Matters of Taste

Hooray for Hamersley

The end of the year was also the end of an era for fans of Gordon Hamersley.  The Boston superchef, one of the first to bring contemporary cuisine to this city of baked beans and chowdah, closed the doors of Hamersley’s Bistro for the last time in late October and left me mourning one of my favorite restaurants of all times. It also left the city of Boston going through withdrawal --- what would life be without Hamersley's famed Roast Chicken with Garlic, Lemon and Parsley?

 

                         

I first wrote about this South End bistro in 1987, the year it opened across the street from its final home. The neighborhood was a much grittier place in those days; Hamersley’s was one of the forces driving the gentrification of what is today a beautiful, stylish, user-friendly quarter.

For 27 years Hamersley could be found in front of the stove every night, dressed in his trademark blue Red Sox cap, actually cooking during an era when many chefs became globe-trotting stars with nary a smudge of olive oil on their aprons.

                              

He worked with Wolfgang Puck at Ma Maison in L.A.way back in the late ‘70s, and Lydia Shire when he moved back to Boston, and he won every chef and restaurant award there is at some point in his career. (Photo from Boston magazine.) Yet for all his celebrity, Hamersley was happiest cooking in the restaurant he ran with his wife, wine connoisseur Fiona Hamersley; cooking at home with his family; and sharing his time and expertise with aspiring chefs, food writers and assorted non-profit organizations.

So what are we fans going do about his farewell? We’re going to cook up our favorite Hamersley signature dishes in our own kitchens, thanks to “Bistro Cooking At Home.” 

 

                                           

And that means Hamersley’s Roast Chicken with Garlic, Lemon and Parsley.  The foodie blog Serious Eats called it “the most well documented dish in the city.” And at the Bistro’s last dinner service more than 150 orders --- rubbed with a shallot-mustard-herb marinade, par-roasted, set atop chicken stock,  topped with slices of fresh lemon and, finally, popped into the oven to finish --- were cooked and served with roasted onions and crisp potato wedges.

 

But there are other yummy candidates for our memorial dinners, too.  To flip through my copy of the cookbook is to find stained pages surrounding Risotto with Butternut Squash and Maple Syrup; Chicken Piperade; Grilled Flank Steak with Coffee and Black Pepper Marinade (out of this world); Crispy Polenta Triangles with Chanterelles and Asiago….and, in my opinion, the best dish in the book, and the best rack of lamb in the world: Sear-Roasted Rack of Lamb with a Curry, Date, Chile and Almond Crust. (Photo by Bon Appetit.)

                                    


The Piperade recipe can be found in my earlier blog post. Ditto, the flank steak. And, courtesy of BostonChefs.com, the recipe for the Rack of Lamb.

But don’t be silly and limit yourself to these triumphs. Buy the book right now, forpetesake, and celebrate the genius of Gordon Hamersley for years to come. Available at Amazon.com.

 

Bourbon+ Beverley St + So. Belles = Best Drink of 2014

What’s sweet and sassy, cool and hip, warm and toasty, and comes in a five-ounce martini glass?

Simply the best cocktail I discovered in 2014, that’s what.

At Zynodoa, the Staunton, Virginia restaurant that Forbes magazine praises for its “smart, inspired Southern menu,” I fell in love with the “Beverley Belle.”

                             

The smooth, aromatic creation, dreamed up by bartender Macon Gurley and named for the ‘southern belles’ of antebellum lore, begins with Bulleit Bourbon.

This “Frontier Whiskey” has been made in Louisville, Kentucky since 1987,when Tom Bulleit decided to scrap his law career and revive the high-rye whiskey recipe created by his gran’daddy Augustus Bulleit in the 1830s.

Supposedly, it’s the “unique blend” of rye, corn and barley malt and the “Kentucky limestone filtered water” that make it so delicious. Whatever the explanation, it’s a bourbon without bite, with lovely subtle spicy aromas and a sweet, maple-y flavor.

The bartenders at Zynodoa shake it up with grapefruit juice, two dashes of Angostura bitters, and honey. The complete recipe is below since I know you are dying to get to the kitchen and try it.

More about the charming Zynodoa restaurant, in one of Virginia’s most enchanting little college towns, in a coming post.

 

THE BEVERLEY BELLE

2 ounces Bulleit Bourbon

2 ounces Simply Grapefruit juice (in refrigerator section of supermarkets)

2 dashes Angostura Bitters

1-2 tablespoons Honey Water (see note below)

Shake all ingredients with ice in shaker. Strain into chilled martini glass.

Note: Honey Water is made by heating three ounces of honey in eight ounces of water. Let steep until blended. Chill until needed.

 

More (mmmmmmmmmm, good!) on Memphis

Poor Konrad Spitzbart. As Executive Pastry Chef at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis, Spitzbart was given a tough task recently when the Association of Food Journalists convened at his hotel. His audience of 125 food writers, editors, cookbook authors and bloggers had just returned from a fabulous, multi-course luncheon of vegetarian soul food at Felicia Suzanne’s restaurant in downtown Memphis. And they were due to attend AFJ’s annual multi-course Awards Banquet just a few hours hence.

Spitzbart was challenged to wow them during the hotel’s mid-afternoon “coffee break,” serving a “little something” between the two heavyweight feasts.

                                       
            

And he did just that. Wowed us. Thrilled us. Left us licking our lips and fingers, with his heavenly peach crisps served in individual cast iron pans. “I just poach the peaches lightly so they retain their firmness and flavor,” said the Austria born chef in his soft German accent. “The local peaches are so delicious, that’s all they need.”

                                   

 

But, hey, a little homemade maple ice cream, laced with bacon bits, doesn’t do a peach pie any harm, does it? Apparently not, because I saw nary a soul turn down the creamy wonder being scooped personally by Spitzbart. Then there were the shot glasses filled with Jack Daniel’s Caramel Sauce, all lined up on a table nearby, begging to be slurped. How luscious was that? Well, let’s just say that not everyone got his/her portion because after I poured one shot on my peach pie and tasted it….I grabbed another shot and downed it neat. That luscious!

Munching my Way Thru Memphis --- Part II

On the first official day of the Association of Food Journalists conference, all 125-plus food writers and editors trotted off to Court Square for a “Food Truck Rodeo Lunch.” About a half dozen colorful trucks were parked on the pretty square; customers stood in line, then fought over the few tables that offered shade from the blistering sun.

                                     

(Apologies for small photos in this post. Working in the boonies of Colorado with limited internet access and impossibly slow upload times.)  

I opted for Central BBQ, which came highly recommended by Memphis-born friends.  Fighting off the urge for a BBQ Bologna Sandwich (not!), I opted for the classic pulled pork, a heap of tender meat with crisp, charred edges, topped with cool, creamy cole slaw.  CBQ’s sauces – mild and hot -- were sensational. So good, in fact, I didn’t want them to get lost in the unremarkable bun. Instead, I savored each bite of meat on a fork, liberally dunked in the sauces. Homemade potato chips were delicious. "Watermelon Lemonade" from another truck was, well, cold.

                                     
                                     
                                                              

Central BBQ was fired up in 2002 by two guys, Craig Blondis and Roger Sapp, who met on the BBQ circuit in the mid-80s. They’ve opened two other Memphis locations since then. The men brag that their meats -- ribs, pork, chicken, turkey, beef brisket, sausage and, yes, bologna --- are rubbed with a secret combination of dry spices, marinated for 24 hours, then smoked low and slow in the pit over a combination of hickory and pecan woods. Sauce is added only after cooking, a fact, I learned, that is almost as important in these parts as using real wood instead of fake smoke flavoring.

Mindful that I’d be eating again in just a few short hours ---- “A Smokin’ Taste of Memphis” at the Stax Museum of American Soul Music was on tap for the evening --- I slipped away from the conference in the afternoon to walk the Mississippi Riverwalk. 

                                      

With scenic views of the meandering Mississippi, the concrete path runs south for about a mile and a half, then crosses a pedestrian bridge to double back on the Riverbluff Walkway dotted with beautiful homes and pocket parks. With temperatures in the ‘90s and off-the-charts humidity, the exercise was a treadmill-sauna combo that burned up calories while allowing me to see more of Memphis than the inside of the Peabody Hotel conference rooms.

 

                                       

Next up: The Peabody Hotel's Deep-Dish Peach Pie with Maple-Bacon Ice Cream.

Great Gus! Fried Chicken in Memphis

Within 30 minutes of touchdown last night at Memphis International Airport, I was eating deep-fried pickles, drinking Fat Tire beer, and chatting with foodie friends, old and new, at Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken.

                                            

In town for the annual conference of the Association of Food Journalists, our group  wasted no time in checking out one of the city’s most iconic foods.

The fried chicken was sensational. Crisp, golden-brown outside; so moist and flavorful within that it must have been brined first. Served piping hot , straight from the fryer….and hot, too, from the additional of plenty of cayenne (and who knows what else) in the batter.

                             

On the side last night: terrific cole slaw and cooked-to-death greens, which is not an insult because greens are supposed to be cooked-to-death in this part of the world. The chicken was plunked on a couple slices of Wonder-like bread; part of the ritual, I presume. (Gus’s also offers beans and/or French fries some nights.)

Gus’s, by the way, has been around for about 60 years and now has three Tennessee locations plus a few scattered about in other fried chicken-crazy states. The downtown Memphis eatery is casual and friendly… and hot --- at least it was on a night when it was still 89 degrees at 7:30 pm.

The antithesis of “fast food,” Gus’s chicken can easily take 20 or 30 minutes to make its way to your table. That’s where the deep-fried pickles came in. And the Fat Tire. Beverages are basically iced tea, water and beer from a short list heavy on American “lites.”

                                      

Served with plastic utensils, paper napkins and a smile, the feast cost me just 16 bucks, tax included.  Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken was about the best “Welcome to Memphis” anyone could ask for.

                                         

Singing the Praises of Foie Gras...at Rotisserie G

Talk about a marriage made in heaven. The Foie Gras Dacquoise at Rotisserie Georgette in New York City was created when Café Boulud pastry chef Ashley Brauze brought one of her ethereal dacquoise creations home from work to her husband, Chad, head chef at the new and noteworthy Rotisserie Georgette.

“I can do that,” was Chad’s reaction to his wife’s delicious dessert.  “She lectured me on the technique, gave me the ratios for the dacquoise and the gelée, and I took it from there,” said the 35-year-old Chad who met his wife when they both worked at Restaurant Daniel.

                                 

The result is an appetizer that impresses with its good looks, sumptuous texture, and close-your-eyes-and-swoon flavors.

Brauze (Chad, that is) started with the “pastry” layer, making a classic dacquoise with egg whites and crushed pistachios instead of the traditional almond flour. Next, he seasoned the liver lobe with salt, white pepper, sugar and a splash of Sauterne, rolled it into a torchon and confit’d (basically, slowly poached) it in foie gras fat.

After passing it through a fine sieve to smooth the texture, he assembled it in a pastry frame, just as Ashley assembles all her marjolaine and dacquoise confections. For the crowning gelée layer, Brauze used the cooking liquid from poached rhubarb, using just enough gelatin to set it. Candied pistachios, rhubarb chutney and crisp toasts made a great dish even greater.

                      

As wonderful as the foie gras is, the real star of the show at Rotisserie Georgette is rotisserie chicken, dozens of them glistening and twirling away in the back of the restaurant on two impressive contraptions imported from France. The birds come from an Amish farm in Pennsylvania, chosen, according to Ms. G, for the quality of their skin and very moist flesh. They’re dry-brined with herbs de Provence and roasted over open flame. They are simple, and simply delicious.

                                  

Side dishes – such as warm baby beets with red onion vinaigrette and blue cheese --- are also simple and satisfying. In addition, there are many ways to kick off the feast --- a yummy Salade G (above in photo by the New York Times), rillettes, pate, mussels, smoked salmon --- but to miss the heavenly concoction that prompted this paean would be crazy.

                           

The 9-month-old Rotisserie G is the life-long dream of Georgette Farkas, a woman about whom restaurant critic John Mariani said:  “In the backbiting NYC restaurant world, I doubt there is anyone who enjoys a higher likeability rating than Georgette Farkas.” (Photo by MeetUp.com.)

I count myself one of Farkas’ fans, having worked with her for more than 15 years when I was Food Editor of the San Diego Union-Tribune and she was communications director for super-chef Daniel Boulud.  The high-energy Farkas, who started cooking professionally when she was a teenager, now brings her well-known attention to detail, diplomacy and sophistication to bear on her first restaurant.

Rotisserie Georgette, with its Old World charm, new-world comfort and refreshingly uncomplicated food, is at 14 East 60^th Street, just off Central Park. It’s open every day except Sunday.

Vienna's New Park Hyatt Hotel. In a Word: WOW!

No one has ever called me a woman of few words, but I was reduced to one, awed “Wow” when I walked into the restaurant of the then-ten-day-old Park Hyatt Hotel in Vienna, Austria. The handsome stone building, built in 1913 on the graceful square called Am Hof, formerly housed the Lower Austrian Escompte Bank. Hence, the new restaurant’s name: The Bank.

                       


Wow Factor #1: The open kitchen. Actually the two open kitchens. One for savory courses; one for sweets. Each a vast sprawl of marble and glass with elegant finishing touches that will knock the socks off even the most jaded foodies. Between the two spaces sits an oversized dining table where a party of up to eight guests can gather for a special menu, served family-style.

                         

                                     

Wow Factor #2. Soaring ceilings, stunning chandeliers and shimmering floor lamps that pay tribute to the famed Secession art museum,  which is just a short walk away. Home to Gustav Klimt’s Beethoven Frieze, the museum is visited by virtually every visitor to this city.

                                    

Wow Factor #3: An enticing menu that includes the classic dishes that people expect of Vienna, as well as some very clever riffs on those traditions

After oogling the surroundings for a good long while, I settled down to a still-life of Ricotta Maultaschen, which is a delicate Austrian version of ravioli.  The oversized pasta package was light and thin; the cheese filling rich and creamy.  And a flurry of snipped wild herbs polished an already shimmering production.

                                     

I also loved The Bank’s velvety white asparagus soup that was creatively topped with hazelnut pesto. And braised lamb, teamed with an aromatic red pepper stew, eggplant and creamed polenta, was superb.

Only the "de-constructed" blue cheese tart left room for improvement; its attractive “components –-- Blauschimmel blue cheese, toasted walnuts and apricot compote --- desperately needing something to hold all the flavors together.

                                      

Dessert, on the other hand, needed no help whatsoever. The Bank’s rendition of Meringue Glacée was sensational with luscious semi-freddo-like chocolate ice cream in one bowl, Viennese whipped cream in another, and crumbly “slices” of meringue in yet another. 

                                       

As a hotel restaurant, The Bank has to provide all the basics along with the cutting-edge cuisine, and it does so with panache. There are some nice vegetarian options, simple pasta dishes, and a couple of steaks with interesting sauces.

As a hotel restaurant, too, it has to have flexible hours. We arrived after a concert, at 10 pm, when most center-city restaurants had closed their doors. Pearl, the hotel’s bar/lounge also stays open late and offers a nice menu and terrific people-watching.

The Vienna Park Hyatt has now been open for about two months.

                                              

The Beautification of the Brussels Sprout

                                

The words “pizza” and “Brussels sprouts” don’t usually hang out together in the same sentence. But that didn’t stop San Diego wunderchef Tracy Borkum from creating a wondrous pie topped with individual leaves of the cruciferous orb, fat strips of glistening pancetta, fontina cheese, red onion and Calabrian chili.

                                

The pizza was a highlight of a recent dinner at Borkum’s alluring Cucina Enoteca in Del Mar's Flower Hill Promenade.

By chance, we had dined the night before at Borkum’s original Cucina Urbana located in Banker’s Hill.  At that dinner, too, Brussels sprouts made a statement, this time in the de-lish Kale ‘Caesar’ Salad.  Kale can easily fall into the “too much of a good thing” category.  But Cucina Urbana’s salad balanced the chewy green with tender, finely shaved sprouts and tossed it all with a spunky Meyer Lemon vinaigrette and raisins soaked in Cognac and orange zest.  A crackly parmesan frico was the proverbial icing on the cake. (Photo from TripAdvisor.)

                                   

The two restaurants have pretty much the same menu, with a few chef de cuisine whims and daily specials thrown in for good measure. Both feature a selection of mini mason jars filled with scrumptious spreads. I loved the bright, summery Sweet Pea Hummus, made with fresh English peas, shallots, garlic and chickpeas, all blended smooth with tahini and lemon juice, and topped with crispy bits of pancetta and chili-infused oil. 

                                    

  

Poutine: Another Taste

If you found my recent post about Poutine mouth-watering (or weird or gross or inspiring), you'll definitely want to check out an entertaining Wall Street Journal piece on the notorious Canadian conccotion of fresh cheese curds, french fries and gravy.

In "Quebec's Baddest Poutine," author Adam Leith Gollner tells about "Poutine Week" in Montreal, an event where chefs, professional and otherwise, attempt to gild this already-over-the-top lily. (WSJ photo by Will Lew.)

                   

The article is informative --- "For a cheese (curd) to squeak its utmost, it needs to be less than a day old;" and pretty funny, too --- "The problem with aiming to make poutine fancy is that the dish is meant to be trashy. Trying to improve it is like adding a penthouse to a mobile home."

Gollner goes on a roadtrip in "poutine heartland" and shares with us the good, the bad and the inedible. (Chez Ben, below, falls into the "good" category.

"This may all sound a little off-putting (off-pouding?), but I can testify, as a native Quebecer who grew up making poutine as an after-school snack, that a good poutine is often a bad poutine. When you're craving one, you don't want something exquisitely prepared with seasonal heirloom veg. You want a down-and-dirty dish."

                   

"Unlike other lowly-yet-delicious foods like mac and cheese or pizza, there's not much of a range between the best and the worst poutines. Even at its zenith, poutine is still kind of gross. As pleasurable as it can be to eat one, you never feel better afterward—unless you're hung over."

Read it (in WSJ) and weep. Or make your own. Or book a flight to Quebec.

Summer in a Bowl

That’s what I discovered last week at Market in Del Mar, where chef Carl Schroeder continues to wow fans some 12 years after hitting the San Diego scene at Arterra Restaurant.  

A large, shallow white bowl was backdrop for the riot of color, aroma and flavor that Schroder calls Cherokee Purple Heirloom Tomato Gazpacho. Elegant dice of avocado, cucumber, red onion and red bell pepper shared the stage with halved heirloom cherry tomatoes, shaved radishes and micro basil.

The underlying “soup” was a refined blend of vegetable broth, garlic, leek, herbs and large Cherokee purple heirlooms, gently simmered together then strained.  Cherokee purples are not just about color incidentally; these beauties are prized for their dense, juicy texture and rich, complex flavor.

                       


Schroeder further boosted the “summer” flavors of his gazpacho with judicious sprinkles of Aleppo pepper and Banyuls, the French red wine vinegar known for its beguiling sweetness.

Served with a spoonful of bracing citrus granita and a few “spiced” corn chips, it was a feast for the eyes and for the tongue, which got to navigate around a lot of different textures. And, as any good “starter” should, it provided a subtle, aromatic entry into the rest of the dinner (which included terrific miso-glazed black cod and sautéed John Dory with caponata ravioli).

I still have fond memories of the gazpacho I made in the ‘70s when we baby-boomers were learning to cook. Every summer, we’d make gallons of the chic and trendy, cold Spanish soup, tossing tomatoes, veggies, garlic and vinegar into the blender with gay abandon and, five minutes later, serving the totally pulverized red potage with a few nubbins of cucumber and onion sprinkled on top.

But now, happily, I have even fonder memories of gazpacho – Carl Schroeder’s Mona Lisa to my own “Paint-by-Number.”