I'm Totally Rushing You In the Fall.

Things are happy. Things are good. Business is good, things feel pretty stable, and, on these crisp nights, I can rock layers (clothing). Thanksgiving has passed and Christmas is coming up really fast. Usually I am a pretty major Christmas geek. I love Christmas music, the tree, the decorating, the parties, the excuse to be over dressed and wear sparkly things, the excuse to be over dressed, wearing sparkly thinks while drinking sparkly things.

This year I don’t feel as much like Mother Christmas as I usually do. I don’t foresee having my annual Christmas party, I’m entirely unclear what I’m giving to whom as gifts (and I usually have that on lockdown months before), and I’m not even getting a tree. I have dug the big boxes of Christmas from the garage, so that’s a start.

A lot of this could be because of the timing of the most recent Dinner at Eight. That would have been last Friday. But even though that’s over and done with, I don’t feel like I can concentrate on things. I am decidedly distracted. I’ve barely even written anything this month. But maybe that’s because I have a crush.

I do.

 

And it (he) has taken quite a bit of my physical and mental space over the past few weeks. He’s coming over for dinner tonight. I haven’t cooked for him yet. I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? I cook for people all the time. I cook for friends, family and even complete strangers. All. The. Time. And yet I’m nervous to cook for Fred tonight. I know I’m going to make my oyster stew. However, I don’t know what will follow. I’m sure it will be fine. I’m sure it will be better than fine. I’m sure it will be delicious and fun.

But I’ve still got the swirlies. Ugh.

Anyway, this past Sunday we spent the better part of the day making cassoulet. I’ve wanted to make cassoulet for forevers. It’ one of my very most favorite dishes. Cassoulet night at Lucques is something I look forward to all year (that’s coming up, by the way). Our cassoulet making was a really fun process that began with procuring our Meat(s) at Lindy & Grundy around one o’clock and ended on Fred’s couch, chowing down at about eleven o’clock. And that was with the fast soak on the cannelini beans. We spent a good deal of the down time doing the Sunday crossword and watching In A Lonely Place (best movie, ever). It all worked out really nicely. It was good times and good food, I must admit. And, as you know, I do so love a Process. And a Sunday. And a cassoulet.

So, back to tonight. I’m thinking either scallops or a stuffed pork tenderloin. Something with beets? I welcome your thoughts on the matter. Regardless, I’ll keep you posted on how tonight’s meal turns out. Promise.

Our Sunday Cassoulet

Serves 6-8

1 lb. dried cannelini beans
10 tbsp. duck fat 

16 cloves garlic, smashed
5 shallots, chopped3 carrots, chopped

1 large ham hock
1 lb. lamb neck, cut into 1"cubes
1⁄2 lb. pancetta, cubed
4 sprigs oregano
4 sprigs thyme
3 bay leaves
1 cup whole peeled canned tomatoes
1 1/2 cup white wine
2 cups chicken stock

2 confit duck legs (we used chicken legs)
1 lb. pork sausages
2 cups bread crumbs

Soak beans in a 4-qt. bowl in 7 1⁄2 cups water overnight. Heat 2 tbsp. duck fat in a 6-qt. pot over medium-high heat. Add half the garlic, shallots, and carrots and cook until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Add ham hock along with beans and their water and boil. Reduce heat and simmer beans until tender, about 1 1⁄2 hours.

Transfer ham hock to a plate; let cool. Pull off meat; discard skin, bone, and gristle. Chop meat; add to beans. Set aside.

Heat 2 tbsp. duck fat in a 5-qt. dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add lamb and brown for 8 minutes. Add pancetta; cook for 5 minutes. Add remaining garlic, onions, and carrots; cook until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Tie together oregano, thyme, and bay leaves with twine; add to pan with tomatoes; cook until liquid thickens, 8–10 minutes. Add wine; reduce by half. Add broth; boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook, uncovered, until liquid has thickened, about 1 hour. Discard herbs; set dutch oven aside.

Meanwhile, sear duck legs in 2 tbsp. duck fat in a 12" skillet over medium-high heat for 8 minutes; transfer to a plate. Brown sausages in the fat, about 8 minutes. Cut sausages into 1⁄2" slices. Pull duck meat off bones. Discard fat and bones. Stir duck and sausages into pork stew.

Heat oven to 300˚. Mix beans and pork stew in a 4-qt. cast iron dutch oven. Cover with bread crumbs; drizzle with remaining duck fat. Bake, uncovered, for 3 hours. Raise oven temperature to 500˚; cook cassoulet until crust is golden, about 5 minutes.


Printable recipe


One year ago: Linguine with Pancetta Mushroom Cream Sauce
Two years ago: The Flying Pig Truck

Eduardo Facebook Saverin Shaffbar

For about a year or so, quite a few of my close friends have told me I should write a dating blog, or something along those lines. I find this to be borderline hysterical, as I have not even been in a relationship since season four of The Wire began. I suppose I have had some interesting adventures in the love and/or dating sphere since then, but absolutely nothing has stuck. Well, except Besito Ysidro, of course. And food.

For the past two or three winters I have been having a lot of fun playing with sunchokes. Prior to that they were relatively unknown to me. They are really very interesting, however, and their unusual texture and flavor make for fun and experimental dishes – but for me, mostly soups, purees, mashes and hashes.

Sunchokes

This winter I have been all about celery root, or celeriac. I have had all sorts of celery root things before, but I don’t think I ever stopped to consider that celery root was any different than celery. Who knows why that would be. And, in case you didn't know, celery and celery root are not the same thing. It is a kind of celery, grown as a root vegetable for its large and bulbous hypocotyl rather than for its stem and leaves.

 

At the end of January I had a lovely celery root soup at The Mercantile. This inspired me.

The sunchoke and celery root appeal to me in similar ways, ways not unlike the artichoke. I mean, who ever looked at any of these items and thought, “I wonder if I should try to eat this gross, and imposing vegetation?" These are ugly and unwelcoming looking shapes. But I'm glad someone did. Because they turned out to be so interesting – so complex, multi-layered, delicious, and fun to cook with. Actually, kind of like the men I am often attracted to. And dogs, for that matter. 

Mise en Place - Celery Root is on bottom right.

This brings me to Eduardo. The latest man in my life. I met Eduardo about a week and a half ago. He was being fostered by an incredibly sweet, and humanitarian, couple in West Hollywood. Regardless of the fact that they own four cats, some feral and with health problems (and none that care for dogs), they still managed to save Eduardo from a certain death at a shelter on the very day he was to be put down. They asked me to take care of him for a few days while they went out of town and it was love at first snuggle. I adopted him. Well, to be clear, Maggie and I adopted him.

Eduardo Facebook Saverin Shaffbar and his Twin.

Not unlike the celery root or the sunchoke, or the men I often find myself attracted to, Eduardo is not without his unattractive qualities. He can be quite the surly little man at times. But ultimately, when he's not growling at you for trying to pick him up, or put him down, he is beautiful, complicated, multi-dimensional, snuggly, goofy and well, pretty damned sweet. He sort-of dares you to love him. And he has the funniest little teeth. They are more like tiny human teeth than doggie teeth. Like tiny, little pieces of rice.

That being said, ironically, I have a date tonight. Not with a root vegetable or a dog. Or Maggie. But with a boy. Oof. Wish me luck. I will now leave you all with that recipe I know you've been waiting for - the soup I promised in the last post.

Celeraic Soup with Sunchoke "Croutons"

Serves 6

2 medium celery roots (celeriac; 1 3/4 pounds total), trimmed, peeled, cut into 1-inch cubes (about 8 cups)
1 pound russet potatoes, peeled, cut into 3/4-inch cubes (about 3 cups)
3 cups chicken stock
2 cups whole milk
3 garlic cloves, peeled
3 fresh thyme sprigs
1 fresh bay leaf
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, divided
3/4 cup heavy cream
8 ounces sunchokes, scrubbed
1/2 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil 
chopped fresh fennel fronds (for garnish)

Combine first 7 ingredients in heavy large pot. Add enough water to cover. Sprinkle with salt. Bring to boil, reduce heat to medium, and simmer with lid slightly ajar until vegetables are tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Drain; return to pot. Discard thyme sprigs and bay leaf. Stir over medium heat to dry vegetables. Using immersion blender, blend vegetables until coarsely pureed. Add cream. Stir in 3 1/2 tablespoons butter. Season with salt and pepper. DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. 

Preheat oven to 425°F. Cut sunchokes into 1/2-inch cubes. Place in medium bowl; add oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and toss to coat. Dot with remaining 1/2 tablespoon butter. 

Transfer to rimmed baking sheet; roast until tender and golden brown, turning occasionally, about 25 minutes.

Place celery root and potato puree in serving bowl. Sprinkle sunhokes and chopped fennel over and serve.

Printable Recipe

I Left My Heart in San Fran-Cheesy; Part 1, Thursday.

Although I am itching to deviate, temporarily – as I do – from the restaurant writings, as there seem to be a few in a row at present, and I know everyone is just waiting with bated breath for my next story about how some very personal chunk of my life relates to one of my recipes, which I then share, I would be remiss if I didn’t discuss my recent trip to San Francisco and some dining out experiences with you.

Was that run on sentence?

Anyway, that being said, you will all have to wait a bit longer for my celery root soup with sunchoke “croutons” recipe.

Ever since food found such a prominent, and dominant, part of my life, I have wanted to go to Chez Panisse. But, as I have been able to travel little in the past seven or so years, it has not been checked off the list. Until very recently, that is.

A month or so ago I decided I was going to bust a move up the coast for one of my culinary adventures. I had fully intended to go at it alone until one night, after blathering on about my plan to Minty, it was decided: we were going to team up and conquer the food and cocktail scene in San Francisco together.

And so, two weeks ago, in my rented Toyota Corolla (my car would never make the journey, nor would anyone want to spend that much time in it), Minty and I hit the road. She, with her weekend bag. Me, with the suitcase I used when I spent two weeks in Europe – full. I am the world’s most horrible packer.

We were all set, cruising up the I-5N, had my iPod playing tunes, us, chatting away. About an hour and a half to two hours in, I look down and notice A. I’m going about 90 miles per hour, B. I have no actual clue what the speed limit is, and C. Regardless of the speed limit it is almost certain that I am speeding. And, D. right at that crucial moment, I also decide to pass the car in front of me. That car was a cop. First speeding ticket ever, check.

The remainder of the drive was glitch free with the exception of coming frighteningly close to running out of gas only moments after the whole ticket affair. Hey, I don’t proclaim to being that awesome of a driver. Just take a look at my car sometime.

The view from Carina's.

Well, rest easy, we made it there alive – and in amazing time! Upon arrival, I wanted coffee. Minty led us to wine. Oh, I suppose I can have a glass of wine. Or two.

You gotta love The Castro.

After settling in at our host, (and Minty’s friend) Carina’s place and having a little time to freshen up, the three of us headed out, on foot, to dinner. It was a beautiful, crisp night and I thoroughly enjoyed every second of soaking in the air and the city during our walk. 

That night we dined at Heirloom Cafe. The girls wanted to go to Frances, but as the wait was a bit, ahem, excessive we continued walking until we arrived at Heirloom. The girls were sweet. They knew my style was along the lines of sustainable, local, simple food – and they wanted to cater to it. Again, very conscientious of the ladies.

Heirloom was right up my alley. It actually reminded me, aesthetically, of a lot of the restaurants/cafes/bistros I grew up eating in back in Richmond. Small, and intimate, with wooden floors, vintage wall-paper, high, tin-stamped ceilings, and an airy, rustic feel. It also felt like Richmond in that we were the only guests under 50 years-old in the house. Interestingly, I discovered later that Heirloom, which opened up in the Mission District less than a year ago, is the brainflower of Matt Straus, former wine director at Wilshire and Grace, right here in sunny Los Angeles.

We were seated at a long, communal farm table that extended along the length of the middle of the room.  The wine list was tremendously impressive and about as big as a Tolstoy novel. After some dialogue with our affable server, we selected a beautiful, warm and rounded 2001 Savennieres, Baumard, which ended up pairing very nicely with everything we had to eat.

I thought the menu was small and precise. I always appreciate a tight, confident menu. We started with the Dungeness crab, endive, brioche croutons, lemon emulsion ($14), and a fresh linguine with shaved black truffles (I don’t recall the price). I was tremendously fond of the fresh, tart, and spritely salad. Those buttery, brioche croutons made me smiley from the inside out.

I am on an extreme pasta kick right now, and this was pretty great. The noodles were delicate and sanguine. And who can argue with a shaved, black truffle, especially in January! I could have had these two dishes all to myself, with that bottle of Savennieres and been fully sated and absolutely happy.

We then each ordered an entrée and sampled one another’s choices. Carina opted for the Maine sea scallops, sweet mashers, frisee, brown butter, currants ($22), Minty went with the fish soup, PEI mussels, manila clams, roasted fennel, saffron broth ($20), and I had the sliced duck breast, farro, carrots, confit cabbage, port sauce ($22). Minty also ordered the roasted yam risotto, chanterelles, crispy shallots, pistou ($15). She just couldn’t resist.

The duck, sadly, was a little disappointing in that it was under-seasoned. It was, however, cooked to perfection and its accoutrements were delightful. I loved the farro and port. Minty’s fish soup had a bold, beautiful broth and was chock full of fruits of the sea. I love fennel. I love saffron. I love seafood. I don’t normally opt for Bouillabaisse-like dishes (you never know what might float to the top), but I enjoyed my tastes of this dish. The risotto was outstanding. It was perfectly toothsome, slightly sweet, earthy and incorporated a perfect ceremony of color, taste and texture. I enjoyed Carina’s scallop dish as well. The scallops were spot on, but while I appreciated the brown butter, I was not necessarily a fan of the currants and sweet mash as plate partners. I realize I am a bit of a nut with the fruity stuff and my sweet and savory getting too muddled, but I honestly was just unsure about this dish conceptually, as a whole. I will add that I was alone with this opinion.

And this brings us to dessert – not something I normally indulge in, but what the hell - it was vacation. We got the apple and pear butter cake and a play on the Oreo, a cake-like concoction called o Ree Oh Or ee oHH cake. I loved the actual cake part of the pear and butter cake. The chocolate-y o Ree Oh Or ee oHH cake was fun, but by this time I needed a wheelbarrow to roll me out. Stick a fork in me, I’m done – you know?

Good stuff, Heirloom. If and when I return to San Francisco, I will return to you.

After dinner we met up with Donovan, a friend of Carina and Minty’s, and headed to a couple of bars where we bellied up and finished out the night. I recall a cute bartender at our second stop. I recall a cab ride home. I recall a sound night of sleep after a long drive and our first night of our adventure. I recall a couple of girls with tiny (ahem) hangovers the next morning.

More exciting San Francisco culinary adventures coming tout suite – including the eagerly anticipated Chez Panisse story, so stay tuned…

Bringing It Back

I’ve never really been a big breakfast person. I love breakfast foods and, hell, brunch is my most favoritest meal of all, but I really just have absolutely no appetite within the first two or three hours of waking up. Coffee does the trick just fine until lunch (which I usually eat a bit late, as well). Additionally, in the breakfast department, ninety nine point nine percent of the time I will opt for savory over sweet. For example, I much prefer eggs, potatoes and bacon to pancakes or waffles.

About a year or so ago I stumbled across an article in Gourmet (RIP) about a cookbook by Marion Cunningham entitled, The Breakfast Book. At the time of the book’s publication, in 1987, there were almost no other cookbooks concentrating on breakfast. In the midst of an era applauding frozen waffles, microwaves and "Nouvelle cuisine" (think Dorsia), Cunningham wanted to get the home cook back in the kitchen.

I was already familiar with Cunningham as she edited The Fannie Farmer Cookbook, authored The Fannie Farmer Baking Book, and roamed across the country cooking with James Beard. But this cookbook was a new one for me.

So although breakfast is not my favorite meal of the day, nor have I ever relied on a recipe to prepare any breakfast dishes, upon hearing Cunningham say her Bridge Creek Heavenly Hots are the lightest of hot cakes, and seeing this quote, “Cooking is one of the legacies we can leave to the future, and I would like to be remembered for my baking. We all know we’re not immortal, but after I’m gone, I would like my son and daughter to be able to say, ‘Our mother made real yeast bread for breakfast.” – I was sold.

I believe I have mentioned a fond memory of my grandfather, Paw, back in Roanoke, Virgina, making sausage biscuits. He would make a whole baking sheet full of biscuits, cook up a ton of sausage, assemble the biscuits, and leave them on the tray on the counter in the kitchen. As friends and family ambled in and out of the house everyone would, at some point, wander into the deliciously sausage-y smelling kitchen and help themselves.

So, as very much a non-baker, when I discovered Cunningham’s recipe for Cream Biscuits, described as “superior and no student ever failed to make good ones in James Beard’s cooking classes”, I gave them a go. She was right. They are delicate and buttery with a light crumb, and they are delicious. And yes, simple enough that even I didn’t mess them up.

Recently, I remembered that it’s just about the time of year when I order piles of my favorite sausage from Broadbent’s – which I know I’ve mentioned before.

Then it all came together: sausage biscuits!

So last weekend, once my sausage order arrived, I tore into the kitchen to make this marriage happen. And I did it just like Paw. For two days everyone that came in and out of the house enjoyed those incredible and home-made sausage biscuits that sat on the baking sheet on the counter in the kitchen. It made them happy but it made me happier.

Funny thing: Maggie, who also has ties to Roanoke, mentioned that the whole thing reminded her of her grandfather. Sausage biscuits, on the baking sheet, on the counter in the kitchen, always. Sniff.

So I decided that this will be a theme this Fall and Winter. Yesterday I made another dozen biscuits and cooked up a bunch of sausage. They were all gone by Noon today.

Thank you, Marion Cunningham, for bringing my friends and family back to the kitchen. 

Cream Bicuits

Makes one dozen biscuits

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon baking powder

2 teaspoons sugar 

1 to 1 1/2 cups heavy cream

1/3 cup (5 1/3 tablespoons) butter, melted

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Use an ungreased baking sheet.

Combine the flour, salt, baking powder, and sugar in a mixing bowl. Stir the dry ingredients with a fork to blend and lighten. Slowly add 1 cup of the cream to the mixture, stirring constantly. Gather the dough together; when it holds together and feels tender, it is ready to knead. If the dough seems shaggy and pieces are dry and falling away, thenslowly add enough additional cream to make the dough hold together.

Place the dough on a lightly floured board and knead for 1 minute. Pat the dough into a square that is about 1/2 inch thick. Cut into 12 squares and dip each into the melted butter so all sides are coated. Place the biscuits 2 inches apart on the baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes, or until the biscuits are lightly browned. Serve hot.