
1 onion
1 small can tomato paste

Bring 4 c stock to a boil, or microwave bullion cube in pyrex measuring cup. Fry 2 italian sausages, cut into pieces and set aside. Drain the excess pork fat, but leave the little brown sausage bits. In olive oil or butter, sautee some onions till just transparent. Optional: Keep on medium heat and add a whole package of risotto/arborio rice; add a bit of olive oil if needed to coat the grains just till they glisten. Stir frequently during 2-3 minutes, do not brown the rice. Pour in 1/2 c of wine (normally I use white, but since we're adding tomato paste, you can go red) stir vigorously; you'll see the risotto sauce start to thicken & get creamy. Turn down the heat to a simmer & add stock immediately, just enough to make some sauce. Keep adding stock when it looks thirsty. Add one small can of tomato paste, salt, pepper, 3 cloves of minced garlic (or more, yum!) & italian herbs: rosemary, thyme, oregano, throw in some parsley if you fancy. Simmer for about 30-40 mins, risotto is ready when al dente. While pouring the wine for dinner, turn off the heat, stir in 1/2 c or more of freshly grated parmesean cheese (off the block, don't cheat on this step) and a couple of T of butter (I use olive oil to reduce the cholesterol) and the italian sausage. You can also add a final 1/4 to 1/2 cup of stock, as risotto will thicken upon standing. Buen provecho!

A few hints:
Don't cover the risotto, or the sauce won't form correctly. Don't let the risotto dry out or simmer too fast, you'll get a stuck on mess at the bottom of the pan. A flat wooden spatula works pretty well to scrape the bottom often to avoid stick-age.

Coq au Vin

My husband tells me I've done it well due to the nice ruddy sauce

< 2 lbs rooster or chicken
1 bottle red wine
1/4 c cognac
dried mushrooms, like porcini
boquet garni, salt, pepper
chicken stock
butter & flour

In a cocotte, sear the chicken/rooster (less than 2lbs) on high heat, then brown for 5 minutes on each side, with lid on. To flambee with cognac, pour 1/4 cup in with the bird, stand back and light! Shake the pan till flames subside. Add one bottle of wine, add stock to completely cover the bird. Add salt, pepper, dried mushrooms, like porcinis, and boquet garnis (parsley, thyme, bay leaves), simmer for 45 mins. Remove the bird from the sauce, cut off the fillet, legs & wings, set somewhere warm. Reduce the sauce by 1/3 (?) by boiling vigorously, take off the heat. When no longer boiling, add the beurre maniere (3 T of flour + 3 T butter mixed to a paste), whisk vigorously and bring sauce to a boil. Serve with boiled potatoes and parsley.

Make browned onions in another pan when you start the bird. Peel small boiling onions, brown them in 1 T oil + 1 T butter. Roll continuously to brown all sides. Add stock or wine, or mix to cover them, plus boquet garni. Simmer till liquid evaporates. They turn out caramelized, sweet and oh so flavorful by soaking up all of that sauce.

Quiche lorraine -lite but tasty

Ingredients:

one pre-made pie crust
6 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup greek yogurt 2% (or sour cream, low fat if you like)
nutmeg, salt, pepper
an onion
canadian bacon (smoked) or lardons*
shredded cheese (swiss, cheddar or, your preference)

*A note on lardons--basically, French smoked pork belly (bacon) with an awesome flavor that's used so ubiquitously in French cooking that if you've ever eaten a real French dish, they've probably been a flavor component. Generally the fat is rendered from lardons to cook other ingredients in.

Pre-bake the pie crust in a tart pan or pie plate; following the instructions on the box for time and temp. Note: make sure the crust stretches up the sides to the top of the plate, b/c it shrinks during cooking. Oh, and don't forget to prick the crust with a fork or it'll puff up in the oven.

Slice the onions and cook them till they caramelize while the crust is cooking. If you're using real lardons, put those in with the onions to extract the yummy flavor.

Scald 1/2 c. milk in microwave, add 1/2 c.greek yogurt & mix.
Scramble 6 eggs, then mix in liquid, 1/4 + t. nutmeg, 1 t. salt, and pepper as desired.
Pour into baked pie crust. Layer in onions, bacon & cheese.
Bake 30 mins at 375 deg. F. till it gets a bit golden on top or knife comes out clean when you stick it in the center.

Serving suggestions:
Eat lukewarm; it's especially good with a big green salad with vinaigrette dressing!

The original recipe is adapted from Julia Child's The Art of French Cooking and from Oui Chef.

A wedding story

The raindrops started hitting the windshield about thirty seconds before we arrived at the beach where we were having our wedding ceremony. I am riding in the off-road limo with my parents—one of those cute Jeep Libertys, in dress black for the occasion, of course (but not easy to climb into in a wedding dress!). We arrive at the beach and all 30 guests are huddled under umbrellas and look forlorn against the backdrop of a frothy, bubbly blue-green sea the color of blue curaco-containing cocktail as it leaves the blender. I start waving frantically from the front seat for them all to enter the beach. There’s some commotion as we hadn’t actually planned in which order the moms would, “enter” the beach. Even though there was no church aisle or even any seats, my dad walked me onto the beach, gallantly leading me through the ruts made by what looked like a four-wheeler. The smell of the sea hit me full in the face as gale like winds frothed the normally tranquil bayside Cape Cod Sea into a seafoam green frenzy. I reach the justice of the peace and my gorgeous groom and turn to see our families and friends at a polite distance from the makeshift alter. We encourage them all to huddle in closer and the Justice of the Peace can barely be heard above the sound of the wind. Friends are pattering around in the sand to take pictures and half of my hairdo comes unstuck—truly a testament to the power of Mother Nature as there I-don’t-know-how-many coats of hairspray on my coiffed ‘do. We guide our four readers into the landing area, and it’s very intimate indeed as Pepe and Anne read in French, Rob quips a line speaking of tempests and Gisela reads in Singaporean Chinese and English. I tear up during the Apache Indian wedding prayer and I can’t help by kiss my Julito before the Justice says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife”. But we kissed after too! I turn to see all of our dear family and friends huddled together and shivering facing angry wind-driven raindrops and salt spray just for us! The image wasn’t one of the many that were digitally captured that weekend, but it remains etched in my mind like the smell of sea as I hit the beach, the sand in between my toes in my pink ballerina slippers and the roar of the wind.

Thanks Mr. 2 buck!

The hardwood floor rippled slightly under my feet as I lurched to the bathroom for my way too early Monday morning shower. Or was that merely the effect of too much two-buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s downed while consuming the best meal of the weekend? The smell of wine-soaked game hen still permeated the bedroom—not too surprising as the bed is in the open room right next to the kitchen (less street noise here than the actual bedroom) and I wished I could eat some more bird for breakfast.

I’d been looking for a good bird to cook since I roasted my first duck for New Year’s this year. I took cues from my French in-laws and used the rendered goose fat to slow cook some thinly sliced potato rounds just till golden brown and slightly crispy. Sure fat gives food great flavor, but duck fat is phenomenal! The potatoes were divine—rich and not too salty. A few years ago I had the best brussel sprouts of my life (American children’s most hated veggie), learning only after having eaten half a plate-full of the tender salty-sweet browned balls that they had been cooked in the canary yellow goose fat garnered from the fresh foie gras that I tried oh-so-hard not to eat too much of. After that, it was really too late to worry about cholesterol for the rest of the meal.

We found some Rock Cornish game hens at our local Russian bodega, of all places. The Joy of Cooking describes them as having a mild, but pleasant gamey flavor even though they’re practically all white meat (Joy, while very practical, is no Julia Child). I was too hungry to wait the hour-and-a-half that the wild rice needed to cook before I could stuff it in the birds, so I kept a component of the rice stuffing—the green olives—and put them in some sage-flavored stuffing mix from the pantry and into the tiny birds’ cavities. The roasting pan I used was our IKEA cocotte (French style porcelain coated cast-iron pan) so I didn’t even bother trussing the birds, as they only had enough room to shimmy in the pan side-by-side and the stuffing stayed in just fine. After the pan was good and hot, say after 15 minutes at 350˚F, I poured about a glass of the aforementioned two-buck Pinot Grigio in the pan, and at least two in me. I mentioned being hungry, n’est ce pas? After 30 mins more, I basted the birds and turned them up to 400˚F, and basted myself with some more wine, while surveying the caramelizing carrots & onions. Thankfully the rice was handled by my hubby, because I might’ve burned it.

Fifteen more minutes and it was time to tuck into those cute little birds. What could be cuter than single-serving sized fowl? And what could be more delicious? I honestly don’t know, because after being steeped in wine (me and the hens) this meal was off-the charts good. When you and your guests are making yummy noises after every single bite, I know I’ve hit recipe perfection—with a nod to Mr. Two-buck for his help.