Matters of Taste

Farewell, First-Born....Hello, Fun

This week's cover story in The New York Times, “Students, Welcome to College – Parents, Go Home” brought back vivid memories of saying good-bye to our two sons when we deposited them at their colleges as Freshmen.

But, unlike the picture painted in Trip Gabriel’s engaging story, ours was not a scene of hand-wringing, hanging around, and hysteria. Rather, my husband’s and my memories of those days are of Champagne in front of the fireplace in a cozy room at The White Barn Inn; a luscious, over-the-top dinner at The Inn at Little Washington; biking along the deserted coast of Kennebunkport, Maine; and hiking a woodsy trail in the Appalachians.

Don’t get me wrong. We were devastated that Nicholas and Ben would no longer be involved in in our daily lives. But, we were determined not to be part of the boo-hooing throngs of parents who, quite literally in some cases, were raining on their kids’ “parades.” Instead, I devised a plan for dodging all the drama. And I wrote about it for the Travel sections of The San Diego Union-Tribune and The Oregonian:

 

"The strategy is simple: Plan a romantic getaway that begins with the last wave goodbye."

Sure there was a little sniffle as we walked away from each son, but there was also great excitement about the coming adventure. My husband and I got to discover the quintessential Yankee town of Kennebunkport where we road bikes, walked empty beaches and were dazzled by the candlelight setting (in a restored 19^th century barn) and  sensational food of Chef Jonathan Cartwright at The White Barn Inn.

With son #2, we settled into a luxurious room at The Inn at Little Washington in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. We hiked Old Rag Mountain and were pampered by the Inn’s chef/co-owner Patrick O’Connell. Sweet corn risotto with frizzled leeks; a Lilliputian, pistachio-crusted lamb chop;  and a luscious cobbler with local peaches made it totally apparent why the James Beard Society named O’Connell “Outstanding American Chef” in 2001. (Photo of O'Connell's cobbler trio from a cool Web site called Dinner Cakes: Culinary Adventures for Everyday People.)

 

Click here to see the entire article about these strategic “adventures” on the San Diego Union-Tribune’s Web site.

 

 

Around the World in 309 Recipes

If I stood on a stack of Steven Raichlen’s cookbooks, I just might be able to dunk a basketball. One of the most prolific authors out there (12 tomes and counting), Raichlen is also one of the most intelligent, creative and thorough. Oh, and did I mention charming?

 

His just-released “Planet Barbecue!” is a compilation of 309 recipes from 60 countries. It’s a tantalizing tour that’ll have you firing up the barbie even in the rain.

Written in a breezy, conversational tone, the book whisks us through Two Million Years of Barbecue History; introduces us to fascinating people like The Bonfire Brothers (2 Brazilian restaurateurs lured to Texas by none-other than George Dub-yah) and The Barbecue Queen of the Philippines (famed for her spit-roasted pig); teaches us how to tie a Surgeon’s Lock Knot (so that bird or roast doesn’t fall off the spit); regales us with stories of his travels; and delivers 20 “secrets” to The Perfect Burger. (One hint: the fat content of the two cuts of beef must be exactly 22 percent.)

There’s a colorful profile of each country, along with attractive “sidebars” on everything from what to drink with barbecue in Jamaica to the one restaurant you mustn’t miss in Florence, Italy.

Photos are of real people doing real cooking with real passion, instead of stylist-perfect still-lifes. And the recipes, everything from Tuscan Grilled Toasts and Kuwaiti Chile Shrimp to Romanian Garlic Steak and Australian Lamb on a Shovel, are intriguing and delicious. Instructions are clear and concise, with just enough hand-holding. The typeface and lay-out are attractive and friendly to baby-boomer eyes.

I had never tried stuffing a pork tenderloin (they seem too skinny for that) or spit roasting one either, until I experimented with Raichlen’s Pork Tenderloin Grilled with Bacon and Prunes. The Brazilian dish looked beautiful when sliced on the diagonal and offered great flavors and varied textures. I paired it with Cambodian Coconut-Grilled Corn which was swabbed with a simple coconut milk concoction that imparted a subtle sweetness. My next adventure will be the Puerto Rican Pork Shoulder (with Sparkling Barbecue Sauce) pictured here. (Photo by Ben Fink).

Here's the recipe for the unusual corn. "Planet Barbecue!" is available at Amazon.com for $23.10.

 

COCONUT-GRILLED CORN (POD OENG)

Serves 4

¾ cup unsweetened coconut milk

2 tablespoons palm sugar or light brown sugar, or more to taste

1 piece (2-inches) pandamus leaf, or 1 or 2 bay leaves

¼ teaspoon salt

4 ears of corn, husked or husk stripped back and tied with butcher string

 

Combine the coconut milk, palm sugar, pandamus leaf or bay leaf, and salt in a small saucepan over medium heat and let simmer gently until the sugar dissolves, 3 to 5 minutes. Taste for sweetness, adding more sugar if necessary. Remove the pan from the heat and let the basting mixture cool to room temperature.

Set up the grill for direct grilling and preheat it to high.

When ready to cook, brush and oil and grill grate. Place the corn on the hot grate and grill it until nicely browned on all sides, 2 to 3 minutes per side, 8 to 12 minutes in all, turning with tongs. Start basting the corn with some of the coconut milk mixture after a few minutes and baste it again several times as it grills.

Baste the corn one final time and transfer it to a platter or plates, and serve.

 

 

 

Donuts. Is There Anything They Can't Do?

With all due credit to Matt Groening and Homer Simpson, I’ve been wondering the same thing lately about mayonnaise.

It all started when the guy who just finished stripping and re-staining our hardwood floors came into the kitchen with an unusual request. Did I have any mayonnaise? I figured he had a lackluster egg salad sandwich in his lunchbox. But, in fact, he had found a nasty smudge on the new floor and he assured me a plop of mayo would buff the booboo right out of there.

The same week, my husband and I were served a scrumptious piece of Alaskan halibut during dinner at the home of friends. The hostess said she was embarrassed to tell me how simple the recipe was. I figured it was some creative marinade or expensive sous-vide cooking gizmo. Nope. Mayonnaise.

A super-fresh fillet, lightly schmeared with mayo, dusted with freshly grated parmesan, and popped in the oven. Minimal effort, minimal fat…maximum satisfaction.

Next up was Alfred Portale’s Roast Turkey, Avocado, Bacon and Blue Cheese Sandwich. I was thumbing through this New York City chef’s cookbook (one of my favorites) looking for a recipe to use the avocados that our next-door neighbor (who has an avocado ranch north of San Diego) had handed over the fence to me. The sandwich, on lightly grilled ciabatta bread with thick slab bacon and Maytag blue cheese, was crowned with homemade aioli. I’d go so far as to call this French version of mayo – spiked with garlic, cayenne, lemon zest and Champagne vinegar – a “miracle.”

A duded-up ear of corn was Number Four in the Mayo Marathon. While testing recipes from BBQ guru Steven Raichlen’s newest book (“Planet Barbecue!”), I stumbled upon a page entitled “Grilled Corn Around the World.” According to Raichlen, Mexican corn is traditionally “grilled over charcoal, slathered with mayonnaise, crusted with grated Cotija cheese, and seasoned with fresh lime juice and chile powder.” (Mexican corn photo from Ehow.com.)  Mouthwatering as that sounded, I opted for Cambodian Coconut-Grilled Corn to accompany the Pork Tenderloin Grilled with Bacon and Prunes that I was testing. I’ll post a review of “Planet Barbecue!” later this week

Below is Portale’s aioli recipe from “Simple Pleasures” by Alfred Portale and Andrew Friedman.

(By the way, the mayo did seem to gloss over the smudge, but did nothing for a couple of scratches in the new surface.)

AIOLI

1 egg yolk, at room temperature

1 ½ tablespoons champagne vinegar, plus more if needed

1 teaspoon minced garlic, mashed with ¼ teaspoon coarse salt

Pinch of cayenne pepper

1 teaspoon finely chopped lemon zest

½ cup canola oil

¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

Coarse salt

Freshly ground white pepper, to taste

In a small bowl, whisk together the egg yolk, vinegar, garlic, cayenne and lemon zest. Whisk in some canola oil, a few drops at a time at first, then gradually in a very thin stream, to form a thick, emulsified mixture. Then whisk in the olive oil in the same way. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Use immediately or cover and refrigerate for up to 3 days.

Thinking Outside the Plastic Pint Berry Box

It’s a pretty safe bet that, as you sit there reading this post, Janie Hibler is elbow-deep in fresh berries.  The award-winning cookbook author, who’s well known for her expertise on such Pacific Northwest fare as Dungeness crab and wild salmon, is particularly crazy about berries. She emailed me today, from her log cabin in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, about her afternoon adventure:

"picking succulent trailing wild Pacific blackberry (the reason why the boysenberry and loganberry are so delicious—it’s part of their gene pool), wild black raspberries, red and blue huckleberries, and salmonberries.”

 

Hibler’s book, The Berry Bible, was originally published in 2004. But this summer Amazon Encore (Amazon.com’s publishing imprint) re-released a paperback version. It’s available at Amazon.com for $12.21.

In addition to some 175 recipes, the book is an encyclopedia of varieties -- cloudberries, Juneberries and the blue honeysuckle were news to me.  There’s also practical info such as how to buy, wash, dry and freeze. But what I love most about the book is the inspiration it provides.

For me, a strawberry has always been something to eat from a bowl with heavy cream, combine with rhubarb in a pie, or plop on top of shortcake. But The Berry Bible got me to think outside the plastic pint basket.

 

Curried Halibut with Strawberry-Papaya Relish was a scrumptious  celebration of summer (with fresh Alaskan halibut). Hibler’s American Barbecue Sauce, with fresh blackberries, ketchup, and pimenton (the smoked “paprika” of Spain), is luscious. And her Upside-Down Cranberry-Pumpkin Polenta Cake belongs on every Thanksgiving table.

The halibut, pictured here, is remarkably easy to make, too. Just dust the filet with curry powder and salt, pan-sear, and top with the salsa of diced fruits, red onion and cilantro. The colorful entrée is served with fragrant basmati rice and a sauce of canned coconut milk that’s warmed and slightly thickened in the sauté pan.

And now that I have The Berry Bible on my bookshelf, I’m out looking for other fresh berries.

Next time I come face to face with a basket of  blackberries, I  definitely won’t be plunking them in a fruit salad. Not with Hibler’s Blackberry-Port Lamb Shanks waiting for me on page 141.

Down-to-Earth Dining in the Dolomites

Earlier this week I wrote about the Michelin-starred restaurants tucked away in the enchanting Alta Badia, a mountain-rimmed valley in northeastern Italy.  Indeed, it was exciting to celebrate the end of our five-day hut-to-hut trekking adventure with a feast featuring the likes of “Onion soup and Matera bread, poached egg, black truffle, on calamari scent.”

 

But, in truth, it was the traditional, stick-to-the-ribs fare in the hütte that we really fell in love with. If Michelin were to give stars for great-tasting food in funky inns perched on picturesque mountaintops, the Rifugio Santa Croce (Inn of the Holy Cross) would be a shoo-in for top honors.

The inn is also known as Heilig-Kreuz Hütte; all names in Italy’s Süd Tirol/Alto Adige are in German and Italian because the region belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire until the end of WWI. Since I speak German and not Italian, I refer to locations by their German names.

A hütte (pronounced hoo-tah) was built in this location, about 6,000 feet above sea level, more than 500 years ago as a stopover for pilgrims who arrived at the adjoining Heilig Kreuz chapel after long journeys on foot.

Over the years the buildings have undergone many changes; today’s modernized inn contains a well-outfitted kitchen and beds for about 25 people, in one large dorm and several multi-bedded rooms. Overnight guests share two bathrooms (with modern fixtures and a hot shower) and pay about 33 Euros (approximately $40) per person for room and breakfast. The inn is even reachable by a chair lift now, though guests must still climb about 15 minutes to reach the inn and chapel.

 

We caught our first glimpse of the alluring buildings from a grassy knoll about 15 minutes away. We had been hiking along the base of the towering Kreuzkofel mountain range, through pine forests and bright green meadows being chomped by grazing cows. When we arrived at the inn, we were warmly welcomed by the innkeeper Erbino Irsara, a jocular, animated guy who was schmoozing with a workman in the atmospheric stübe. (Pronounced shtoo-bah, it’s a  spacious, wood-paneled room that serves as bar, dining room, game room.)

 

After drinking a beer to our good fortune – another glorious hike, free of calamity, under sunny skies and with breathtaking scenery – we showered, changed and descended to the stübe for dinner. (Since the inn had just opened for the summer season, we were the only overnight guests.) Much to our amazement, Chef Erbino had traded his work shirt for a starched white chef’s jacket and towering toque. We quickly learned that he takes cooking very seriously, even though he is limited by the fact that all provisions must arrive by foot or chairlift.  He proceeded to knock our socks off with a meal that was both hearty and elegant.

 

Gerstlsuppe (barley soup) arrived first, steaming hot and flecked with bits of onion, carrot, and a flurry of fresh chives. Of the three entrees offered, I chose Wienerschnitzel (pictured here) and hit the jackpot. One of the best I’ve ever tasted, this cutlet of local pork was pounded thin, cloaked in homemade breadcrumbs the consistency of Japanese panko, and fried in plenty of butter. Every bite oozed a mix of natural juices and browned butter, every bite tickled the tongue with crispy edges and tender flesh. On the side were fabulous potatoes, sauteed  and showered with fresh chives.

As is customary, the schnitzel was served with a big mixed salad, simply dressed with vinegar and oil. Others in our group opted for mushroom goulash that shared a plate with a mass of soft buttery polenta.

Our mountain guide, Roman Profanter, had warned us to save room for dessert, and we understood why when Chef Erbino appeared with a massive platter of Kaiserschmarrn.  Loosely translated as Emperor’s Mishmash, this traditional Austrian specialty is a caramelized, crisp-edged, eggy pancake that is broken into pieces in the frying pan and served in a fluffy heap, topped with a blizzard of powdered sugar and plops of fruit preserves. Heilig Kreuz Hütte is renowned for the anytime-of-day dessert.  Skiers and hikers arrive in droves to dig into Irsara’s version that’s topped with mountain berry preserves.

After dinner we gathered outside the inn to watch the impressive display known as Alpenrot. As the sun goes down in the west it turns the grey stony faces of the Dolomite mountains a shimmering shade of red.  It’s amazing. But at the risk of dissing Mother Nature, I think that the evening's most impressive spectacle was Chef Erbino’s dinner.

 

Gushing Over Granola

I’m taking a break from my tales of Süd Tirol huts, hikes and homemade strudel to share a delicious new discovery.

Yesterday, while grocery shopping in Telluride, Colorado, I came upon Indian Ridge Granola. According to the label, Indian Ridge is a farm and bakery outside Norwood, Colorado, which happens to be the closest town to our cabin-in-the-woods. I’m not sure how I missed this 100-acre “diversified family farming operation” – we drive right through Norwood (all six square blocks of it) on our trip from California. But, having tasted the granola on fruit salad and yogurt this morning, I plan to stop there every chance I get.

I'm pretty tuned in to the granola marketplace. I like surprising my son and husband, who are aficionados, with new products. And I've tasted every variety at the NASFT's annual Fancy Food Show. That includes Udi’s, Café Fanny (Alice Waters’ shop), Bear Naked, Back to Nature, Bob’s Red Mill, Bakery on Main, Ambrosial, and 18 Rabbits. And I’m telling you that Indian Ridge is THE BEST.

The oats (organic) are lighter, crisper, toastier than others; the sweetness is subtle (just a sprinkle of brown sugar); the vanilla and almond essences are but a discreet whiff. The rest of the ingredient list includes almonds, organic sunflower seeds, organic cornmeal (a nice addition), coconut, honey, organic safflower oil, raisins (tiny, chewy ones) and salt. The consistency of Indian Ridge is fairly fine, no big stuck-together chunks, which makes it better as a topping and less fattening, too.

If you happen to live close to Norwood, you can pick up the granola at the farm or in one of the local grocery stores or farmers’ markets. Otherwise, you can purchase it on-line; each 14-ounce bag costs $5.35; also available in bulk, it’s $5.25 per pound. Shipping is extra.

Impeccable freshness is undoubtedly one of the reasons Indian Ridge Granola tastes so good. There’s no trucking it around, no sitting in warehouses. Don’t let it sit around your house either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Work of Art: Salad at La Siriola

  "Composition of flowers, herbs and roots, small fruits and raspberries dressing.”

How ordinary, I thought, as I quickly passed over the first item on the menu at La Siriola in the weensy hamlet of Armentarola, Italy. Why would anyone settle for a little salad when there were such creative appetizers as Onion Soup with Poached Egg, Black Truffle on Calamari Scent; Homemade Potato, Mint and Saffron Ravioli; and Filled and Glazed Tomato with Fried Pumpkin Flower sharing that first page?

 

But it was the salad that stole the show during Act I of dinner at one of the most magical Michelin one-star experiences I’ve ever had.  Our giddy group of six had just completed a six-day trek through the dramatic Dolomite mountains in northernmost Italy…an adventure, we all agreed, that ranked as an all-time-great. Wearing backpacks with bare necessities and minimal clothing changes, we hiked 8 hours a day and stayed overnight at the charming mountain “huts," most reachable only by foot, for which this region,  the Süd Tirol is known. (More about those escapades in a later post.)

Our last day of hiking dropped us into Armentarola, a hamlet of a half-dozen buildings, where we checked into the enchanting Hotel Armentarola and made a dinner reservation at La Siriola. Located in the Ciasa Salares hotel, across the street from ours, La Siriola won its first Michelin star in 1995.  (Both hotels are owned by branches of the Wieser family.) There we sat, with clean clothes and coiffed hair (we had left our car, with “city” clothes, hairdryers, etc. at Hotel Armentarola before starting the trek), in rapt appreciation of the dining drama unfolding before us.

 

The “composition of flowers” was stunning…an artistic jumble of baby lettuces, pansies, cresses, dill, tiny berries, radish ribbons, wildflowers, and a paper-thin slice of “toast” that we  could actually see through.  The simple glass square plate allowed the salad to shine, the subtle raspberry-scented vinaigrette enhanced the natural flavors instead of covering them up. Every bite teased with different textures and extraordinary freshness.

Our dinner at La Siriola had kicked off with aperitifs on the terrace, from where we could look up at the rolling hills and stony peaks we had navigated that day. Basking in the early evening sun – darkness doesn’t descend until after 10 pm in late June – we were treated to an astonishing array of complimentary appetizers including airy poufs of dough that melted on our tongues.

Once inside the casually elegant dining room – crystal, china and furnishings are top quality without the fussiness and “attitude” of most restaurants of this caliber – we quickly learned that “complimentary” treats were a signature of La Siriola’s chef, Claudio Melis.

With the 7-course prix fixe dinner costing 92 Euro per person (a whopping 142 Euro with wines), we decided to take the a la carte approach. (At an exchange rate of about $1.25 to one Euro, that’s about $115 and $178 respectively.) 

Though we ordered only two or three courses per person, we were treated to an awe-inspiring parade of additional tiny treasures: An espresso cup of intensely perfumed mushroom broth with a wisp of rosemary; an amazing breadbasket with 10 kinds of tiny rolls, including a tapenade-swirled “cinna-bun;” a morsel of burrata topped with sun-dried tomato; silken amberjack tartare with Nicoise salad; caramel cream pudding in a tipsy cordial glass; Lilliputian macaroons, delicate chocolates and glistening jelly candies.

Highlights of the dinner included the aforementioned saffron ravioli “with sweet cheese on a tomato marmalade;” a sensational suckling pig in almond crust with turnips and licorice-coffee sauce; and a strawberry dessert “soup” with a floating island of sponge cake. (More on the suckling pig later this week.)

To find such a gastronomic jewel in the middle of no-where is astonishing. It’s even more astounding to find four Michelin stars in this bucolic Heidi-land.  A Wieser cousin, Hugo Pizzinini and his chef Norbert Niederkofler, have garnered two Michelin stars for their restaurant in La Rosa Alpina Hotel in nearby San Cassiano. And a third chef, Arturo Spicocchi, also snagged a star for his Stüa di Michil in Corvara, a short bus ride away. (The chefs are pictured here during an annual charity cook-off; from left, Melis, Spicocchi and Niederkofler.)

The presence of three Michelin-starred eateries in this tiny valley is a glorious mystery.

But, to be honest, dinner at La Siriola was but a delicious footnote to our Alpine adventure.  Getting there really was the whole fun. I’ll be sharing more recipes, routes and tales from our journey in the days to come.

 

Raising the Bar...Theo Chocolate of Seattle

Every Fourth of July, our sons throw a huge party, with scores of their college buddies coming to town from across the US. For the past eight years running, one group of Harvard girls has brought me, via a classmate who works in New York, a big box of Leonidas chocolates. You see, Leonidas have been my favorite chocolates since I discovered them more than 30 years ago on a visit to Brussels where they are made. I love the super-fresh, butter-cream nuggets that are sold, refrigerated, just a day or so after they’re created, with a warning to enjoy within two weeks.

The Madison Avenue Leonidas shop was the first in the U.S. and remains the big daddy. Though there are now a handful of Leondias cafes around the country and a brisk mail order business, the purist in me only wants chocolates, hand-delivered, still cool, from the Madison Avenue store.

Every July I revel anew in the Manon, a dark chocolate praliné with coffee butter cream and a whole hazelnut on top. I swoon over the Africa, a dark chocolate ganache scented with orange and covered with chocolate vermicelli. And I cry when the last Coupe Tiramisu, a milk chocolate cup filled with praline, brown-sugar biscuit, and Amaretto-flavored ganache, is gone.

But this year, the cherished Leonidas bonbons had serious competition for my affections. Another party guest, from Seattle, brought me a box of eight picture-perfect confections from Theo Chocolate. She had recently taken a tour of the factory and picked up a box to share with me.

In a word, wow!  Theo chocolates are petite packages that pack a lot of flavor. They’re dainty.  Elegant. Subtle. It would be easy to pop a whole one in your mouth and munch. But these are handmade, sweet cream-based chocolates that should be nibbled slowly, allowing the chocolate to melt on your tongue, the multiple flavors to reveal themselves, the rich, velvety consistency to drive you mad.

And the flavors. Oh, my. There’s a heavenly Burnt Sugar bonbon, a mint ganache that smells like it was just picked from the herb garden, a raspberry cream to die for. The seasonal basil cream is a celebration of summer. The Caramel Collection includes salted caramel enrobed in dark chocolate and sprinkled with microns of crushed red chile and sea salt, as well as Rose and Lavender Salted Caramels.  (There are also some exciting bars such as the Fig, Fennel and Almond.) Since Theo bonbons are cream-based, they are supposed to be kept cool and enjoyed within 2 weeks. I decided to leave mine at room temperature and eat all eight pieces in four days…two each night, in a deliberate and delicious ritual.

The folks at Theo Chocolate spend a lot of time and Web page space touting their “unwavering commitment to changing the way the cocoa industry conducts business.” But, though I’m impressed that they’re “The Only Organic, Fair Trade, Bean-to-Bar Chocolate Factory in the U.S.,”  it’s really the flavor and fabulous consistency of THEO chocolates that have made me a fervent fan.

Don’t get me wrong. I certainly haven’t eaten my last fat, fabled Leonidas ganache. In fact, I look forward to my gift next Fourth of July. But it’s unlikely that I’ll wait that long to sample again the ethereal treasures of Theo.

Stepping Up to the (Dinner) Plate

I’m back in the ballgame.

After 2 months of far-flung travels; an extensive re-model of our 1922 home; cooking dinner and breakfast for 75 of our sons’ friends over the 4th of July weekend;  and 16 hours (in 2 days) of driving from California to Colorado in 110-degrees-plus temperatures, I’m finally ready to start writing about Matters of Taste again.

I hope you'll join me for upcoming tales that'll include:

*** How GPS saved my life AND discovered a magnificent mushroom ragout

*** Falling in love with Seattle’s Theo Chocolate

*** A look at Janie Hibler’s award-winning cookbook “The Berry Bible”

***Winning ways with scallops

*** The Most Beautiful Salad in the World