2011 Restaurant Resolutions: Part I

Bacon-wrapped Blackbird Farm meatloaf at Nick's on Broadway

During New Year's week, while catching up on Twitter post-holiday rush, a tweet from Jackie, aka The Diva that Ate New York, caught my eye:

"Can my New Year resolutions just be list of restaurants I resolve to eat in the next year?"

Man, talk about a way to make New Year's resolutions fun and not-so-daunting. (I also noticed on Twitter that Jakie is already chipping away at her list, having already had dinner at Fatty 'Cue.) Not that my other resolutions are drudgery or daunting, but you know what I'm saying. Jackie has tapped into entertainment as resolutions. Genius.

It was difficult to keep my list to 10, so I've employed two categories, both of which are in no particular order: Restaurants Worth a Return Visit (posted here), and Restaurants I'd Like to Try (to be continued. This was shaping up to be an enormously long post.).

Restaurants Worth a Return Visit:

Nick's on Broadway, Providence, Rhode Island: Chef Derek Wagner's food is pure and simple, and yet mind-blowing. Everything tastes exactly as it is supposed to taste (this sentence really does have meaning: eggs are rich and yolky, beef tastes beefy, tomatoes are perfectly ripe, juicy, and sweet). We wanted to get a jump on our resolutions, so JR and I have already checked this one of the list. It's going to be a good 2011 at this rate. Mmmmm...white bean cassoulet.

La Laiterie at Farmstead, Providence, Rhode Island: Chef-owners Matt and Kate Jennings transformed their cheese shop into a cheese shop-slash-comfort food haven. From pork belly (Matt is the reigning Prince of Porc), to house-cured meats, to unusual beer and wine offerings, to the cheese selection extraordinaire, I'm looking forward to hunkering down with a winter brew, charcuterie (did someone say "charcuterie"?), and cheese platter one snowy afternoon. Soon.

Persimmon, Bristol, Rhode Island: A few years ago, I was at a trade show at the Javits Center in New York, speaking with a gift shop owner from Bristol, Rhode Island. One particular raved-about Bristol restaurant came up in conversation, and she lowered her voice to share another find, just about cooing, "you have to try Persimmon. It's incredible." It is incredible. From service, to food, to ambiance, Persimmon is worth the splurge. JR and I are also looking forward to visiting their newly opened butcher shop, Persimmon Provisions, in Barrington, Rhode Island. Hopefully by the end of this week.

Ten Tables: Jamaica Plain and Cambridge, Massachusetts: When last I visited the tiny JP location (I seem to like a tiny restaurant with outstanding food, like Frankie's Spuntino), two friends and I partook of the prix fixe menu, which was incredible - a la everything-tasted-as-it-should. JR really needs to check this place out, as he has been deprived, and so on the list it goes.

Trattoria della Nonna: Mansfield, Massachusetts: Once, during a more prosperous time, on a flight home from Italy, I got to chatting with the woman sitting next to me. Invariably, the topic turned to restaurants in the Boston-Providence area, and it was only the shortest of times before Kenny and Yvonne DiFazio's Trattoria della Nonna came up. "Oh, Kenny," my airplane row companion said, wistfully, "I love Kenny's food."

Now, Mansfield may seem out of the way for Bostonians and Providencians alike, but Kenny is extremely talented, and if you can get there for a wine tasting dinner, his creativity is in full force. Visit their recently added bar and pizza oven in the back, where you can sample small bites (and save a little over the full menu in the dining room). As an added bonus, the wine list describes the individual wines by flavor profile ("earthy, with hints of barnyard and blackberry"), giving the diner/imbiber a better shot at finding a wine he or she will like.

Evangeline, Portland, Maine: This is merely a pipe dream, as Chef Erik Desjarais closed the restaurant in November 2010 to be a stay-at-home dad. I feel fortunate that JR and I were able to eat here with Matt Jennings (of the aforementioned Farmstead/La Laiterie) in October and were treated to a Chef's tasting menu ranging from escargot, to deep-fried calf's brain (yep, I go there), to silken lamb chops. It was all so good, I had hoped to go back as soon as the spring thaw is on, but, alas, no.

Heirloom Market BBQ's sides. Don't let those tin bowls fool you. These are serious, figure-out-how-to-make-them-like-that-at-home sides.

Heirloom Market BBQ, Atlanta, Georgia: In November, I was invited to the Doubletree Marietta Northwest to speak at a client dinner. There's a lot to write about regarding this trip, including that the chef at the Doubletree, Chris Effa, is incredibly inspiring, and a true student of food. He had just returned from a sourcing trip through the Southeast that led him to Benton's and Polyface Farm, among other places. All of the food that he sourced on that trip was then featured at the hotel dinner (the one at which I spoke) to promote the hotel's seasonal, local menu.

Chef Effa was just as at ease discussing French technique as he was barbecue (though he confided that he's not qualified to judge bbq, however, I imagine that this is probably next on his extensive list of food-student things to do), and Heirloom Market BBQ was a newly-opened joint (really, a joint - there's a booze store next door to this one-level, small - almost tiny - barbecue resto, which, being a Northerner, perhaps I have no right to make the call, but I think it qualifies as a barbecue joint.).

Only one-week old at the time I was there, the line snaked out the door, and Chef Effa and I managed to be the last ones to leave lunch service. Chef-owners Cody Taylor and Jiyeon Lee serve up barbecue that keeps flavors clean and pure; the smoked meats are just smoky enough (and they have very fancy smokers to do the work, though smoking requires them to be there at 5am each morning to get the fires started), and the sides - well, I'm waiting for peach season here in Massachusetts so I can make a version of their Carrots n' Peaches, and the okra and collards were also imitation-worthy.

Tipsy Parson, New York City: JR and I ate here last January during a quick NYC getaway. I could have eaten at Tipsy Parson for all 3 daily meals, though we were only able to get one dinner in on that trip. If you go, please do order the chicken-fried chicken livers with green tomato chutney and be sure that your dining companion gets the beef short ribs. You'll both be eating short ribs for lunch the next day, as the serving is huge (this is not normally a plus in my mind), and, more importantly, tender and tasty.

The view at the bar where you wait for your table at Latte di Luna to be ready. Tough place to wait, right?

Latte di Luna, Pienza, Italy: More on the pipe-dream front, as there is no trip to Italy planned for 2011, however, despite Pienza's touristy status (I've heard the town referred to, in a most contemptuous fashion, as The Disney World of Tuscany - I believe there was a phooey at the end of the statement, as though our fellow American tourist had to spit out the nasty bits of Renaissance Disney World gristle to purge himself of it), it is one of my favorite spots in the world. There's a fabulous bar - well, it serves drinks, but wouldn't be recognizable as a bar to the vast majority of Disney World-attendees - on the fortified wall on the edge of the town, providing hours of fun gazing at the Tuscan hillside, but when you need to eat country food after an aperitivo or due, head over to Latte di Luna for roast suckling pig worth boarding a flight you can ill afford, or roasted duck with olives, or cannellini beans firm yet chewy - and the hospitality of Roberto and Antonella, both of whom have been working the front of the house for many a year, serving up those spit-roasted pigs to happy, Disney World of Tuscany-embracing tourists.

Mondo X, Cetona, Italy: This is a totally mind-blowing restaurant. Particularly if the highest end of restaurant dining is not within your typical purview (and it certainly is not within ours).

Housed in a convent founded by Saint Francis in 1212, it is now home to young men from all over Italy who are recovering from drug and alcohol addiction. At the convent, they tend to the fields, growing the fruits and vegetables and raising the livestock that ultimately are prepared and served - by these same young men - to a small group of diners at lunch and dinner. The purpose of their time at the convent: to provide them practical skills that they can use in the outside world to stay sober and be productive.

Upon arrival, JR and I were greeted at the front gate of the convent, handed a sparkling wine, also produced at the convent, then guided through candle - and torch-lit (very 1212 of them, don't you think?) - corridors to the dining room. The menu presented to us was hand-written, featuring courses of vegetables, smoked river fish, delicate pasta, and game. JR and I got to chatting with a Neopolitan couple seated nearby and as a result were, as tends to be our way, the last to leave the restaurant - a 4-hour gastronomic extravaganza. And a very pricey one, at that. But so worth it (start saving now if you're going to southeastern Tuscany this summer. You won't regret it.).

JR and I also have some serious resolutions for this year, which require their very own post, and center around self-sufficiency. It's about to get very farmy around here. Very, very farmy.

Charcutepalooza: Duck Prosciutto

There's not a lot of meat there in my prosciutto. Darn you, Bargain Basement duck.

"Eee-yeah. You always go for that kind of stuff," JR's words pretty much spat out at me as he chewed - reluctantly - my first-ever duck prosciutto.

JR and I have owned Michael Ruhlman's Charcuterie for a couple of years without curing one damned thing. One week last winter, I spent nearly our entire weekly grocery budget on two pork bellies from a local farm with the intent to make pancetta. Alas, motivation was at a minimum, and eventually, both pork bellies were eaten - cooked, not cured.

It was only while reading Cathy of Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Kitchen and Kim of The Yummy Mummy's tweets about their newly-hatched Charcutepalooza plan did the motivation to cure well up inside of me once more. Finally, I had hit curing-craving critical mass.

So, a few weeks ago, on the drive home from a dingy, snow-strangled industrial side street in Boston, while mulling over their Charcutepalooza idea - and the first challenge, duck prosciutto - duck being a favorite "that kind of stuff" for me - I thought, "Why can't I join in on the curing fun? Why not me? Why not now?" I whine a lot to myself when driving home from Boston. Especially in the winter. It takes over an hour, you know. Waaaah.

I set out to find a duck. On New Year's Eve day. I found two. Two lame-ish, frozen, and small-by-duck-standards ducks. For $3.49 per pound. Bargain basement ducks of no discernible provenance.

I bought one.

This Bargain Basement duck of mine first had to defrost. And I had to continue driving back and forth to Boston. Nearly a week passed before the wee duck was unleashed from the shrink wrap.

JR pieced the duck for me so that I could start the salt cure as soon as I walked in the door on that Thursday night. He poured a glass of wine for me as I unwrapped the boned breasts from the storage bag he had placed them in, and, when I started flipping through the index of Charcuterie to locate the duck prosciutto recipe, he pointed to the dust jacket marking the space, "It's already marked. Right there." Even without such amazing assistance, curing couldn't be easier.

Basically, tuck the breasts into their own, separate (though adjacent) beds of salt. With no room in the refrigerator - even for such a tiny duck - the salt-encased breasts were placed near our garden potatoes in the basement. Then, I proceeded to forget about them for almost a day longer than I should have.

Not to worry, the breasts were firm, yet pliable when finally removed from the salt. "Holy crap, it's working," I said to JR. Now, I feel like this applies to a lot of things: seeds sprouting, pickling, jam and jelly making, cheese making - all things that are generally marveled at nowadays, even while these techniques - and a technique like salt curing - are among the most basic used for food preservation. Historically and across cultures. I annoy myself when I get caught in that "oh, wow, I did it" trap, when I know that there's a reason why these techniques have been passed down from generation to generation - you know, because they work and they aren't that difficult to execute. I mean, the results aren't instantaneous, and therefore don't fit many people's definition of convenient, but they are pretty easy to manage if you're of the mind to try.

So the next 5 minute step was to weigh the breasts and then tie them up in the flim-flam cheesecloth I bought for this purpose. Next time around, I'm going to do better in the cheesecloth department. Oh, and in the duck sourcing department, too.

It was a Saturday, JR and I had a party to attend (many thanks to my friend Chris, who came up with the idea and hosted the party, at which a bunch of our friends made recipes from my book, which we ate over the course of many, many hours. All while watching football. It might only have been better had there been a curing station, now that curing is one of my favorite things in the world.).
I have a tendency to be late to, um, everything, so JR was understandably concerned when I said that I had to get the duck breasts hung before leaving for the party. Which we had to do in 5 minutes. "We have to go, you know. It's a party for you." "I know, I know. Don't worry. It'll take two minutes. Just as soon as I gain control of this crappy cheesecloth," I said, my body contorting as I struggled to pull its flimsy layers apart from one another without unraveling the cloth. Only to then fold it back up in an attempt to somehow create a substantial wrapper of the chintzy mess.

JR transported our dish - pulled pork - to the car, while I created two duck breast bundles; one with thyme and one with a giant spring of rosemary - nearly as large as the breast, in fact (I have mentioned that this was a tiny, sad, Bargain Basement duck, haven't I?).

See what I'm saying? Rosemary as big as a duck breast. Either it's a gargantuan rosemary plant or a terribly stunted duck.

By the time JR was back in the house, the breasts were kitchen twine-sealed packages with ready-to-hang loops, and back they went to the basement, this time just to the base of the stairs (though, realistically, this space is very likely equally as cold as the potato cellar, so colder and drier than called for by Mr. Ruhlman.).

I weighed the sad sacks just before they went to the basement, and later in the week, saw a tweet from Judy of Divina Cucina that made me think I should have done what she had - her breasts and my breasts both clocked in at around 6-ounces, so she combined hers to make one larger prosciutto.

Brilliant. Me? Not so much.

This afternoon, returning from a slew of errands, JR asked what was on the menu for lunch. With only 3 hours left of real daylight, and a path needing to be shoveled through this most recent blizzard's foot of snow to the as-yet unsplit wood pile, lunch had to be quick. You see, we heat with wood, so no wood means no heat. And, yeah, it's cold here right now.

So JR had to get a move on in order to get the wood ready for the upcoming week (on a long side note, this is the last year we buy four foot lengths of wood that doesn't get delivered until December. It's a little crazy trying to split wood every other day during the winter, particularly when it seems as though it's been snowing every other day this year. Tree lengths seemed like a good, money-saving idea at the time, but, ah, yeah - you gotta get the wood delivered a little earlier than December to make it worthwhile.).

Fried eggs were the first best lunch idea I had, along with a slice or two of Seven Stars Bakery's olive loaf, when suddenly, a vision of tiny prosciutto danced through my head. "Hey, will you get the duck breasts out of the basement?"

"No."

"No," I replied, surprised. "I don't want that." "Yes you do." "No. I don't," (pause here for me to get my confused face on, please) "I don't even like duck." (wha? who doesn't like duck?) And where did this conversation end, you ask? Back at the beginning: "Eee-yeah. You always go for that kind of stuff."

"That kind of stuff" it turns out, includes "all the weird stuff". Like livers, and heart, and tongue, and lardo - cured fatback. As luck would have it, when I sliced into the prosciutto, the fatty parts reminded me of lardo, one of my favorite treats when we've traveled in Italy - and JR's least favorite, of course, because it falls into the "that kind of stuff" category.

One day, on a poorly-planned trek to Florence from southern Tuscany, we arrived in the city well after the usual lunch hour. This is a problem, because restaurants don't serve lunch all day long in Italy.

We walked to a spot where a wine bar I loved used to reside, only to find it gone. Yet inside the new restaurant that had taken the wine bar's place was the nicest man in the world - certainly on that day, perhaps every day, I can't be sure - manning the operation of the country-casual spot housed next to a high-concept, ultra-modern sister restaurant. Atop the butcher-style wooden countertop surrounding him was a leg of prosciutto (pig, not duck), country bread, and a couple wheels of the sheep's milk cheese, Pecorino di Pienza.

In broken Italian, I explained that we had planned badly, and had missed lunch. "No pranzo," he asked, a bit alarmed. "Si. No pranzo," I confirmed.

He rushed us over to the far corner of the restaurant, and seated us at a small table, surrounded by shelves of wine from floor to ceiling. Fawning over us as though we were little birds with broken wings that he intended to nurse back to health, he delivered us a glass of wine each, and then returned with a spuntino - a snack of bruschetta with lardo and honey. At the time, I was convinced that it was the best thing I had ever eaten - the lardo melted like butter over the charred bread, the honey offsetting the saltiness of the lardo. "I could eat this every meal until I die," I told JR. "I could die if I had to eat that," he responded. At least, that's how I remember it going down.
My duck prosciutto is a bit too salty - I suspect the minuscule size of my breasts (ah-hahahaha. I had to do it. I can't believe I made it this long without going there.) is to blame. Even as I sit typing this, the corners of my mouth are burning from the salt of the snacky bits I've picked at - to give me energy to write this post, of course. So I like the prosciutto, it's just a bit salty, is all.

At lunch today, as I prepared to toast the Seven Stars olive loaf in the egg-frying pan, I realized, "hey, I can make a lardo bruschetta." Or, a duck prosciutto-that-happens-to-be-mostly-duck-lardo bruschetta. Out came the honey from our hives, and into my mouth went the salty-sweet bites of nostalgia - homegrown nostalgia, at that.

"You're a real frontier woman, you are," JR said as the bruschetta came together, "curing your own meats, using your own honey. What's next?"
And what is next is the salt cure. I'm thinking I'll do both bacon and pancetta. Finally, finally, finally, I'll get to that pancetta. Thank you, Cathy and Kim for the giant nudge.

Guideposts.org's Cookbook Chronicles

For those of you curious about what inspired me to start cooking, what type of dish I'd be - were I to be a dish, of course, and what ingredients I always have in my kitchen, the answers are all right here.

Polenta-stuffed Portabella Mushrooms with Pancetta and Tomato Sauce

During a recent family dinner at my brother and sister-in-law's house, my sister served up a batch of very substantial stuffed portabella mushrooms with red lentils and red quinoa. And at Christmas, my mother served baby bella mushrooms with a roasted red pepper sauce, which got me to thinking about what my dream stuffed portabella would contain.

It only took a few days to come up with it, and on New Year's Eve, JR and I feasted on these bad boys, full of hearty polenta, topped with chopped pancetta, and finished off with a quick tomato sauce. That holiday eve tomato sauce cleared the fridge of the very last of our local slow-roasted tomatoes (and I highly recommend going that route if you have some stashed in your freezer), however, crushed canned tomatoes are a fine option as well.

If you don't eat meat, you could easily substitute chopped onion or mushrooms for the pancetta, or omit a topping altogether and just go with the tomato sauce once the mushrooms emerge from the oven.


Polenta-stuffed Portabella Mushrooms with Pancetta and Tomato Sauce:
Serves 4

4 portabella mushroom caps, washed, dried, and stems removed
1 tablespoon olive oil for greasing the pan

4 cups vegetable broth
1 cup uncooked polenta (grits)
1/4 cup pecorino-romano cheese

1/4 pound pancetta, cut into 1/4-inch pieces

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 large shallot, coarsely chopped
2 large garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
1 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes
1/4 cup milk (we use 1% - feel free to use what you have in the house)
1 teaspoon dried oregano

kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Prepare the polenta according to the manufacturer's instructions, stirring in the pecorino-romano once you've taken the polenta pot off of the burner. Allowing the polenta to sit for five minutes or so will make the transfer to your portabella caps a bit less of a runny polenta mess.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Grab a rimmed baking sheet (I found that my 9 by 13-inch lasagne pan wasn't quite ample enough to fit all 4 mushroom caps), and pour a tablespoon of olive oil on the pan to coat the pan and prevent stuck mushrooms at the end of the baking time.

Place the four mushroom caps stem-side up on the pan, then top each with 1/4 of the polenta.

Scatter 1/4 of the chopped pancetta over each of the stuffed mushroom caps, then place the pan in the oven and bake until the mushrooms are releasing their juices and the pancetta is beginning to brown at the edges, 30 to 35 minutes.

Meanwhile, once the mushrooms are in the oven, heat three tablespoons of olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the shallot and garlic, and cook until the shallot is translucent, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the crushed tomato, milk, and oregano, and stir to evenly distribute the milk and oregano.

Simmer the sauce gently (we don't want spattering tomato sauce during this process) in the pan for 20 to 25 minutes, by which time, your mushrooms should be ready to serve. Season the sauce with salt and pepper, pull those portabella bad boys out of the oven, transfer one to each of your four dinner plates, top with sauce, and serve them forth.

This tomato sauce is also a good weeknight pasta dinner option, as you might have gathered from its 20 to 25 minute cook time (and 5 or so minutes max to chop the shallot and garlic, plus gather up the olive oil, tomatoes, and milk). With the amount of time that it takes for pasta water to come to a boil, you've got a quick and easy dinner on the table in 30 minutes flat if you do go the weeknight-pasta-sauce route.

the mushrooms with accoutrement prior to cooking

Estimated cost for 4 servings: $13.97. We used portabella caps for this, which are priced at $2.99 for two, so $5.98 for 4. Feel free to use whole, unpackaged portabellas for this, which we have also done, and those cost around $2.99 per pound at our local supermarket. The veggie broth for the polenta cost $2.39 for 4 cups, and the polenta cost 57-cents for 1 cup. The pecorino-romano cheese cost 25-cents for 1/4 cup. The pancetta costs $8.49 per pound, so 1/4 pound cost us $2.12. The olive oil for the entire dish costs 48-cents, the shallot cost around a quarter, and the garlic cost approximately 10-cents. The can of crushed tomatoes cost $1.67, the milk costs around 6-cents, and the oregano we used grows as it likes, which is to say out of control, in the borders of our garden, and was dried at the end of the summer. However, if you were to use purchased oregano, it would run you around 10-cents for dried. For less than $3.50 each (okay, it's just a penny less, but it's still less), you and 3 dining companions get a hearty, mushroomy meal. I'd say "sweet", but it's really more "umami". Maybe we could start using "umami" as a synonym for the colloquial "sweet"? Shall we take a vote on that? So far, I count one for making that change.

Happy New Year

From the snowy hinterland that is our backyard, best wishes for a healthy, happy, and productive 2011. Be safe!

Trimming the Party Budget: On the air with FOX 25 Boston

It was a pleasure, as always, to visit with my friends at FOX 25 Boston, this time to discuss strategies for a budget cocktail party with the lovely and fun Elizabeth Hopkins.



One thing that Elizabeth and I didn't have a chance to discuss on the air is embracing the potluck. Don't be afraid to assign your family or friends specific dishes ("Elizabeth, would you mind making the caramelized onion tart for the party on Friday?" "No, of course not, Amy. I was wondering what to bring." See how easy that was?).

Everyone wants to help, and divvying up the work - and expense - results in a much more manageable and fun time for you and your guests.

If you're wondering where to find the caramelized onion dip recipe, that bad boy is located here.

The tart is located here (or at the link above in my imaginary conversation with Elizabeth).

For this visit to FOX, the tart was sans ricotta forte. If you aren't able to locate ricotta forte, or don't think it's something you'd use on a regular basis, you can use goat cheese if you'd like to have cheese on your tart, or you can omit it completely.

And these lemony meatballs also make for an interesting and inexpensive app. If you'd like a vegan option, this quinoa, squash, and black bean salad is quick and easy - and also gluten-free.

Happy and safe holidays to you!