The vlog: 4th of July Berry Mojito

July 4th is the perfect time to get exceedingly patriotic. And I do. I've made more all-American meals for clients than I can count, baked more red-white-and-blue cakes and pastries and tarts than I care to remember. And the 4th of July -- just an ordinary day for the Italians in Italy -- was always a favorite holiday of mine in Rome. I once gave myself an American flag pedicure for the occasion! Okay, maybe that was going a bit overboard. But it was the day we Americans could declare our American-ness, our patriotism, and our love for making fun of our beloved British friends. We got together for cookouts and pool parties, and ate hot dogs and hamburgers of our own making. And the drinks. Always, said the Italians, we knew how to make the most delicious cocktails. Of course, the mojito isn't exactly American. But anything and red (strawberries, raspberries), white (rum), and blue (blueberries) -- well, that qualifies. So here we have a "patriotic" berry mojito that's perfect for sharing with friends on July 4th, and throughout the heat of summer. The lime and fresh mint give the drink a zing and a refreshing bite that cut through the sugar and sweetness of the berries. Replace the rum with cachaça or vodka for a berry caipirinha or caipiroska, respectively -- a nod to the World Cup host country and a perfect drink to enjoy while viewing this exciting soccer tournament, live from Brazil.

Enjoy, and HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!

 

QUICK BITE: Empanadas and Leche de Fruta, Quintero, Chile

Why does food -- and drink, for that matter -- always taste better when you're beachside? It's true. Think spaghetti alle vongole while overlooking the Mediterranean at a beach trattoria in Ostia. Or devouring a spicy green papaya salad purchased from a seaside cart in Krabi, Thailand. Or tucking into a rich shrimp moqueca while your toes are in the sand at a restaurant on the island of Morro de Sao Paolo in Brazil. I've done all of those things, and loved every minute of it. And somehow, the excitement of seaside snacking does not abate.
   
For instance, while most of the northeastern United States was suffering through a frigid first few weeks of the new year, I spent an afternoon in the Pacific Ocean-side town of Quintero, Chile, just about an hour north of Vina del Mar. It was a bit of an odd, popular place...sort of the Jones Beach of Chile, it seemed. And the locals we encountered there -- and we encountered only locals, as we were certainly the sole gringas on the beach that day -- seemed dressed more for an autumn outing in the park rather than the beach on an 82-degree afternoon in southern hemisphere summer. But no matter. We soaked up the sun and the beautiful natural surroundings of a cove we found, and then before getting a ride back to Vina, we indulged in a snack sold to us by a lovely older Chilean woman whose Spanish I was able to understand (Chilean Spanish is...challenging, I'll put it that way), and who was able to understand my Spanish in return. As a result, we enjoyed a frothy fresh mango juice and a couple of empanadas, one filled with fresh crab and cheese, the other with ground beef, onions, olives, and pine nuts, all wrapped up in a flaky pastry shell. This was the perfect snack to give us the energy to make it to dinner -- which was sure to be seaside, and to include at least one kind of ceviche. And since it was all consumed seaside, it was, of course, extra-delicious.

The vlog: Composed Salad for Summer

It's finally here! The first in a new series of instructional web cooking videos on the Blu Aubergine blog...that's right, the vlog! (Sounds Slavic, no?)...Well, it's here to guide you in delicious food prep with simple, easy-to-follow instructions for making various seasonal dishes.

First up: this summer composed salad. Like other famous composed salads (think Cobb, Nicoise, et al), these salads are composed of several ingredients other than greens -- usually a protein, a cheese, a fruit, a vegetable, and sometimes a nut or a grain. Most dressings can be whisked up in no time, but the dressing I make here has a spicy-sweet-sour base which requires a bit of cooking to infuse the flavor. I mention straining the ingredients after cooking, though I never actually do that in this video -- but the diced rhubarb, pepper, and garlic certainly don't detract from the salad. They may even enhance it. What kind of interesting combinations can you come up with for a delicious composed summer salad? The possibilities are endless...


As always, we welcome your comments and feedback. Enjoy, and buon appetito! 

 

HOLIDAYS: Father's Day

My Dad didn’t want a daughter. As the story goes, he said he wouldn’t be a good father to a girl. He couldn’t play ball with a girl, didn’t know how to talk to a girl. Wasn’t much for pink dresses and bows and ribbons and such. And then he said he saw me (a jaundiced lump of a thing), and held me (the largest of the newborns in my family), and it was love at first sight. And a foretelling start to our relationship. I am today and have always been what can only be described as a “Daddy’s Little Girl.” I’m the middle child sandwiched between two brothers, and they remind the whole family all the time of the hold they believe I have on my Dad’s heartstrings, repeating their favorite taunt of “whatever Dana wants, Dana gets.” While this is patently untrue, there's no denying the special bond that we share. My Dad has always told me how "delicious" I was as a baby in my little orange bathing suit (

I'm wearing that famous suit in the photo above). And any time since then, when I've been sarcastic or snippy with him, he posits: "Where did that sweet little girl in the orange bathing suit go?" Even now, when I make a joke at his expense, or imitate my Dad -- which makes him cackle despite himself -- he wonders that same question. It's code for "when did you grow up so quickly?" and I think it's disarmingly sweet.

There's a lot of my Dad in me. I've got his long limbs and his gap-toothed smile, his skin coloring and his green eyes. And then some things are probably a hybrid: partly genetic but given a bump-up by learned behavior and emulation. Sarcasm and sense of humor? Check. An entrepreneurial sensibility? Yes. An ear for music and language? I think so. A friendliness and approachability that somehow attracts random strangers to ask for directions, or money, or even more bizarre requests? Indeed, people at home and even overseas seem to seek out both my father and me. My love of history and great storytelling (written or spoken) is an appreciation my father passed on to me. And certainly embracing my Jewish identity -- probably even more a cultural thing than a religious one -- my Dad really helped me with that, even when as a child, I struggled with it. When you're young, the last thing you want to be is different. My father taught me that not only is that okay, but it's a positive thing. Being different is being special, and what's better than that? It's a lesson and a conviction I've carried with me ever since.

I've got a lot of food memories involving my father, partly because my mother was the primary cook in the family, so on the less-frequent occasions on which my father cooked, his handful of "specialty items" were memorable. Often times on Friday nights, he would make a simple fried flounder, coated in breadcrumbs and pan-fried, with fried onions on top. I loved that dish. He also claimed to be the master of the omelette, which in reality was more of a protein pancake, with pastrami-and-eggs, ham-and-eggs, and salami-and-eggs as his Jewish deli-style specialties. This was his cure-all for pretty much anything that ailed us. And of course, though he didn't actually make the whole Saturday or Sunday morning spread, the process of procuring the best "bagels and lox" (a catch-all name for a variety of bagels, cream cheeses, and smoked fish) was something at which my Dad excelled, and still does.

I remember him bringing me along in the car to an appetizing store in Menlo Park, NJ as a little girl. All the guys in the shop knew him by name, but what stood out to me was the lone female among the smoked fish specialists, named Rita -- a sassy lady with short dark hair and a small mole on one cheek. She was so sweet to me, and always gave me a sample to taste the Nova lox she sliced paper-thin per my Dad's request. Then we'd go next door to the bagel shop to pick up a dozen warm, crusty bagels to go with the fish and cream cheese. The smell of that bagel bakery has haunted my senses since I was a young girl. So when my nose was caught off-guard one day, and I sniffed the exact same smell as that bagel bakery, more than 20 years later, I was surprised and giddy. It emanated from a famous forno (bread bakery) around the corner from my apartment, in the Jewish Ghetto, in Rome. I still adore that bakery, and I happily inhale as I walk past it when the ovens are on full-force, late in the afternoon or very early in the morning. To find pure childhood nostalgia, to be reminded of those father-daughter weekend morning treks -- in Rome of all places -- is pretty amazing.

And so, speaking of this Italian connection and the strong pull Italy has on me...it most likely has its roots with my father. He's a Jewish kid from Brooklyn, not Italian by heritage at all. And though Jewish and Italian cultures share a lot, especially the emphasis on family and food, it's more than that. My Dad always says he feels Italian. Maybe in another life, he was a peasant in the Italian countryside, he says. And: Francis Ford Coppola's "The Godfather" came out in 1972 -- not incidentally, I'm convinced, the year I was born. And ever since I was of a passable age to view the film, my father would watch it with me, almost coaching me on it. The significance of Sonny's outspokenness in front of his father, Michael's gutsy proposal to his Sicilian future father-in-law, Don Corleone's understanding that "it was Barzini all along"...it was like receiving a master class in mafia cinema. My Dad even gave a toast at one of my cousin's weddings in the manner of Luca Brasi! So imagine how thrilled I was when, a few years back, I was lucky enough to cook for the Godfather himself, Al Pacino. The irony of the actor (as kind and well-mannered as could be, by the way), suffering through a low-carb diet -- The Godfather, Il Padrino, unable to eat my pasta! -- was not lost on me, believe me. 

Nor is it lost on me that the one dish I grew up preparing together with my father turned out to be Pollo alla Romana. Of course, we called it "chicken with peppers, tomatoes, and onions" at the time. And my brothers still cringe at the thought of being force-fed this culinary creation that we thought we'd pretty much invented in the late '70s. My mother was more patient and accepting, as is her way. So she was quite game when I came home one summer while living in Rome, and my Dad and I decided to recreate this Sunday staple, but with a little more insight honed from my professional cooking career. I taught my father the finer points of knife skills and chicken-searing, and we all enjoyed a meal steeped in Italian flavor and nostalgia.

As a born chocoholic, the first dishes I prepared were sweets. My father taught me early on the importance of a perfect chocolate chip cookie, or a great chocolate cake, which I'd make for him with the help of my Mom. Dad often had these treats with milk (one word: "Milk'n'cake") as an evening snack between dinner and bedtime (not to mention his prolific consumption of Devil Dogs, Suzie Q’s, and anything containing chocolate that Drake or Hostess produced). As an adult, I've been able to steer my Dad's palate to a slightly more sophisticated chocolate dessert. My much-requested flourless chocolate cake uses so little sugar that even when I use Splenda instead (at my Dad's request), you can't taste the difference. It's pure chocolate decadence, something my Dad loves -- something I love, since the time I was Daddy's Little Girl in the orange bathing suit.

In Tel Aviv

With my parents in NYC

In the Scottish countryside

RECIPES: Pollo Al Mattone (Chicken Under a Brick)

Early summer is a great time for grilling -- either outdoors, where it's not too sweltering, or indoors in a grill pan, when the night may be a little too crisp for lingering outside. Either way, a great dish perfected by the Italians and beloved by everyone who enjoys a delicious, flavorful, juicy chicken dish (and who in their right mind doesn't -- vegetarians excluded, of course...though you really must know you're missing out)? Pollo Al Mattone, or chicken cooked under a brick, in English.

 Most likely Etruscan in origin (there are frescoes depicting the cooking of this dish in ancient Etruscan tombs), this dish in modern times is very Tuscan: simply prepared, using a few top-quality ingredients, with rosemary and lemon as prominent flavorings. Italians in central Italy have mastered the art of grilling, and this method is a wonderful way to create a crisp, flavorful, charred skin while keeping the meat juicy on the inside.Opening the chicken up by removing its backbone allows the chicken to lay flat on the grill or grill pan. The flattening of the chicken allows for even cooking. You can find terra cotta weighted covers for grill pans both in the U.S. and in Italy, but it's just as easy to use the weight of a cast iron pan, or an actual brick to weigh down the chicken. (If the brick is not used specifically for cooking, you can wrap the brick in foil beforehand). Even better is placing a brick on top of a cast iron skillet to really weigh things down. Just make sure to place the "bricks" on the chicken from the very beginning of its cooking time to flatten it -- this is essential for even cooking and crisping the skin properly.

And don't be shy on the seasonings. Lots of salt and pepper, particularly on the skin side, will offer great payback at the end of cooking. I love to add lots of dried peperoncino (chili pepper) flakes to make the chicken spicy, which then makes the chicken dish Pollo alla Diavolo al Mattone. Once you flip the chicken to cook the other side, adding some rosemary and lemon is always a good idea. Other tasty additions would include fresh thyme, a little chopped garlic, and even more peperoncino. Brushing with a good, peppery Tuscan olive oil helps to keep the chicken moist.

Enjoy the cooking process by sipping a chilled Vernaccia di San Gimignano, the Tuscan white of choice, or try an Orvieto Bianco from nearby Umbria. Since Tuscany's wine production is 80% red, however, you could also match the smoky fire and spice of the diavolo with a hearty red like a Brunello di Montalcino, a Sangiovese (the grape comprises the majority of Chianti Classico wine), or a Morellino di Scansano, a lesser-known wine from Maremma in Southern Tuscany. Nibble on some prosciutto and salame toscana, and maybe some piave vecchio cheese and wait for your chicken to cook. Serve with some wilted greens or a salad of arugula and tomato with great olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and you have a fantastic, casual meal. This is the bella vita...and the start of summer!

POLLO AL MATTONE (Chicken Under a Brick)

Serves 2-4

1 whole chicken, 3-4 lbs.

fresh herbs – thyme, rosemary, and/or sage

Extra-virgin olive oil

Salt & pepper to taste

Peperoncino (optional)

1 lemon, cut into quarters

-          Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.

-          Wash the chicken and dry thoroughly.

-          On a cutting board, with the chicken facing breast side up, cut along either side of the backbone to remove it and open the chicken up. (Alternatively, have your butcher do this for you, so you can lay the chicken flat).

-           Rub the entire chicken with olive oil, even under the skin of the breasts. Fit herbs into the cavity and under the skin if you like. Sprinkle generously with salt and pepper (and peperoncino, if desired).

-          Put a heavy skillet, large enough to fit the chicken when opened flat, onto a burner on high for 3-4 minutes. Add a glug of olive oil to the pan and allow to heat for another 30 seconds.If using a grill, heat on high so it's searingly hot when meat touches the grate.

-          Place the chicken, skin side down, into the skillet (or on the grill). Cover with another skillet, as heavy as you can find, and then place a brick or heavy stone or piece of marble or granite on top to weigh it down. The idea is to flatten out the chicken as much as possible while it cooks.

-          Cook for approximately 15 minutes like this (you can turn the heat down to med-high if your stove burns hot).

-          Remove skillet and weights from the stove, still in place, and put into the preheated 450 oven, or on the grill, for approximately 10 more minutes.

-          Remove skillet and weights from oven/grill, take off weight/brick and top pan, and very carefully turn the chicken over in the skillet or on the grill.

-          Return to oven without anything on top, simply in the skillet, and cook for another 15 minutes to let the skin side continue to crisp up.

-          Remove from oven and let rest for 5-10 minutes outside of the oven or grill before carving. Serve with lemon quarters if you like.

HOLIDAYS: Mother's Day

Being a mother, as the saying goes, is the hardest job in the world. But my Mom has always done it with such aplomb and such devotion to her kids and her family that she made it look almost -- almost -- easy. Since I can remember, my Mom spent a large portion of her time shuttling my brothers and me from school to activity to sport, to rehearsals and games and lessons and competitions. As grown adults, she's been our counselor and reference and moral compass, our confidante and friend. And as the only other female in our family of 5, my mother and I have had a special bond between us, planning girls' afternoons shopping or lunching, or nights at the ballet with just the two of us. I started ballet lessons at the ripe old age of 3, in part because my mother had studied throughout her youth and she thought I might love it too. (I did, and continued studying and performing dance over the course of 25 years).

Dance turned out to be one of the longest-standing and greatest loves of my life. But not only. I share much more than genes with my mother: my tendencies come both from chromosomes and from shared experiences. The part of me that enjoys chemistry and math, that's inborn, and that's my Mom. My love of art and culture and travel comes from exposure to these interests, from my parents. A nurturing nature and fascination with flora and fauna...a positive outlook and aesthetic appreciation and a love of travel to foreign places...a cackle of a laugh, and a devotion to mint chocolate chip ice cream...they're all aspects of me that I can trace back to my mother.

Then, there's what my Mom taught me about cooking. Or rather, about feeding people. I loved cooking from a very young age -- mostly baking. Desserts. I am still a devout chocoholic, and I love making sweet treats for myself and for others. There's something so personal and heartfelt about a beautiful birthday cake, for example. My Mom and I used to bake together about once a week, either over the weekend or after school, making chocolate chip cookies and fudge and cupcakes.

Her mother also had a sweet tooth, and was an excellent baker as well, so we were our own great audience and tasters. We loved baking. I remember some great dinner parties we'd host at our family home in New Jersey, and my mother always did all of the cooking from scratch. I loved to help her with this elevated dinner party fare, or for a family summer BBQ, or for a Thanksgiving feast. I remember sprinkling a chocolate glaze over a deep chocolate-mint dessert bar of some kind, thinking how elegant it was. I think I was 9 years old at the time. And so I learned not only about cooking, but about the joy that cooking for others can bring to families and friends. I learned from a young age how eating together brings people together, and I loved being able to have that positive effect on people. I found it intoxicating enough that I would one day make it my profession.

From a very young age, my Mom helped me to cultivate an interest in cooking, in culture, in nature, and in the plants and creatures that end up as our food. And so I thank my beautiful, sweet, intelligent, and loving mother for all that she's done for me, for our family, and for the many people whose lives she's touched over the decades. I thank her for her dedication and for her love. I thank her for letting me be my own person, even when I've taken paths in life she might not have taken, or made decisions she might not have wanted me to make for myself. I thank her for her support in all of my endeavors, for putting up with me when I was problematic or resisted her advice, and for giving me a shoulder to cry on when I needed it. And as much as anything else, I thank her for being my strong female role model.

I love cooking for my Mom now -- a little positive payback for all the meals she made for me over the years, all of those delicious grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, tasty dinner dishes, and decadent desserts. I recently made my first attempt at sauerbraten, one of her favorite all-time dishes. I am not terribly familiar with the dish, nor with German food in general (her favorite), but I pulled together what I thought would be the best ideas from many different recipes, and tried to combine them to make one great meal. I sauteed mushrooms with roasted potatoes, and I cooked red cabbage in apple cider vinegar, herbs, and spices. I'm not sure if I succeeded with this foray into classic German home cooking, but my Mom certainly gobbled up the food...for 3 nights in a row. I think it tasted better because she knew it was made with love. The perfect dessert afterwards? A cup of mint chocolate chip ice cream. With two spoons.

 

SEASONAL INGREDIENT: Watercress

I'm not a big fan of bitter. Bitter food, bitter drinks, bitter people: not my thing. Except for greens. I adore bitter greens in their many forms: from arugula to puntarelle, chard to endive to radicchio, they make me happy. I think I developed a palate for bitter greens with all my time spent living in Italy. Their bracing flavor can stand up to a powerful dressing or sauce, including the many versions of a "Caesar" dressing that are so often paired with crisp, bitter greens. A slick of olive oil, the bite of garlic and pepper, the salty, umami zing of parmigiano cheese, cut through by the acid of citrus juice or vinegar...well, I'll stop here. Because I want to name-drop my favorite of all bitter greens: watercress. It's not so much straight-up bitter as it is peppery, spicy. Perhaps that's why I adore it. And its versatility.

Spring is the perfect season for watercress and its varietals (try upland cress, sold still attached to its roots, and just snip and sprinkle into salads or over grilled fish or meat). It's so much more than a simple accompaniment for the classic English tea sandwiches of "egg and cress": egg salad bound with mayonnaise and spread on white bread, topped with watercress, and cut into crustless triangles. Don't get me wrong, these sandwiches have their place, and I adore them as part of a classic English high tea, or as cocktail nibbles at spring soirees. But watercress in a salad breathes life into an overused mesclun mix. I love the bite and plump crispy leaves when tossed with fresh herbs in a salad. I particularly love the salad pictured here, which I make with roasted butternut squash cubes, goat cheese OR gorgonzola, pumpkin seeds, and pomegranate arils. I like to bring it together with a sweet-tart pomegranate vinaigrette.  

One of my favorite dishes of one of my very favorite cuisines -- Vietnamese -- is shaking beef, a wonderful combination of vinegar- and soy-marinated beef fillet cubes cooked with onions and served on crispy watercress, which absorbs the sauce but doesn't wilt much (another benefit of this wonderful green). And speaking of benefits, watercress is an incredibly healthy green among greens, as well as among other fruits and vegetables. It boasts more calcium than milk, more vitamin C than an orange and more absorbable iron than spinach. It's rich in vitamins C, B1, B6, K, E, Iron, Calcium, Magnesium, Manganese, and Zinc. And it contains more potassium than apples, broccoli, and tomatoes. Not bad for a spring salad green!

 

QUICK BITE: CHEF, the movie

I love being a part of the food world, and I've always been a big film fan as well. Today I found myself at the crossroads of food and film at a screening of the soon-to-be-released movie, "Chef," starring, written and directed by local boy Jon Favreau. The film was screened as part of the Tribeca Film Festival last night here in New York, so Mr. Favreau was on hand after the screening today for a discussion and Q&A with Peter Travers of Rolling Stone magazine. The movie itself is a fun, realistic story about a chef in L.A. who's in a creative rut. Although he wants to break this rut with interesting, inspiring dishes, he still has to answer to "the man" -- as in the restaurant owner, played by Dustin Hoffman. New to social media and egged on by his kitchen staffers and his 10 year-old son, the chef joins the Twitterverse, which eventually takes a somewhat tragic turn (technology in the hands of the uninitiated!) as his rant against a hateful food critic goes viral. He eventually quits his job and decides to start a food truck, therefore feeding his soul as a chef, as it were. It's not a complicated conceit, and despite some prominent cast members, it's got an indie feel, harking back to Favreau's fabulous "Swingers" from the '90s. It's pleasant, and lighthearted, and anyone who's ever worked the back of house will recognize a lot of familiar sights, sounds, and situations throughout the film. Casting note: the kid who plays the chef's son in the movie, Emjay Anthony, is adorable, with real acting chops.

A few fun facts from behind the scenes? Roy Choi, LA's food truck king (and who happens to share a similar backstory to that of the chef in the movie), was the "trainer" chef on this film, demostrating to Favreau how to make his chef character physically, actively convincing. He worked in conjunction with the food stylist to make sure both the chefs' screen time, and the food shots, were realistic and enticing. To Favreau's credit, these scenes are gorgeous and really shot well. As a professional, watching the process, I could taste every ingredient and every dish as it was created and plated: truly mouth-watering kitchen visuals. Another fun fact is that actor Oliver Platt played the petulant critic with the make-or-break restaurant blog, a role with which he's somewhat familiar: his brother Adam is the food critic for New York Magazine.

CHEF hits theaters May 9th.

Trailer:
http://variety.com/2014/tv/news/jon-favreaus-chef-serves-up-first-trailer-1201153686/

ESCAPES: Charleston, South Carolina, Part 1

 

There's something about Charleston. It's a small, charming, typically Southern city on a Peninsula between two rivers that converge and feed into the Atlantic. Its pace is as languid and flowing as the locals' drawl. Even the way they pronounce their hometown echoes this: Chaaahhhlston, emphasis on the "ahhh." 

It's a town full of dichotomies: as charming and European as it is steadfastly American and conservative, firmly rooted in the past, but with a young population and a dynamic culture and arts scene that's moving the city swiftly into the future. It's full of classic Federalist architecture and churches aplenty, though its colorful "Charleston single" homes (one bedroom wide, long, with plenty of balcony and porch space to capitalize on any breeze) are built for the semitropical climate and rampant bourbon-soaked socializing of its residents. Its past is marred by its prominence in the propagation of the slave trade, though it's also historically known for its religious tolerance, particularly to minorities like Jews and Huguenots. It's where the Civil War began, quite literally, at Fort Sumter, though it's as peaceful and civilized a place now as you'll find in this part of the United States.

I love the south, I went to college in the south, and I know a lot of amazing people who hail from the south, including the state of South Carolina. Perhaps all of Charleston's dichotomies are what make this small southern belle of a city so interesting to me. Maybe that's why I've felt its pull for so many years. Nah...it's the food. The low country cuisine. Particularly the shrimp and grits. And the ham. Make that all pork products. And the fried chicken. And the fried anything. And the pickled, spicy, savory, sweet, delicious cooking of the Southern tradition. The whole country has been abuzz this past decade about the restaurant scene in Charleston. And I needed to get a taste for myself.

Where did I start? With Sean Brock, of course. One of the city's top toques and a staunch Southern foodways proponent, Brock owns both McCrady's, for many years an upscale staple in downtown Charleston, and Husk, a newer, dressed-down southern restaurant with fun, rustic charm and some seriously good food coming out of its kitchen. Brock believes in keeping things local, procuring from producers whom he knows and trusts, and looking to food history and products and dishes of a past era to inform his cooking. This is evident in the care he takes composing a dish, plating a dish, and in educating his serving staff as well so they can communicate this information to the diners. 

Our first night in Charleston we had a very enthusiastic and informed server (who was also a UVa. alumna with an English degree, much like yours truly!) at McCrady's, who walked us through her favorite dishes and ones about which we'd inquired, steering us towards a very delicious set of appetizers. We had the bay scallops over hominy, with butter peas and red mustard, and the sweetbreads with Appalachian red corn puree, green garlic and a lovage foam. Our fish courses were delicious and light, particularly the trout with brassicas (cruciferous veggies like broccoli and cabbage) and meyer lemon gel. The meat courses were a study in small portions of rich, densely flavorful cuts -- and not about making the protein the center of the dish, both literally and figuratively. Brock plates his food like no other chef I've encountered, often setting the proteins or the "main" of the dish off to the side, and letting what are often considered "sides" take center stage on the plate. 

The Wagyu beef coulotte with smoked potato puree and wild mushrooms was delicious, deeply tasty, and tender as could be. And the duo of Berkshire pork -- braised and seared belly, and tenderloin -- was marbled and crispy and tender in all the right places, with an interesting pumpkin brunoise (tiny dice) cooked various different ways and tossed together. The accompanying balsamic reduction and truffled honey sauces were the high and low notes of acidity and sweetness to both cut the richness and enhance the pork. Dessert was a local affair, too, with the better dessert a "frozen parfait of grits" -- that is, hominy ground so fine as to become a cornmeal powder, cooked like smooth creamy grits and then frozen like a semifreddo. This was served on a wild blueberry sauce and topped with a whisper-thin cornmeal biscuit, pressed into crispy perfection.

Husk is so immensely popular that the only meal for which I could nab a reservation was for lunch on Saturday. The line was out the door, regardless. It's a relatively casual spot, and a wonderful place to while away a few hours for brunch or lunch on a weekend, particularly if the weather is mild with a nice breeze. The outdoor balcony tables upstairs were made for that. But the inside dining rooms are warm and homey, too, a comfortable place to work your way through Brock's tasty menu. Drinks are given their own menu, so beyond the wine list, there are a few craft beers, as well as house-made cocktails featuring southern booze, like the "A Yard Too Far" with vanilla and ginger macerated bourbon, pecan orgeat, and pecan bitters: strong and smooth. Also of interest is the extensive cider menu, a reflection of a drink-making tradition that at one time outpaced beer production and consumption in the U.S. As for food, Husk will only work with ingredients that come from the South. Period. Of course, this leaves the kitchen with a lot to work with. The menu changes pretty much weekly, so you may or may not come across the same dishes we did, depending on the season and the creative whims of the kitchen. 

We started with some tasty smoked chicken wings with a honey mustard glaze, peanuts, and cilantro. Asian-Southern. That was accompanied by a "Southern Panzanella" -- a typically Tuscan bread and vegetable salad here using cornbread croutons and a roasted red pepper puree.We went with some fairly "traditional" dishes as mains, but they were prepared in quite non-traditional ways. 

Husk's version of shrimp and grits was a lot of smoke: there were the shrimp and Geechie Boy (local) grits, but also spring onions, sweet peas, homemade cotechino sausage, all brought together in a smoky tomato broth. Served in an earthenware pot, this was an earthy, soupy one-bowl meal that would work for breakfast, lunch, brunch, or dinner. I also had a perfectly-prepared cornmeal-crusted catfish fillet -- not something I'd usually select from a menu, mind you. But this was light, with a thin but crunchy crust encasing a firm, white flaky fish. This was nestled on a bed of sauteed cabbage, red beans, and a roasted Appalachian tomato sauce. It was so much more flavorful than I could ever make it sound, but just know that this is the essence of simple ingredients coming together and shining in a way that is much greater than the sum of their parts. A side of broccoli in a vadouvan curry sauce (a French-Indian hybrid) with shallots was just the shot of green we needed among the seafood and starch. 

Some suggestions for where to stay and what to see while in Charleston? I highly recommend the lovely Vendue Inn for a cozy, authentic, warm welcome and possibly the most comfortable king size bed I've ever slept in...and the fireplace, exposed brick walls, chandelier over the bed, and the wood beam ceilings didn't hurt. It's a gorgeous place to retire at the end of a long dinner and some post-prandial drinks, perhaps at the super-casual pub next door, The Griffon. Or try The Gin Joint, another small spot around the corner serving handmade Prohibition-style cocktails and "nibbly bits" to line the stomach. There are plenty of bars and local spots with live music, and East Bay Street south of the market is chock full of places to drink, eat, and listen. 

The Gibbes Museum of Art is a nice choice for art enthusiasts, with mostly American pieces, many relating to the South and its history. Try a carriage ride from any one of several companies offering them, many leaving from North Market Street. They'll give you an overview of the city and its layout so you can check out points of interest later, on foot. Speaking of on foot -- which is, by the way, the best way to see much of Charleston's downtown -- the Waterfront Park (Vendue Range at Concord Street) is a lovely stretch along the Cooper River where you can meander on a waterside path, look out over Charleston Harbor, visit the two famous fountains including the iconic pineapple fountain, and take a break in a shaded swing looking out to the water. Head to the southern tip of the peninsula and take a stroll along The Battery, where the gorgeous homes of Charleston's elite overlook the convergence of the Cooper and Ashley Rivers. It's a great place to jog or walk a dog, or just soak in some southern spring sunshine. 

More delicious dishing on Charleston to come...

Mc Crady's

2 Unity Alley

(843) 577-0025

www.mccradysrestaurant.com

 

Husk

76 Queen Street

(843) 577-2500

www.huskrestaurant.com

Vendue Inn

19 Vendue Range

(843) 577-7970

www.vendueinn.com

The Griffon

18 Vendue Range 

(843) 723-1700

www.griffoncharleston.com

The Gin Joint

182 East Bay Street

(843) 577-6111

www.theginjoint.com

Gibbes Museum of Art

135 Meeting Street

(843) 722-2706

www.gibbesmuseum.org

QUICK BITE: Salmon with Mustard Cream Sauce

It's been a long winter. Yes, the understatement of the year. I'm writing now in New York City, where it's a cool 33 degrees and almost April. This makes everyone in the city a little stir-crazy, itching for the thaw of spring weather and fresh green anything. Personally, I've had it with "restorative" soups and stews, braised meats and root vegetables galore -- much as I love these items in the thick of winter's cold. So, what to make when the mercury says it's still winter but our hearts, minds, and palates are aching for spring? Salmon with mustard cream sauce is the perfect "bridge" dish between the seasons. 

We all know by now that salmon boasts lots of Omega-3 fatty acids and that it's one of the most healthful varieties of fish to consume. A tangy mustard-cream sauce is a classic accompaniment that really brightens the fish and cuts its strong flavor and richness with zing. Adding a bit of freshly chopped dill to the sauce is a classic herbal touch, though not necessary. Pairing the fish with some winter veggies -- we do have to clear out our fridges of beloved winter greens somehow, don't we? -- grounds the meal in the now while we look towards the coming spring with open arms (and full bellies!). Roasted beets, sauteed brocoletti (with plenty of garlic and chili pepper), and a long grain and wild rice combo are the perfect sides to make this a well-rounded dinner. A mix of color is the easiest way for you to create a balanced meal without much effort.

How to make the sauce? Simple. You can use the same pan you use to cook the salmon.

First, heat some olive oil in a saute' pan (nonstick is best). Sprinkle the salmon fillet with plenty of salt, and place in the pan. Note: if you have the skin on the fillet, you can place it skin side down in the pan first, to crisp it up. Otherwise, put the top side down.

Second, sear for 3-4 minutes on the first side so it releases from the pan easily. Flip, and cook on the other side for another 4 minutes or so. Salmon is best served medium-rare to medium (if you like it cooked through, you can place in a 350-degree oven to finish).

Third, remove salmon fillet from pan, and pour about 1/2 cup heavy cream into the pan. Add 1-2 tablespoons of grainy dijon mustard, and gently whisk to mix completely. Cook for 2-3 minutes until the sauce thickens a bit. Add salt to taste, and if you're adding chopped dill (chives or parsley work well, too), do that at the very end. Mix, taste for seasoning, and then  pour the sauce around the salmon fillet and any sides you like. Come spring, this salmon-and-sauce works extremely well with simple seared asparagus, as in the photo above. 

Enjoy, and here's to a tasty, soon-to-arrive SPRING!

ESCAPES: Chile's Central Coast: Valparaiso and Viña del Mar

At this point in the winter season, when we've all had our fill of snow and frigid temperatures, our sights turn to warmer climates and waterside escapes. One appealing antidote? Chile. And specifically, Chile's Central Coast featuring the towns of Valparaiso and Viña del Mar.

After a long holiday season filled with seemingly endless work hours for both myself and my friend Jessica (a dear friend of mine from my time in Rome who returned to her childhood hometown of Providence, Rhode Island when she left Italy), we were looking for an escape. She's a jewelry designer in constant search of quirky keepsakes from her travels, which she then "translates" into original pieces of wearable art. I'm a chef in constant search of new flavors and cultures from which to draw inspiration in the kitchen. We travel well together. And we decided Chile would be the perfect spot: it offered warm weather in December and January (southern hemisphere summer), good food (ceviche!), good wine (more on that in another post), and interesting and eclectic culture and history (always a good thing for market trips, sightseeing, and interesting travel). An added bonus for me? The beach! With the help of suggestions from a dear high school friend who'd moved to Chile a few years ago, we were able to cobble together a nice 10 day vacation with work benefits built in. We began and ended our journey in the Chilean capital of Santiago (look for my Santiago dining post to come soon), but spent New Year's Eve, and several relaxing days afterwards, kicking off the new year in sunny, 85 degree weather on the Pacific. And though these two sister towns are right next to each other, they offer visitors a yin and yang of Chile's central coast.

Valparaiso

Valparaiso ("Paradise Valley") is historically a port town -- until the Panama Canal opened, it was South America's busiest -- a working class city-on-a-hill. Actually, it's built on more than 45 hills, or cerros, which are covered with colorfully-painted houses, often constructed out of the corrugated metal torn from shipping containers, that look like candy confections tossed on undulating hills tumbling towards an azure sea. "Valpo" as it's called, is Chile's second-largest metropolitan area, and though it's on the sea, it's not a beach town. It's a somewhat chaotic jumble of South American culture and topography, Caribbean color, Germanic and Slavic immigrant influences in architecture and food, and a summertime climate that mirrors L.A. in the daytime and San Francisco at night. Confusing, yes. Eclectic, of course. And it's a lovely place to pass a few languid days recovering from New Year's Eve.

First off, I must mention Valpo's impressive fireworks display. Until the last couple of years (when a certain Middle Eastern city decided theirs needed to be the biggest and brightest on the planet), Valpo's fireworks show was the most expansive and explosive in the world. After having seen it, frankly I'm not sure I'd want one larger or longer. At just under a half an hour, and done over the C-shaped bay that runs along the Pacific coast to several towns north, the fireworks display was synchronized so you could see the grand fireworks right in front of you as well as those in the distance, all themed the same with the same colors displaying at the same time: really something to behold. We celebrated at a restaurant/bar/music hall called La Piedra Feliz, right on the water in the Errázurizneighborhood. 

It was probably the busiest area in the city that night, and knowing public transportation was sketchy for the holiday, forewarned was forearmed: we walked from our lovely apartment across town to the restaurant, and were able to see most of the waterfront area of Valpo in the process. Once we (finally!) arrived, we enjoyed a prix fixe dinner with plenty of champagne and pisco sours. We watched the fireworks out of the window of the restaurant on the second floor, and many locals were gathered on the street below us. Once we toasted to 2014, we wandered around the place -- live music and dancing were everywhere, but of course as a chef, I found my way to hanging out at the bar with the staff: our waiter and the Uruguayan chef, and some locals who were friendly and fun...and made sure we never saw the bottoms of our glasses of delicious Chilean red wine.

We were excited to eat the fresh seafood for which Chile is justly famous, so our dinner hours were spent seeking out great fish spots -- and of course for me, this trip was the "Cevichepalooza" I'd been craving, so I had it at every meal I could manage! At Oda Pacifico, we had the place practically to ourselves, and enjoyed the view out over the hills down to the water (it got windy and chilly the night we went, though it would normally be lovely to sit at a table outside on the back patio). Service here, as in most places we went, was slow but extremely warm, and our waiter advised us on what was fresh that evening. We started with a massive portion of mixed seafood ceviche with passion fruit -- two of my favorite things in the world, together in a big bowl! It was delicious, and perfect with our crisp Chilean sauvignon blanc.

Main courses couldn't live up to the ceviche, but I enjoyed a local specialty: conger eel, here grilled and served over a stew of tomatoes, corn, and peas, topped with peppery watercress. Jess had tilapia cooked in a banana leaf, with a coconut-laced sauce. Again, the portions were huge and we couldn't come close to finishing them, but we did manage to wash it all down with more vino blanco. We were on vacation, after all.

Valpo has countless great vistas from which to view the port and the water below, but one destination on a hill, and viewpoint not to be missed, is poet Pablo Neruda's local home, La Sebastiana. The cozy multi-level house resembles part of a ship and fits in perfectly among the pastel houses surrounding it. The decor is often nautically themed, and is quirky and built to entertain, much like the man himself. It's filled with glasses and plates and artwork and bric-a-brac from Neruda's world travels, and like all of his homes, there is a dedicated bar area where he would mix libations for his guests after a day of writing. The view from his home is undoubtedly inspiring.

Viña del Mar

Just next door is Valparaiso's louder, more social sibling,Viña del Mar. It is the Miami Beach of Chile, to put it in U.S. terms, and it's bustling and full of life while Valpo is relaxed and laid back. The shoreline is both rocky and sandy at turns, and the lawns and flower beds are as manicured as the high-rise hotels and condos lining the beach. There is a downtown as well, and boulevards lined with shops and malls and churches and outdoor arcades. This is no sleepy beach town, and it's been the place where locals and the wealthy and famous from Santiago come to play, where they have second homes. It lacks the character and vistas that Valparaiso has, but it makes up for that with the beauty of the coast and the lively, infectious atmosphere in its streets.

As for the food scene in Viña? Again, seafood is king here, but the variety of dining options is greater. Chile has great primary ingredients, great wine, great pisco. But as for a native cuisine, its neighbor Peru is better known. Case in point? All the ceviches. Seviche, as it's usually written here, comes in so many varieties that it makes sense to go for a sampling of types. At Sazon Peruana, we indulged in the trio at left, which included an octopus seviche with aji amarillo, the spicy Peruvian yellow pepper, as the base. We had local white fish with sweet potato and choclo, the ubiquitous oversized corn kernels. And we had salmon and shrimp with leche de tigre (the citrus juice and spice base of most seviches) with red pepper. I could have bathed in the stuff. We enjoyed mixed grilled seafood atop a salad.

Jess had the seafood soup, a slightly spicy stew of local treats from the Pacific made more substantial with yellow potatoes. And I pushed the boat out, as it were, with a light-as-air fried seafood platter (shrimp, squid, Chilean sea bass) with yucca, tartar sauce, and salsa criolla -- a topping of thinly sliced red onion, cilantro, and fresh chile pepper. The meal at the Peruvian restaurant turned out to be one of the best meals of my trip to Chile!

In Valpo, we lived like locals, renting an apartment in a residential area with a gorgeous view of the entire city from our balcony. In Viña del Mar, we went touristy -- but sometimes, you need to splurge. 

The Sheraton Miramar is perched on a rocky curve of the coast, on the way into town, and it jettisons out into the bright blue-green Pacific. All glass-and-steel, with soaring ceilings, this location was clearly built to allow guests the greatest appreciation of the sea. The shot above was taken from our balcony: the seats to the left are outdoor restaurant tables, as scenic for a seaside lunch as they are in the evening for dinner and drinks, to view the sparkling lights of the bay surrounding you. The pool overlooking the sea is a dramatic spot for sunbathing, by water both salty and fresh. Attached, there is a wonderful spa and gym where you can work up a sweat and then relax with a massage or facial. Not a bad way to pass an afternoon in January!

All in, we had a wonderful time on Chile's central coast -- not enough time, in fact. There were so many small beach towns lining the coasts both north and south of the Valpo area and we weren't staying long enough to explore them. Places like nearby Reñaca, surfer's paradise Concón, former whaling town Quintay, and the beautiful and aristocratic town of Zapallar: each offer a different taste of this stretch of the Chilean coast. We did make it to Quintero for an afternoon of lazing on the beach and eating empanadas, though it took a mini-hike to discover some less-trodden beach paths. Most of the beaches are rocky, and it's hard to get out of sight of the huge tankers that seem to be permanently parked in this part of the Pacific. But the water is beautiful and the trees and topography are stunning. Another positive? We were the only gringas in sight, always a good sign.

La Piedra Feliz

Avenida Err 1054

Valparaiso

+56 (32) 225.6788

www.lapiedrafeliz.cl

Oda Pacifico

Condor 35

Valparaiso

+56 (32) 223.8836

www.odapacifico.cl

La Sebastiana

Ferrari 692

Valparaiso

www.neruda.cl

+56 (32) 225.6606

SHERATON MIRAMAR

Avenida Marina 15

Viña del Mar

+56 (32) 238.8600

www.sheraton.cl

Sazon Peruana

3 Norte 370 Esquina 3 1/2 Poniente

Viña del Mar

+56 (32) 319.1160

www.sazonperuana.cl

RECIPE: Mid-Winter Grain Salad

This has been one loooong winter for the United States, and it's been a freezing, incredibly snowy one for those of us in the Northeast. I've been cooking lots of soups, and will continue to do so, and to enjoy their warming comfort until I can no longer stand to ladle a spoon of hot broth to my lips (a word to Mother Nature: that day is coming soon!) And I love my seasonal winter foods and comfort meals -- stews, roasted meats, root veggies, a nice afternoon tea with accompanying biscuits. But to brighten up my winter repertoire, a seasonal mid-winter grain saladis just the thing to give my palate a much-needed lift.

To start: pick a grain. I chose bulgur wheat here, as it's inexpensive, nutritionally sound, and one of the many bags of grains I had on hand in my pantry. Bulgur wheat has already been parboiled and dried when we purchase it, so technically it doesn't need to be boiled again to be reconstituted. But one excellent trick I've learned over the years, to add flavor and zing to this grain and eventually the dishes in which it ends up, is to cook the bulgur in a juice that will add flavor and color to the grain when it's cooked. Here I use a beet-carrot-green apple-lemon freshly pressed juice to give the wheat character and a bright color, not to mention added nutritional value as the grain absorbs the juice.

A second element that makes this salad soar is its use of various textures. The grain itself is nutty, chewy. Most grains are. I add crunch with a small dice of celery and green apple. Ditto the pomegranate arils. A softness comes from the roasted cubed butternut squash.

The third element is flavor. There's a great interplay between nutty (the grain) and vegetal (celery, parsley), sweet (the squash) and sour (pomegranate, apple). The vinaigrette, which contains rice vinegar as well as lemon juice, brightens everything with an acidic kick. The beauty is that the elements can be substituted and played with, according to what's on hand and what's in season -- and of course, what you like. 

I often add some red onion chopped finely, or shallot. I also sometimes add nuts for additional crunch, like pine nuts or chopped pecans, hazelnuts, almonds, pistachios, or walnuts. And in spring and summer I add seasonal veggies and fruits, swapping out the butternut squash for zucchini or asparagus or cherry tomatoes, the pomegranate for summer berries or stone fruit. Parsley can be substituted by abundant summer basil, and so on. And the vinaigrette can be played with, so instead of rice vinegar, use white balsamic, or raspberry vinegar, or sherry vinegar. Use avocado oil, or try pumpkin seed oil with pumpkin seeds as the nut in the salad. Use your imagination! And enjoy a healthy grain salad, mid-winter or any time. 

MID-WINTER BULGUR WHEAT SALAD

1 cup bulgur wheat

2 1/2 cups beet-carrot-apple-lemon juice

1 butternut squash, peeled and cubed into 1/2-inch dice

1 green apple, chopped into 1/4-inch dice

1/2 cup pomegranate arils

1/2 cup celery, chopped into 1/4-inch dice

1/2 bunch flat-leaf parsley, chopped

1/8 cup rice vinegar

1 TBSP. dijon mustard

2 TBSP. ponzu

1 TSP. lemon juice

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

- Preheat an oven to 375 degrees F. Place the diced butternut squash on a baking sheet, sprinkle with salt and drizzle with olive oil, and toss with hands to coat evenly.

- Roast the butternut squash in the oven, tossing occasionally to cook evenly, until browned and starting to caramelize on the outside, about 30-45 minutes depending on the power of your oven. Set aside to cool.

- In a pot, bring the bulgur wheat and juice to a boil and cook covered until fully absorbed, about 8 minutes.Dump in a bowl and set aside to cool.

- Whisk together rice vinegar, dijon, ponzu, lemon juice, and salt and pepper. In a slow stream, add the oil and whisk to emulsify. This is your vinaigrette.

- Once the bulgur and butternut squash cool, mix together in a bowl with the celery, pomegranate, green apple, and parsley. Toss to mix.

- Drizzle the vinaigrette on top and toss again to mix.

*This salad is delicious right away, but as it sits in its dressing, the flavor improves, making it another example of a dish that gets better with age.

RESTAURANT REVIEW: Il Santo Bevitore, Firenze, ITALY

In many ways, I feel romana (Roman) at heart. Like many Romans, I certainly adore eating out in the Eternal City, always a convivial and interesting social experience. But I cut my Italian denti (teeth) in Firenze (Florence, in English), as a college student studying abroad. And though I'm a huge supporter of all that Rome has to offer, sometimes I just have to go Tuscan. 

In comparing the restaurants on offer in the two cities, the overall dining scene in Firenze seems much more refined to me. I'm not discussing high-end restaurants, which are a category unto themselves. But for me, in the Tuscan capitol, the classic trattoria feels more cozy and inviting. The bars are more pleasant places to sip an espresso or grab a panino. And the mid-level restaurant's menu is more varied and accomplished, the staff more personable than the brusque Roman waiters and proprietors, the lighting a touch dimmer and more atmospheric. So it was no surprise to me that I found Il Santo Bevitore in my beloved Oltrarno section of town (the "other side" of the Arno River -- the slightly alternative side of town that most European cities have...think Left Bank in Paris or Trastevere in Rome). And I found it to be one of those exceptional mid-range spots for which Florence is renowned.

I've been to Il Santo Bevitore in smoldering summer weather, and I've been here in cold, wet winter. And though most Italian cities are preferable when you can soak in the sun by day and linger in the piazzas by night, I'll admit that I love Florence, and Tuscany in general, in the cooler months of the year. The food here is so hearty that being somewhere cozy and indoors, with dark wood furniture and candlelight and a warm hearth going (oftentimes used for searing enormous Tuscan steaks and slow-cooking cannellini beans), just feels right. Which is why I especially loved Il Santo Bevitore when I returned this January.

The place is sprawling, and hopping, and you're immediately greeted by a friendly face -- in fact, the restaurant is run by a young team of men and women who excel at warm service (another thing often missing in Rome). The place is usually packed, though waiting is never an unhappy circumstance as there are seats at the bar here, where you can sip a prosecco and watch the barmen slice prosciutto on the antique meat slicer, or you can nip out for a drink at the owners' enoteca next door. 

Once you're seated, you'll need some time to peruse the expansive menu, as there are lots of antipasti and "specialties" that can be eaten as starters or mains. In fact, cobbling together a meal here is a little different than at your classic trattoria, as the structure of antipasto-primo-secondo is a little more fluid. Basically, just select what tempts your palate, and the servers will help you navigate. The same could be said for the wine list, which offers the classics, plus a lot of lesser-known labels, and variations on a theme (the theme? Tuscan reds). Server suggestions are a great help, and you can find some unusual blends and interesting Super Tuscans along with the classic Chiantis. I always enjoy beginning a meal with a glass of prosecco or spumante, which opens up the palate and the appetite. Then, once I've selected the food I'll be eating, I select a wine that will compliment the courses, and not vice-versa. I've always found it strange when, in the States, servers ask you for your wine order right off the bat, before you've even had a chance to look at the cuisine on offer. Servers in Italy don't even normally take your wine order until you've had a chance to consider the menu. A really interesting food-wine pairing is one of the greatest pleasures in life, and opens you up to wines you may never have tried otherwise.

So, then, what to eat? Like most ristoranti in Italy, the menu here changes according to the season. There are Tuscan specialties aplenty, including a riff on the most ubiquitous antipasto in Tuscany: chicken liver crostini. Here, the chicken livers are whipped until smooth and formed into a luscious terrine, which is served warm in a fortified wine sauce, the aroma of rosemary wafting from the plate. Smear a bit on the accompanying brioche toast points for some of the best cool weather comfort food ever imagined. Here too, the classic Tuscan bread soups are on the menu: pappa al pomodoro in summer, when tomatoes are at their finest, and ribollita in winter, when Tuscan kale and hearty white beans add heft to the bread-thickened minestrone. Both are perfectly, classically delicious, and are improved with a glug of green Tuscan olive oil drizzled on top. 

The kitchen does, however, look to outside the region for inspiration, as well. To wit: a gorgeous plate of fresh riccioli pasta with a tomato-'nduja (spicy soft Calabrese sausage) sauce and shaved aged pecorino cheese. It's incredibly more-ish with its unctuous, stinging bite. Another specialty is the burrata -- a rich, cream-filled mozzarella from the southern Puglia region, here served on sauteed spinach (very Florentine) and drizzled with pesto (classically Ligurian).

And bringing various regions together on the plate is the summer offering of borage (a green vegetal herb) ravioli on a burrata sauce with marinated leeks, topped with shaved Sardinian bottarga (cured mullet roe). This dish is a wonderful balancing act of creamy, verdant, briny, and acidic -- and unlike anything you'd find in your average trattoria. Another interesting specialty is the vegetable tortino -- basically a crustless tart, somewhere between a souffle' and a vegetable frittata, done seasonally to highlight a single ingredient. This January it was a tortino di cardone, or cardoon tortino, which is just as Tuscan as it is Sicilian or Piemontese.The vegetable looks like a big, craggy stalk of celery, but tastes more like an artichoke (they're members of the same vegetable family). The tortino was topped with red wild lettuce and a  piece of frica (Friulian baked parmigiano crisp) to mirror the taste of the cheese fonduta sauce on which it sits, making this a perfect warming winter veggie dish.

Secondi include a "crispy" octopus on a puree' of celeriac and sunchokes, with hazelnuts and turnips. The octopus was not, in fact, crispy, and could have used some sauce to improve a dish that tended toward dry. But the elements themselves were tasty and the flavor combination quite interesting. Better, and certainly more Tuscan in feel, was the roasted duck leg.

Wild fowl and game and wild boar are what leap to mind when I reflect on great cool weather Tuscan food, and this duck dish fits the bill. It's braised and roasted and served with a jus with red wine added, and accompanied by a foie gras mousse and sweet-sour radicchio -- a great foil which cuts the richness of the dish. And of course, when all of these are accompanied by interesting wines paired well, the whole experience is elevated.

I'm always so stuffed after eating here that I can barely think about dessert. My theory, however, is that something rich and chocolate-y is always worth trying. If you have room and it's on the menu, try the chocolate mousse: I had it paired with avocado sauce and bruleed bananas on a recent visit. Often in Florence, however, I'll just go for a vin santo, the classic Tuscan dessert wine, amber in color and musty-sweet with notes of dried fruit and toasted nuts. The tradition in many places around town is to serve it with tozzetti, little almond biscotti, though I like the dessert wine on its own as well. It's the perfect way to cap off a great meal at a warm and inviting restaurant in the Oltrarno, this always-interesting and picturesque quarter of the lovely flower of a Renaissance city that is Firenze.

IL SANTO BEVITORE
Via di Santo Spirito 64/66, Firenze, Italy
+39 055 211264
www.ilsantobevitore.com
Open daily 12:30 - 2:30 pm, 7:30 - 11:00 pm (no lunch Sunday)

RECIPE: Beet and Carrot Latkes: Not Just for Hanukkah

Hanukkah is a time for traditions, but I often think that new twists on old traditions can be the most fun way to celebrate. Latkes are of course the most popular food connected to Hanukkah, but really, they're pretty great any time of year. For festive winter holidays, using root vegetables makes seasonal sense -- and this recipe is a wonderful new way to take beets and carrots out of salads and put them into a starring role in a delicious starter or side dish: Beet and Carrot Latkes.

These latkes don't even require any potatoes to make them work. Their vibrant color makes them perfect for parties and entertaining. And the sweet earthiness of the vegetables make them a great match for exotic spices from North Africa and the Middle East: toss in some cumin or curry or Moroccan spice mix ras-el-hanout to add dimension. Paired with Greek style yogurt or labneh instead of the traditional sour cream, with some torn cilantro leaves on top, these latkes really shine. Enjoy!

BEET AND CARROT LATKES
(Serves 6)

2 cups shredded beets (raw)
2 cups shredded carrots (raw)
1/2 medium-sized onion, shredded on a grater
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup flour (more or less as needed), to make the mixture the thick but still wet
Salt and pepper to taste
Optional: 1 tsp. cumin, ground coriander, curry, or ras-el-hanout 
Olive oil or vegetable oil for frying (approx 1 cup)
1 cup plain Greek yogurt or labneh
Small bunch of cilantro

- Mix the shredded beets and carrots together, tossing with salt and pepper (and spices, if using) to season. Add the eggs and mix, then add the flour, 1/4 cup at a time, until the mixture holds together on a spoon without running.

- In a frying pan, heat enough oil to coat the bottom of the pan, until shimmering. Add the beet and carrot mixture in heaping spoonfuls to the pan (they should sizzle upon contact with the oil), pressing down on each spoonful to flatten it into pancake form. Fry on first side until golden brown around the edges, 2-3 minutes. Flip. Cook until golden brown on the other side. 

- Remove from pan with a spatula to a paper towel-lined platter or plate, to cool and absorb the grease. Continue this way until all of the mixture is used, adding more oil if necessary. 

- To serve, place the latkes on a platter and top with the yogurt/labneh and cilantro, or put the yogurt in a dish in the middle for guests to help themselves.

RECIPE: Zuppa di Zucca

Pumpkin time!

Yesterday was Halloween, today is All Saints' Day, and we're smack in the middle of pumpkin season. Depending on the kind of pumpkin you may have picked -- possibly literally -- you can use more than just its seeds as a snack. 

Pumpkin soup is a delicious seasonal dish, with a green salad and some crusty multigrain bread for lunch, or for a first course at dinner. The recipe is quite simple. The hardest part is probably peeling and cutting the pumpkin -- you'll need to put a little force into it, as pumpkin flesh is dense, and the outer skin is tough. Once you have the pumpkin cubed, it's pretty straightforward. 

And the dish is so versatile, you can use the basic recipe and tweak it slightly to make a delicious pasta sauce, a puree to go into a risotto, or as a sauce base for protein preparations (Grilled sea bass on pumpkin sauce? Pumpkin seed-crusted chicken with spicy pumpkin sauce? Yes, please!). It's also a great dish for a gorgeous, autumnal presentation. This soup one-ups the clam chowder in a bread bowl: serving pumpkin soup in a pumpkin shell is beautiful, natural, and just makes aesthetic and culinary sense. And finding the adorable serving pumpkins can be half the fun! So follow the recipe below, and with practice, you can modify it to make it your own...and to make pumpkin soup into something other than pumpkin soup. It's a jack (-o-lantern) of all trades!

ZUPPA DI ZUCCA 

(Serves 6-8 people)

3 medium-sized butternut squashes -- or any dense pumpkin variety

2 cloves garlic

8-10 cups vegetable broth

Salt & pepper to taste

Few sprigs of fresh thyme, sage, or basil

Spices to taste: garam masala, or smoked paprika, or curry powder

-Peel the butternut squash, slice in half, scoop out the seeds. 



- Cut into 1.5 to 2-inch dice.

-Place the butternut squash cubes in a large pot and cover with the vegetable stock. Add the garlic and the herbs and a dash of salt, and cover.

- Boil squash until tender but not falling apart, about 30 minutes or so.

- Remove from heat and let cool down a bit. Remove the herb sprigs.

- Alternatively, you could roast the pumpkin cubes in a 375 degree oven, tossed with a glug of olive oil and some salt and pepper. This will make the flavor a bit more concentrated.

- Using an immersion blender, or working in batches with a food processor, puree the squash until smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste, along with other spices if desired. 

- Top with chopped fresh herbs (thyme, basil, sage, or parsley, to taste) and serve. 

*Special touch: I like to drizzle a balsamic vinegar reduction over top, as in the photo above -- it gives some extra pop and a sweet-sour finish to the soup that cuts the rich creaminess of the pumpkin. Very Modenese (Italy)!

ESCAPES: Tel Aviv, White Hot. Part 2: Center City North and the Beaches

In my first blog post about Tel Aviv, I discussed the wonderful energy of the city on the Mediterranean, and introduced readers to the street foods of Israel -- a very important part of the food culture in this wonderful country. This time around, I'll delve deeper into the stellar dining experiences in town, from cute cafes to elegant culinary temples, which are such an important part of the always-energized nightlife scene in TLV...and why it's one of the hottest destinations on the planet right now.It's a city of about 400,000, but the vibrancy of the urban setting and the cultural richness paired with the beachside setting...well, it makes it all feel like a cosmopolitan center of 4 million. 

To wit, there is a vast assortment of options around town, and in this installment I'll focus on dining along the beaches, and the city center and north towards the Port (Namal). The area comprises a large part of Tel Aviv, extending down from the Namal and the north of the city, near the Yarkon River, to Jabotinsky Street, and east to the Tel Aviv Center and the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, down to Dizengoff Square, and finally to Sheinkin Street -- and stretching all the way west to Ha Yarkon and the Tayelet, the beachside promenade pictured here. (I am always reminded of Rio de Janeiro's beachside promenade, with its tiles in a similar wave pattern and the city abutting the ocean...but I digress). 

Obviously, this is a large swath of the city, and I don't have enough room to include all of my favorite spots. But I will include as many must-try locales as possible in one posting. And keep in mind that I'll offer a more detailed breakdown of two of the city's top eateries, Messa and Raphael, in a separate restaurant review post.

Starting from the north, on the water, we have the rebuilt, spiffed-up Port area known as the Namal, and its waterside boardwalk, seemingly sculpted out of a sandy-colored wood, undulating (to the delight of many a skateboarder) to blend with the surroundings. Warehouses and industrial structures have become restaurants and bars, boutiques and food markets, and the area is now busy morning through late night. Mul Yam is a seafood-lover's spot, the name a pun on its translation, "across the sea" in Hebrew, and the word for "mussel" in French (moules, pronounced "mool") and "yum," as in delicious. The food is incredibly refined and very European, for the most part -- and outrageously expensive. For a much more casual spot, there's Shalvata, near Hangar 25, and for market-to-table (literally), try Kitchen Market, hard by the Port's food market.  

Just inland from Hilton Beach, on major thoroughfare Ben Yehuda Street, chef Sharon (male) Cohen runs a casual eatery and bar called Shila. I stayed in an apartment practically upstairs from this place for close to a week, and it was always busy, always full of a young (but not too young) clientele, day and night. The atmosphere is lively and friendly, much like the staff, and the food is genuinely really good. A perennial favorite on the menu is a seasoned fish tartare tossed with pistachio oil and fresh mint. It's served wrapped in a beet carpaccio sheath, alongside a mache salad and finished with a yogurt drizzle and pistachios. This would make a wonderful lunch in and of itself, paired with the highly addictive parmigiano bread twists they serve with a red pepper butter (carb-averse patrons, you've been forewarned. Resistance is futile!). Together with a glass of crisp Israeli white wine from the refined list, it's a perfect hot weather meal. But there's so much else to explore on the menu. 

A good choice for a follow-up -- and since you're only a block or two from the Mediterranean, after all -- is the Mediterranean sea bass. The iteration I ordered was perfectly cooked, all crispy skin and flaky white flesh, and served on a bed of shaved fennel and fresh greens, all atop a variation on Romesco sauce. Though I was completely satiated by the end of the meal, I wasn't uncomfortably full and the food never felt heavy. This is the mark of a restaurant that becomes a neighborhood favorite: you leave satisfied but comfortable. You don't feel you've overpaid or overeaten. You can even head back to the beach for a little afternoon sun.

Raphael, located next door to the Dan Hotel on the beach, is a classic top eatery in Tel Aviv. I will write a more in-depth review in a future post, but suffice it to say that chef Raphi Cohen merges superb classic French technique with Israeli and Moroccan ingredients to create a cuisine that is refined, local, and elegantly-presented. The drumfish fillet, pictured, with olives, roasted tomatoes, and herbs is a perfect example of this homespun-to-elegant cooking style. 

At Messa, across town to the east, chef Moshe Aviv is creating art on a plate, with influences from all around the Mediterranean, Middle East, and North Africa. The setting is a gorgeous, low-lit white room, and the combined effect of the surroundings, the food, and the sexy servers presenting it all makes the diner feel beautiful, as well. There are plenty of luxe offerings, from foie gras to seared tuna to sweetbreads to truffles to more foie gras. But the ingredients are treated with respect, and though Chef Aviv is clearly a risk-taker, he's not creating his menu for the sake of showmanship. The food is inarguably delicious -- expensive, artful, and delicious.

Another top-notch offering further south along the beach is the beautiful Herbert Samuel -- a spot at once international and very Tel Aviv. The restaurant is part of the Alma Hotel, and its design is airy and modern, on two floors (upstairs is the open kitchen, for voyeur-diners), at the south end of Ha-Yarkon, across from the beach. You can sit at tables with windows looking onto the Mediterranean, or you can eat and drink  at the large square bar in the center of the downstairs dining room. It's a social spot and always lively with personable bartender-servers. Many of the plates are designed to be shared, and this allows a group to order a variety of dishes to taste the Mediterranean and greenmarket-inspired fare.

We started with a grouper tartare, deliciously seasoned and beautifully presented on a bed of eggplant puree, with a few slicks of inky charred eggplant sauce along the plate's rim. We also, upon recommendation of our server, tried the "famous" tomato salad. I was worried about tomatoes possibly not being in season (though Israel grows some wonderful greenhouse produce), but it did not disappoint. The tomatoes -- various heirloom varieties from sun gold to crimson to greenish-black -- were incredibly flavorful. These were tossed with various microgreens, thinly-sliced red onion, scallions, pistachios, and the Israeli feta-style cheese called tzfatit. Coming from the Italian school of thought on food -- that good food is simple, high quality, and balanced -- I was won over by this salad. I finished it and immediately craved another.

Instead, we moved on to a light main course of octopus, shrimp, and artichokes on a delicious labneh-cream dressing and tossed with all kinds of goodies from land and sea, including roasted potatoes and sea beans (one of my favorite vegetables on the planet). This was such an interesting juxtaposition of flavors in one course, and presented as if on an artist's palette, a slab of gray slate with a slather of garlicky yogurt sauce topped with an assortment of colorful delicacies. The dessert menu was too tempting to pass over, so we indulged in the churros and chocolate sauce with vanilla and chocolate gelato on the side. All was accompanied by another exceptional bottle of Israeli white wine -- a crisp sauvignon blanc, this time around.

From high-brow to egalitarian fare, center city Tel Aviv even offers a fun burger-and-schnitzel joint, on lovely Rothschild Boulevard: Moses. This is a fun place, ranging from family-friendly lunch spot to a surprisingly hopping bar and date spot later in the day. And I would be remiss in my reporting if I didn't mention Benedict, the small chain of restaurants open 24/7, specializing in breakfast foods from around the world. And one cannot leave Israel without having tried shakshuka at least once. This is the Israeli national breakfast dish, and it's savory and delicious. It consists of a base of tomatoes, onions, and peppers stewed together with chili pepper to make a spicy tomato base. Into this stew, the eggs are cracked, basically poaching them in the tomato sauce. There are green versions, made with everything from tomatillos to spinach -- and they're ALL delicious. The version at Benedict is classic, and something I've indulged in more than once...after a night out on the town...at 4 am...with a glass of champagne. As you can see from the photo, the shakshuka comes with delicious bread, eggplant puree, an Israeli salad, and various other sauces. This is good stuff, and all but guarantees you a good night's sleep afterwards, if you want it.

And while I'm on traditional, I have to include one of my favorite kinds of meals to have -- not just in Israel, but in the entire world. Perhaps this is because I've only ever found these restaurants in Israel, so the pleasure of an indulgent meal of traditional Yemenite cuisine is one I look forward to, and a happy but infrequent occasion. The Yemenite neighborhood in Tel Aviv is central and pretty much surrounds the Ha-Carmel market, a bustling sprawl in the city's heart. One restaurant where I enjoyed this food is an old reliable called Maganda. There's an interesting mix of diners: locals and kosher Orthodox Jews and tourists all enjoy the festive, casual atmosphere here. Yemenite food is famous for its variety of mezze (starters) -- a selection of dips and salads and pickled vegetables, including the omnipresent hummus, baba ghannouj, and pickled cucumbers and olives. There's also a tomato-based eggplant salad, garlicky hummus made neon green with cilantro, a spicy pepper dip, and the list goes on. It's best to just try everything with an open mind, and a warm pita in hand. For main courses, you have grilled whole fish, roasted chicken, and various delicious kebabs over rice from which to choose. This is a place where you can fill up quickly on the mezze -- not a mistake, since these can be the highlight of the meal -- but you should try to leave room for a main course. The variety of flavors really satisfies.

Lastly, I must mention a restaurant that started in Ramat Hasharon, north of Tel Aviv, and opened a second location in the city center which has, as I understand it, closed its doors. It's a shame because the food and the atmosphere were great, and great fun. But the original still exists, so it's worth taking a cab ride to try the homemade kosher Persian cuisine of restaurant Edna. Here you'll find a variety of food well beyond the Israeli staples. Items like Persian stuffed vine leaves are rich and flavorful, and like many items in the Persian repertoire, incorporates a sweet-sour flavor profile that lends Persian cuisine such dimension.   

The main courses run the gamut from "regular" restaurant fare (steak, etc.) to Persian specialties like the beef with eggplant stew, or the meatballs with dried fruit and beets, tomato, and okra. These are definitely hearty meals-in-a-bowl, served with an addictive onion bread to sop up the liquid...but the local clientele, and presumably those in Iran who eat this way often, are not fazed by high humidity or heat. They eat here year-round, and outside, and happily so. The food is incredibly delicious and flavorful -- like you're eating a meal with your best friend whose grandmother happens to be an amazing Persian cook. This food is worth discovering.

Mul Yam (in the Port), Hangar 24, 03/546.9920

Shalvata (in the Port), near Hangar 25, 03/544.1279

Kitchen Market (in the Port), Hangar 12, 03/544.6669

Raphael (next door to the Dan Tel Aviv), 87 Hayarkon St., 03/522.6464

Shila, 182 Ben Yehuda St., 03/522.1224

Messa, 19 Ha'arbaa St., 03/685.8001

Moses, 35 Rothschild Blvd., 03/566.4949

Herbert Samuel, 6 Koifman Street, 03/516.6516

Benedict, Ben Yehuda 171, 03/544.0345; 29 Rothschild Blvd. 03/686.8657

Maganda, 26 Rabbi Meir St., 03/517.9990

Edna, 3 Trumpeldor Street, Ramat Hasharon, 053/809.4838

QUICK BITE: Salade Nicoise

It's the perfect encapsulation of the Cote d'Azur. It's sunshine and the south of France on a plate: The Salade Niçoise, or Niçoise Salad.

This is what is known as a salade composée (composed salad), in which the ingredients are not mixed, but rather plated in lines or groupings of ingredient, to be mixed at will by the person eating the dish. (The Cobb salad is another classic example of a composed salad). This is also great for those who want to serve the salad family-style, to a group. It is a meal in and of itself, with briny protein and fresh vegetables brought together by a high-quality olive oil of the variety commonly found in Provence.

There's discussion over exactly what the classic Salade Niçoise includes. The necessary ingredients? Tomatoes, hard boiled eggs, olives, and anchovies and/or tuna. Some say forego the haricot verts, the thin French string beans that should bend and snap in your mouth. Some claim the boiled potatoes -- or in fact, any cooked components -- do not belong in a true Niçoise. There are purists who believe that the salad can contain anchovies OR tuna, but never both. And most claim that the tuna cannot be fresh tuna steak, as has become popular in this time of sushi-grade yellowfin. Some people add red peppers, or artichokes, or radishes. I've seen asparagus, capers, green peas, hearts of palm, and spring onions.

Normally I'm a purist. And since Nice and the area was ruled by the Italians until relatively recently (probably why I love the food so much), I can filter much of what should go in the dish through an Italian culinary lens. Which means, despite protestations otherwise, I say include what's fresh and good, and what works! Genova is just a few miles across the azure waters of the Med from Nice, and they classically use potatoes and green beans in their most classic version of pasta con pesto alla genovese, so I say they make sense in the Niçoise as well. Even some basil works. Radishes, a very French ingredient, seem to work well and popped up in many versions I enjoyed in Nice. Same with artichokes. I much prefer a delicious, tiny cherry or grape tomato to slices of tasteless "salad" tomatoes, but that's just me.

I would even go so far as to say that if you have access to really beautiful fresh tuna steaks, by all means use them -- cooked properly, of course: seared on the outside, ruby-pink in the middle. Still, Italians are known for their excellent tuna, jarred and preserved in olive oil: miles away from Starkist canned nothingness in water, this. And without question, we know that the olives to use are the petite, sweet black olives known as, what else? Niçoise olives. As for dressing, some would claim to just use a couple of glugs of local olive oil. I prefer to make my dressing as French as can be, with some chopped shallots and a spoonful of dijon mustard to start with, some fleur de sel, and a bit of either red wine or champagne vinegar, or balsamic. Which brings us to the olive oil.

If you're lucky enough to actually prepare your Salade Niçoise in Nice, I highly recommend heading to the Alziari store on 14 Rue Saint-Francois de Paule (phone +33 4 93 62 94 03). You'd probably recognize the olive oil can before you'd recognize the name (Italian as it is): the un-mistakable blue checked round metal canister, pictured here. You could even pick up some great milled soaps made with olive oil, or try some of their infused oils. I like to stick to the classic canister, however. It brightens my kitchen and reminds me of the almost surreal blue of the waters of Nice, and looking out upon them as I ate my perfect Salade Niçoise...whatever version I was served on that particular, glorious day.

SEASONAL INGREDIENT: Blackberries

One autumn in the early aughts, I headed down to Charlottesville, Virginia to see a football game at my alma mater, UVa. I saw many old friends that weekend and one in particular, a guy from Mobile, Alabama, was asking me detailed questions about living in Rome, and my everyday life in Italy. As we walked from the stadium into town for drinks, I remember him positing this question to me: "Do y'all have blackberries in Italy?" As a chef, my first thought is of course food. So my answer was "Well yes. We have blackberries, raspberries, strawberries -- delicious wild berries unlike what you find in supermarkets over here." I remember he looked at me with his head half-cocked, trying to read my expression to see if I was joking, and understanding that I was not, he simply walked ahead of me and started a conversation with someone else. I was confused by the exchange, until hours later, when I realized he was asking me about smart phone technology in Italy, not produce. Oops.

But the truth of the matter is, even today, someone says "blackberry" and I think immediately of the luscious fruit. I have fond memories of picking blackberries on Ponza, after swimming in the piscine naturali ("natural pools") created by funky rock formations on the northwestern coast of the island. The brambly bushes lined the road above the pools, and the berries were our inky reward after the steep climb up the dusty foot path.

In fact, these delicious blackberries, fragrant from the late summer sun, are not berries at all. They're technically, botanically, considered an aggregate fruit: composed of small drupulets, the blackberry is a collection of seeds derived from the plant's flower, enclosed by flesh and an outer membrane. But that's just a technicality. The good news? Blackberries contain numerous antioxidants, phytochemicals including the all-important polyphenols, flavonoids, salicylic and ellagic acids (which fight against cancer), and dietary fiber. A recent health research report placed blackberries at the top of more than a thousand antioxidant-containing foods consumed in the U.S. They're also high in Vitamins C, K, and the essential mineral manganese.

As a fruit, blackberries are versatile in both sweet and savory dishes. They're great as is, tossed in a salad like the one pictured, with freekah (a Middle Eastern grain), mixed greens, herbs, and a blackberry vinaigrette. Speaking of that vinaigrette, you can infuse vinegars with blackberries, strain the fruit, and have the flavor for weeks after the season is over. You can also pickle the berries in a light brine with herbs and use them in salads or with rich meat dishes, into the fall. I love duck dishes with fruits and berries. Blackberries pair really well with figs in savory dishes, and can round out your September summer-into-fall cooking, deliciously.

Blackberry upside-down cake with blackberry-white chocolate mousse

But most of all, I love blackberries for dessert. They're the perfect sweet ending -- maybe even to a meal containing blackberries throughout every course. A simple bowl of blackberries with fresh, organic whipped cream is a beautiful thing. A favorite of mine in recent years is the blackberry-bottom cake, at left. I paired it with a blackberry-white chocolate mousse and blackberry gastrique, with fresh blackberries and mint.

Coconut tapioca pudding with blackberry-buttermilk ice cream

Blackberry cheesecake

Another favorite iteration is my coconut-tapioca pudding with blackberry-buttermilk ice cream and fresh blackberries, with a dusting of dried coconut flakes. Obviously, blackberries pair well with dairy: the creaminess of the milk-based products is a great foil for the dark, bright floral and sour fruit notes of the blackberry. Blackberry panna cotta and creme brulee are great ways to transform the blackberry into dessert, and beautiful too -- the purple-black becomes anything from bright royal purple to a pale lilac when paired with dairy. One of my all-time favorite blackberry desserts I made was a blackberry cheesecake, beautiful in its simplicity, and again pairing cream cheese and sour cream with the berry (though ricotta and mascarpone would have been just as delicious, with an Italian bent). I mixed a blackberry puree into the cheesecake base, and topped the cake with a sweetened sour cream spread and more fresh blackberries and some just-picked mint leaves. Rustic perfection.

And now, since we just lost the great Irish poet Seamus Heaney on August 30th, I wanted to share one of my favorite poems of his. The first line here, of course is "Late August" -- but since the summer took its sweet time getting here this year, the season is extended into September, and we're the beneficiaries of an Indian Summer and lovely weather in which to enjoy our blackberries a little bit longer.

Blackberry-Picking
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

- Seamus Heaney

MARKETS: La Boqueria, Barcelona, SPAIN

The Boqueria market in Barcelona, Spain is a very special food market, and one of my absolute favorites in the world. And with good reason. The variety of colorful produce, unctuous Spanish hams and cheeses, fresh meats and poultry, and refreshing fruit shakes and ice popsicles are mind-blowing. The seafood section alone is worth the airfare to Spain! And like many central food markets in great European culinary capitals, the Boqueria offers several casual dining spots within the open-air walls of the market itself.

The Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria -- the market's full name -- has been operating as such since 1840, but there has been a market in this general location since as early as 1217, when tables were installed in the area to sell meat. It operated as a pig market from 1470, and in a later incarnation became known as the Mercat della Palla (straw market) until 1794. Until the 19th century, the market was considered an extension of the market in Placa Nova, and was not enclosed. The market gained official status, and construction was begun in its current location, in 1840. It was designed by architect Mas Vilà and was inaugurated in 1853. You can ramble down Las Ramblas and walk into the main entrance here to the largest food market in Europe


There are plenty of tourists clogging the market's arteries, of course, but overlook the crowds and enjoy the scenery. This is where the locals shop, but even as a tourist you can purchase fresh fruit or veggies to snack on. The prices are more expensive than some smaller neighborhood markets but it's hard not to buy something, getting swept up in the atmosphere of the place. 


I'll continue with mostly photos, since they offer the real feast for the eyes...

Gorgeous tropical fruit
















and fruit juices.

Vibrant tomatoes, or tomate in Spanish...

...and jamon iberico de bellota...at 159 euros a kilo, or about $100 a pound. Yes. But it's really, really exquisite ham...

Cured anchovies, anchovies in vinegar (boquerones, one of the Mediterranean's greatest culinary inventions), and brandade, a dish of salt cod whipped with potatoes and garlic...

...as well as other cured fish products, like bottarga (cured sacks of mullet and tuna roe -- very expensive, and can be likened to a kind of "caviar prosciutto")... 

...and salt cod. This is stock(fish) in trade in the Mediterranean. It's the single most popular fish on the Iberian peninsula, even though it's not a local fish. It's a testament to the permanence and importance of salt cod since the days of the Spanish and Portuguese explorers in the 15th and 16th centuries.




Which brings us to the seafood part of the Boqueria market. Ahh, the seafood. It's spectacular. There really is no other way to describe such a bounty. If you like fish, crustaceans, or cephalopods (especially cephalopods!), like I do, you'll be in heaven here. This market makes me want to open a restaurant in Barcelona just so I can patronize this market. There are the usual suspects in Mediterranean fish (branzino, gilthead bream, turbot, etc.), sure. But there are cuttlefish and calamari, razor clams and octopus, too.

There are chipirones, the teeny-tiny baby squid the size of a thumbnail, which are sweet and delicious, and used in all sorts of preparations in Catalonia.

There are lobsters and crabs and navajas (razor clams, those long, thin stacks of clams to the left of the photo), as well as the ever-popular sea cucumber, or cohombro, which has a texture not unlike squid.

There's the scorpion fish, which looks mean but its meat is sweet and often used in fish stews.

There are shrimp and clams galore, in all sizes and colors, perfect for paellas, fideus, and all kinds of soups, stews, tapas, and seafood dishes one can imagine.

And if we look closely, we see baby clams, snails, and even some of the gorgeous red shrimp I spoke about a few posts back. All of the seafood you see here is uncooked, and these are their colors in nature. Truly amazing.

And of course, we can't forget the female fish butchers, doing their job day in and day out with aplomb...and a very large knife!

No market shot would be complete without a little gore...

...like sheep heads and trotters and tripe (oh my!)

And of course, we can't forget the gentleman selling all those hot peppers.

Don't forget to stop by for lunch some time -- the offerings on hand are delicious, authentic, and prepared right before your eyes.

And grab a popsicle for a sweet ending to your market stroll! I hope you've enjoyed this virtual market jaunt as much as I enjoyed taking these photographs (and tasting the food). I'll explore more of Barcelona's food culture soon, in the ESCAPES section of my blog. Adios!





La Rambla 89, Raval neighborhood. www.boqueria.info. Open 8 am-8:30 p.m., Mon-Sat.

LOCAL INGREDIENT: Burrata

It's become a newfangled menu staple in every Italian restaurant worth its sale, of late, and even higher-end specialty markets and Italian grocery stores sometimes carry it. But burrata is one food item that really benefits from being consumed in its area of production. And that's Puglia, Italy.

The WHAT: Let's first explain what burrata is, by explaining what it's not. This is not your ordinary mozzarella cheese. It has a creamy, liquid center that some people claim is melted butter, simply because the word in Italian translates to "buttered." It is not. It is, in fact, the "ritagli" or unspun curds from the mozzarella-making process, when the warm cheese is stretched into form. Instead of being formed into a ball, like mozzarella, the burrata is stretched into a pouch, and the ritagli and fresh cream are poured into the center of the pouch. It's then gathered at the top and pulled together like purse strings, and closed shut to keep the soft insides from spilling out. 

The original version is made with water buffalo milk (same as mozzarella di bufala), which has about 40% butterfat, and so is much more rich and flavorful than regular cow's milk. Believe me, this makes a HUGE difference, both in flavor and consistency. Once the burrata is formed, it's generally wrapped in a couple of leaves of the asphodel plant (cousin to the leek). The thinking here is that the leaves will only remain green as long as the burrata is fresh: generally advised, that's 24 hours, and after 48, the cheese is past its prime. This covers the WHEN.

Which brings us to the WHERE. This cheese comes from the region of Puglia, the heel of the boot of the Italian peninsula. In Rome, many shops would get supplies of fresh burrata trucked in every day, just as we'd get fresh mozzarella di bufala from the Campania region -- often still warm from the cheese-making process. I've tried burrata here in the States, on many occasions and from various producers, from numerous food markets and at several restaurants. It never even comes CLOSE to what I've eaten in Italy, and of course, specifically close to the source, in Puglia itself. Yes, large producers in the U.S., like BelGioioso (based in Wisconsin) approximate these Italian specialty cheeses. But they don't use buffalo milk for their burrata, and the mass-produced aspect is in great contrast to the artisanal process of its origin, as well-made as it may be.

So, my advice? Head to Italy for a taste of the real thing, burrata in its place of origin. Puglia is lovely this time of year...