Matters of Taste

Ravioli by Any Other Name

...will smell as sweet, taste as good --- especially when the other name is Schlutzkrapfen.

Schlutzkrapfen are a specialty of Italy’s Südtirol/Alto Adige region (the northernmost, mountainous area next to Austria). They’re made with impossibly sheer pasta dough, and usually filled with spinach and chives just plucked from the garden. There’s also a touch of cream involved and it usually comes from the neighboring farm. Picture-perfect Schlutzkrapfen are hand rolled and crimped. It simply doesn’t get any better.

When I recently hiked the enchanting Südtirol (home to the Dolomite mountains) with frends, we ordered Schlutzkrapfen every chance we got, trying close to a dozen versions in 10 days.

                                    

The best was at Moar, a Jausestation (“snack bar”) in the Villnöss Valley.  Every bite elicited rolled eyes and quiet moans – the silken pasta, the bracing flavor of just-picked spinach tinged with cream, the fresh butter lightly browned, the saltiness of grated parmesan. Chef/owner Robert Perntaler runs the show at this popular Gasthaus, with the help of his wife, their young daughter and a bunch of hens who lay the eggs for the glorious cakes, tortes and strudels.

Gasthof Moar, which has a remarkable extensive menu in spite of its "snack bar" name, is reachable by a twisty unpaved mountain road, but most guests arrive on foot via one of the trails that dot that side of the Villnöss valley. On the Sunday afternoon of our warm-up hike (we would meet our mountain guide the next morning for a four-day hut-to-hut trek), we climbed up and out of the village of Teis, then skirted the mountain ridge for about 2 hours until we dropped out of the woods and into the meadows surrounding the picturesque Moar chalet.

                                     

The terrace was a scene straight out of The Sound of Music -- crowded and noisy with laughter and the clatter of utensils and dishes, kids playing in the tiny adjacent playground, brilliant blue sky, a profusion of multi-colored geraniums in every windowbox.  There were no tables free when we arrived. But my husband and I had fallen in love a few years back with Moar’s beet Knodeln (dumplings) and we were determined to enjoy them again and introduce our friends to the yummy treasure.

                                      

The Rohnknodeln (made with finely chopped and crushed red beets, dried bread chunks, Topfen cheese  and a flurry of fresh chives) were just as good as we remembered and well worth the wait. According to Frau Pernthaler, the dumplings are first rolled around in a hot pan with butter until they’re browned, then boiled briefly in hot water to complete the cooking.  The texture is smooth and creamy, the flavors fresh and herby.  The spunky creamed horseradish sauce makes them downright irresistible.

 

A New Way to Scramble an Egg

I’m in Vienna, Austria this week, rejoicing in the music, food, art, and outdoorsy adventures that this elegant, old-world city has to offer.

                                          

Over the weekend, I once again explored the famous Karmelitermarkt, (Carmelites’ market) the Saturday-only outdoor market that’s considered the best in a town full of excellent markets.

My plan was to buy eierschwammerl (also known as chanterelles) and make mushroom goulash for dinner.  These golden, trumpet-shaped funghi show up in the market only for a couple weeks in June. As soon as I arrived at the square, I sought out the purveyors who had small baskets of the precious mushrooms, picked the ones that looked best, and bought a half pound.

The rest of the shopping could wait until after breakfast.

For that, we headed to Marktachterl, a popular café on the perimeter of the square .  (A few other casual restaurants, a flower shop, several butchers, and a couple of pastry shops are also permanent merchants on the square.)

I was expecting a simple plate of scrambled eggs when I ordered Eierspeis. But what I got was an education and inspiration for future breakfasts.

                                   

Since Eierspeis translates literally as “egg-dish,” I asked the waiter how the eggs were prepared. He answered:  “They’re moved around in a pan.”

OK.

Instead of beating the eggs together in a bowl, the cook apparently broke the eggs directly into a hot pan with sizzling butter, let them sit a few seconds, and then scrambled them until they were loosely set. The result was light and fluffy with luscious chunks of white and yellow --- a far more interesting texture than the norm. A flurry of fresh chives, and a tiny plop of sour cream with cherry tomatoes completed the picture.

It seems that Viennese chefs love to toss and tousle stuff around in a frying pan. One of the country’s best known desserts is Kaiserchmarrn (which translates as Emperor’s Mishmash), a sweet, eggy pancake that’s chopped up as it cooks in the pan, creating a handsome heap of shredded, caramelized, crispy-edged pancake topped with bits of fruit  or nuts, all buried in a blizzard of powdered sugar.

One of the best versions I’ve ever had was at the tiny lodge of Heilige Kreuz high in the Dolomite mountains of Northern Italy.  I wrote about that sugary masterpiece last summer when I was trekking, hut-to-hut, with friends.

More about the yummy mushroom goulash I made for dinner later.

The Great Gastro-Adventure of 2011

When our group of 8 hikers – tired but giddy over the day’s accomplishments - arrived at Fuciade Hütte late one afternoon last June,  we expected bare-basic accommodations and simple, hearty fare. Instead, we got the gastro-adventure of 2011.

We had left Sottoguda, a quaint one-block town in Italy's imposing Dolomite mountains, that morning -- five physicians, two nurses, this food writer, and our bergführer (mountain guide) Roman Profanter. The day’s planned route included a trek up and over the dramatic stony mass called the Forca Rossa, but that plan was soon scratched when it started to rain and heavy grey clouds obscured all signs of mountains in that direction.  Instead, we took a 20-minute taxi ride to a hiking trail deep in the forest and started to climb a series of hills and peaks heading for our next overnight stop, Rifugio Fuciade. (In this part of Italy, the Alto Adige or Südtirol, both Italian and German are spoken. Hütte and Rifugio both refer to the simple but often spectacular houses with rooms and food along the trails.)

Our hopes for a yummy lunch at the hut proposed by Roman were dashed when we discovered a sign in the window of the darkened hut: Closed for a family funeral. We waited out a cacophonous thunder and lightning storm, huddled under the building’s eaves, and “lunched” on the goodies one couple had brought along: bread from the breakfast buffet, a bit of salami and cheese, and homemade “gorp” with M&Ms.

We spend the rest of the afternoon climbing, in and out of woods, in and out of drizzle. Even in black-and-white, the vistas were spectacular. Finally, after a particularly challenging downhill scramble, we rounded the proverbial corner and came face to face with Fuciade Hütte with its Heidi-esque balconies, geraniums, lace-curtains, playground and tiny wooden chapel.

The Italian-speaking owner and her huge black dog greeted us warmly, took our muddy boots to the  boot-dryer and showed us to our rooms on the second floor. (Fuciade Hütte has only 7 or 8 rooms, with rustic furnishings and small but nice bathrooms.) After hot showers and catnaps, we gathered in the bar for aperitifs and card games, then went to our assigned table, exquisitely set with local linens and Italian glassware.

The salad should have been a tip-off that this was not going to be a normal mountain hut repast, usually a salad, meaty dish and homemade cake or strudel.  Chef Rossi's elegant salad of fine, leafy greens was dotted with paper-thin shavings of green apple and fresh herbs, and was followed by a robust vegetable soup that we all agreed we would have killed for at lunch time.

Next came homemade lasagna, with gossamer noodles and deer ragu, and, sharing the plate, a well-seasoned barley risotto, with perfectly al dente grains and translucent shavings of parmesan.

As the proverbial happy campers, we toasted our good fortune with delicious local wines, and commented, not complained, mind you, but commented on how few vegetables we had eaten in the past couple days. Boom, out came the “main course” – a bowl of five or six kinds of bright, butter-blessed vegetables, accompanying a Brobdingnagian veal shank called Stinco di Vitello. 

                                            

The glossy, crusty meat fell off the bone into shiny natural juices as the platter was passed around the table. Every caramelized nubbin of meat brought oohs and aahs from the stunned audience. But there was still more: Steaming slabs of polenta with a wild mushroom ragu, which I tasted enough of to know that it was fabulous and that I would regret the next day that I hadn’t eaten more.

Three or four  homemade desserts, including an impressive, egg-white-fluffed buckwheat cake with homemade jam, and a picture-perfect pear tart came next in the parade. Since no one could eat more than a bite, we were all thrilled to see them again the next morning on the breakfast buffet, that also featured a nice cheese plate and sensational breads baked on the premises.

Dazzled by our gastro-adventure of the previous night, and the brilliant blue skies that greeted us that morning, we set out for another day of trekking in the Dolomites.

                                              

(Though Fudicade Hutte, built in 1960, appears to be in the boonies, it is accessible by foot (both hiking and skiing) and via a rickety, red contraption (like a snowplow) that ferries diners along the long dirt path to the "state" road.  I'm told that the owners, Sergio and Emanuela Rossi and their grown children, serve 300 people for lunch and another 100 for dinner on a busy July day. But in late June, we, and one other single hiker, were the only overnight/dinner guests.  The Rossis smoke and age all their own meats, make all pasta, breads and desserts, and maintain an impressive wine cellar.)

What Do Caviar and Banana Peels Have in Common?

Chef Rafa Mora Sanchez takes the adage “Waste Not, Want Not” seriously. And diners at Café Milagro, on the road from Quepos to Manual Antonio National Park in Costa Rica, are glad that he does.  

On a recent night at the Café,  the chef served his own colorful version of picadillo, the Latin-American hash that usually consists of seasoned ground meat, diced vegetables, olives or raisins. His starts with the peels from unripe green bananas called plantains.

“We grew up very, very poor, near San Isidro de El General,” Rafa explained in Spanish, with my sister-in-law, Ceci, translating . “My grandmother was cooking for a very large family and to make enough picadillo for everyone she had to use the peels of platanos.”

At Café Milagro, Rafa neatly dices the plaintain peels and adds finely diced squash, red onion, sweet peppers, a bit of soft crumbled chorizo, cumin and garlic. Grated coconut adds a hint of sweetness, cilantro lends an herbal note. It’s well seasoned, but not spicy.

When we were there, he served the unusual picadillo with a terrific piece of seared yellowfin tuna (local and fresh at this time of year) and paper-thin corn tortillas for scooping. But I loved the way the firm, perfectly diced pieces of fruits and  veggies felt on my tongue and opted to eat the stuff straight from a spoon ---- just like one would an expensive caviar.

Café Milagro has been a fixture in Quepos for almost 20 years. Created by a couple of young, adventuresome gringos, Adrienne Pellizzari and Lance Byron, it was at first a coffee-roasting operation in the heart of Quepos. Later, with the addition of tables and chairs, it became a funky little café  beloved for its café con leche and pastries made by a local bakery.  Later, an “outpost” Café opened a couple miles away on the road to Manuel Antonio. (The Website’s history of the company reads like an appealing “coming of age” novel.)

It’s the Manuel Antonio Café Milagro that now serves dinner, in an enchanting little garden lighted with Christmas tree lights.  The menu is typical “Tico”  with an emphasis on super-fresh fish, rice dishes and other Latin-American specialties, such as pork tenderloin with Mojo Criollo (olive oil, lemon, garlic and cilantro.) Rafa's patacones, the smooshed, twice-fried plantains (also known as platanos and tostones) are fabulous. And I'm told he does a terrific puree of ripe plantains with bacon, onions and cilantro

Though the delicious banana peel hash is an attention-grabber, it’s Café Milagros’ coffee that has put it on the map over the years. Adrienne takes full advantage of the different types of beans coming from Costa Rica’s many microclimates. All of her beans are hand-picked on (mostly) family-owned farms, micro-processed and often sun-dried. She, Lance, and now employee Randall Rojas, a Tico, still roast the beans in the same clumsy contraption (the Website calls it "an archaic, locally made one-of-a-kind coffee roaster") that Adrienne was using 20 years ago.

I admit…I’m a coffee snob, pretty much convinced that only the Italians know how to make a great cup of coffee. (And, indeed, the best cappuccino I ever had was at a little café outside the Tuscan town of Colle di Val d’Elsa; the best espresso, at the Hotel Greif in Bolzano, Italy.) 

But I was astonished by the rich, sweet  fragrance of  Milagro’s ground espresso,  and thrilled with the caramel and citrus notes of the brewed Tarrazu Reserva Especial.  (Tarrazu, at 6,000 feet, is considered the premier coffee-growing region in Costa Rica.) Café MIlagro coffees, ground or whole bean, cost about $12.95 for a 12-ounce bag and can be ordered on-line. There’s a flat shipping rate of $9.95 for any number of bags, to anywhere in the U.S.

 

 

 

 

Hidden Treasure in Costa Rica

My last post, from the wilds of Costa Rica, introduced you to Rosita, the cossetted cow of the Quesos Canaan operation. But my cheese-making adventure with Rosy wasn’t the real highlight of our first excursion into the country’s vertical, heavily vegetated interior. That distinction belongs to our discovery of Monte Azul.

I have a hard time describing exactly what Monte Azul is.  Located at the end of a nerve-wracking, two-hour drivefrom Quepos on the coast, Monte Azul is a tiny resort of sorts, an ecolodge in today’s green jargon, an artists’ workshop, “boutique” hotel, retreat. While I don’t like to throw around terms like “paradise” and “Shangri-La,” both Wikipedia and Free Dictionary manage to capture the essence of Monte Azul in those words.

“A place in which existence is positive, harmonious and timeless.”

“An imaginary remote paradise on earth; a distant and secluded hideaway of beauty and peacefulness.”

 OK, so they got the “imaginary” wrong. Otherwise, there you have it: Monte Azul.

Opened about two years ago by Carlos Rojas and Randy Langendorfer, Monte Azul’s 125 acres of  rainforest preserve are tucked away behind a large metal gate on a deeply rutted dirt road in the Talamanca Mountains. Carlos, an art dealer born in Costa  Rica and raised in San Francisco, and Randy, an Indiana-born marketing executive, say they created Monte Azul as a center for art and design, where artists and collectors “could share in the creative process, alongside travelers seeking a unique vacation experience.”

There are just four spacious casitas, or cabins, each completely private and impeccably decorated (the   Website says "curated") with handmade furniture made by Randy from trees on the property. Walls are hung with original artworks by the artists who participate in the artist-in-residence program - enormous oils, stylish silkscreens, whimsical candleholders and light fixtures, metal sculptures in the gardens. Each casita has a gorgeous modern bathroom (with soaps made at the resort) and kitchenette (stocked with organic coffee grown on-site), a porch and garden enveloped in mature greenery. Our casita (pictured above) had access to the River Trail and a dazzling view of the rushing Chirripo River which starts in a glacier at 12,000 feet in the Chirripo National Park.  The complex also includes a building housing the Cafe Blue and its striking bar (above), the art studio, a mini "gym" and vegetable and herb gardens.

Guests are invited to participate in studio workshops (including soap-making lessons), go bird-watching or horseback riding, indulge in a spa treatment, hike the 5 kilometers of footpaths and trails, or simply seclude themselves in their casita or garden.

I wasn’t expecting anything too fabulous in the food department, given that there are only eight guests at Monte Azul at any one time. But I was wowed by the creativity of the kitchen, the impeccable freshness of the food, and the sophisticated presentations. Breakfast, which is included in the room rate, features luscious local fruits and yogurt, gallo pinto (the Costa Rica version of rice and beans), and a changing menu of cheese creations, such as cheese blintzes with mango sauce and cashew butter, all involving cheese made by Langendorfer.

Dinner and lunch are a la carte (and open to the public), with menus changing daily. I loved the clever riff on the traditional tamale that was made with banana leaves, a perfect round of (Randy’s) Camembert and glazed walnuts, and served to us during cocktail hour. (The bar at Café Blue is particularly inviting; the local bartenders take great pleasure in dreaming up new drinks for their guests.)

And I was inspired by the exquisite “taco” production (left) that appeared at lunchtime…..an ethereal handmade corn tortilla, fried crisp, and filled with homemade fresh ricotta cheese pepped up with mint, cilantro and other herbs. A snappy salsa of red radishes, herbs and citrus was the edible  “art” on the plate.

The nightly room rate at Monte Azul is $259, not cheap in a country where the average daily wage isn’t much over 40 bucks, but reasonable considering the unique experience, comfortable accommodations, personal attention, and terrific food and drink. 

 

Rosita and Me --- Cheese-Making in Costa Rica

Most people who visit Costa Rica head for the water… the surfing, beachcombing, kayaking and deep-sea fishing are first-rate. But this week I headed for the hills.

My husband and I come to Costa Rica almost every year to spend time with relatives in their home on the beach between Quepos and the Manuel Antonio National Park. Typically we do nothing, or next to nothing. A little kayaking, walks on the beach, a lot of reading, and naps galore.

But on Thursday we found ourselves in the Chirripo Valley (pictured here), the start of the Chirripo National Park, a remote, end-of-the-road kind of place with vertical walls of dense vegetation, a  boulder-strewn, rushing river, and a rolling valley floor dotted with hardscrabble farms. It was there I met and fell in love with Rosita.

We were on a tour of  Quesos Canaan (Canaan Cheese Co.), arranged by Carlos Rojas and Randy Langendorfer, proprietors of Monte Azul, the eco-lodge where we spent the night. (More about this magical getaway in my next post.)

Randy and my sister-in-law translated as owner/cheesemaker Wilberth Mata showed us around the sustainable farm (he uses cow manure to make the methane gas that fuels the operation), and led us, step by precise step, through the cheese-making process.

And, since that process starts with milk, duh, we were soon introduced to Rosita, an 18-year-old cow  with a tangle of protruding ribs but a gentle personality and “protected” status because of her long years of service.

I wish I had captured the facial expressions of our city-slicker group as Wilberth demonstrated the fine art of milking, then told us each to take a turn. Later, when he squirted Rosita’s milk directly into a mug for us to drink, the “what the…what the..?" faces returned. But, the warm, rich and super-frothy milk was delicious and cried out for a shot of espresso.

Back in the tiny, spotless cheese-making room, we inoculated milk with lacto-bacillus and rennet, listened to Wilberth’s story of how he learned to make cheese 10 years ago from a visiting Swiss gent, who subsequently invited him to spend a few weeks  in Switzerland (it was his first plane ride and only time ever out of Costa Rica); and eventually “cut the cheese, “ using a special rake-like tool to cut through the curds which had separated from the whey.  (Read more about the family’s fascinating story in a Tico Times article.)

We added salt, stirred and stirred, heated the mixture to exactly 38 degrees C., stirred some more, then watched the slim but remarkably strong Wilberth lift the 125-pound kettle with the ease he’d hoist a frisky toddler, and pour off the opaque whey.  (The handsome farmer, somewhere in his early 40s, is an accomplished runner, with multiple shelves of trophies for his performance in the annual International Chirripo Marathon, a gnarly mountain foot race that covers 8,000 vertical feet before reaching the top of Mt. Chirripo, Costa Rica’s highest peak. Wilburth is a perennial winner, running it, round-trip, in just over three hours.)

Wilberth Mata operates Quesos Canaan with his wife and partner Kattia Hernandez and additional help from their three kids. The Tipo Suizo cheese, which is dense and dotted with tiny “holes,” has a mild but distinctive buttery, nutty flavor (as opposed to most Costa Rican cheeses which, in my opinion, have no flavor at all). It’s sold in some restaurants and stores in Manuel Antonio and San Jose, but most of it doesn’t leave the insulated Chirripo Valley. The Mata Hernandez clan makes just nine pounds of cheese a day, every day of the year. Do the math.

We were lucky enough to be the creators of the nine pounds (four hefty wheels) created on Friday, and now perched on a shelf in the Quesos Canaan aging room. Some day, after the minimum three-month aging period, a lucky cheese-lover will cut into and enjoy the cheese made, with love, by Rosita and me.

A Website for Quesos Canaan is under construction. You can email the Mata Hernandez family at: [email protected]. Visitors are welcome; the formal tour-and-cheese-making gig lasts three to four hours and costs about $40 a person.

Savoring the Seabourn Spirit......Again

The sad, and unbelievable, tale of the cruise ship Costa Concordia just won't go away.  More than a dozen passengers are still unaccounted for. The captain, a stereotypical “how-cool-am-I?" dude if ever there was one, keeps popping up on the evening news. And the expression “Get back on the boat, dammit,” barked by an Italian coast guard officer at the dithering captain, is destined to live on in infamy. (Loosely translated, it will forever mean “Quit whining and do your job, jackass.” )

Analysts claim the incident could impact the cruise industry's ability to attract passengers for 2012 cruises, saying that, in particular, first-time cruisers are re-thinking their plans.

But the whole kerfuffle has had the opposite effect on me, bringing back memories of the amazing  Seabourn Spirit cruise I took two years ago, and inspiring me to sign up for another.

For decades I had avoided cruises. I get seasick. I don’t like crowds. I’m terrified in water that’s over my head. But, we hadn’t even cleared the waters of Venice and I was already a convert.

For starters, there was the captain….Magnus Bengtsson, a huge Scandinavian bear of a man, handsome, erect, an imposing presence, friendly but with a no-nonsense reserve. This guy inspired confidence, big time. No one is ever going to bark “Get back on the boat, dammit” to Captain Bengtsson.

The accommodations were wonderful, about 100 spacious suites (meaning no more than about 200 people on a cruise) with sitting areas, huge windows, well-stocked bars and fresh fruit and flowers. (Other Seabourn ships are larger; some offer terraces off the rooms.)

The itinerary was great, too. Hvar, Croatia; Puglia, Taormina, Lipari Island, Sorrento and Rome, Italy. 

And the food?  Awesome. Every night I was blown away by the elegance of the cooking, the fresh, bold flavors, the stylish presentations. I marveled that Chef Bjoern Wassmuth could pull this off in the middle of the Mediterranean when most restaurant chefs can’t get it together on land, with dozens of purveyors at their beck and call.  

Among the highlights of our dinners: Chilled Corn & Lemongrass Soup (flecked with lobster salad and spicy shrimp oil) that tasted as if the corn had been snatched from the field moments before; grilled filet mignon with fresh chanterelles and a parmesan flan that practically floated off the plate; Crispy Corn Crusted Prawn with fennel slaw and romesco sauce; Jumbo Scallops on Potato Shallot Cake, with granny smith apple slivers, pistachios and a lemony vinaigrette; meringues, tarts and sublime homemade ice creams like those pictured here.

Among my favorite desserts were the "parade” of crème brulees – basil, white chocolate pistachio, and orange blossom; and a Milk Chocolate Peanut Butter Bombe with Toasted Marsmallow and Honey Caramel Sauce that is reason enough to book another Seabourn cruise.

In addition to the ship’s dining room, the Spirit features the outdoor Veranda Café where top-notch breakfasts are served each morning and a “theme” restaurant is staged each night as an alternative to

the main dining room; and a top-deck Sky Grill for burgers and other grilled specialties. Seabourn prices, which the Website today says start at about $2,000 per person, are all-inclusive. That means all food and beverages, 24/7, and all activities, save for select shore excursions. One afternoon while we were anchored in the Gulf of Squillace,  Chef Bjoern offered a cooking class for guests. Aided by a wise-cracking crew member, the affable German-born chef  whipped up al dente porcini risotto, flecked with bits of dried truffles that had been plumped in Port wine; and an ethereal lemon mousse made with yogurt, orange zest and Grand Marnier.

Here’s the recipe for the mousse,  adapted slightly (food editors simply can’t leave anything alone) and converted from Chef Bjoern’s metric measurements.

SEABOURN SPIRIT YOGURT LEMON MOUSSE with ALMOND BRITTLE & CRUSHED RASPBERRIES

2 cups heavy cream

2 cups whole milk

3 egg yolks

2/3  cup sugar

1 sheet gelatin, softened

1 teaspoon orange zest (the grated, colored part of an orange)

2 tablespoons Grand Marnier

1 ½ cups plain yogurt

Almond brittle, for garnish

Crushed fresh raspberries, for garnish

In a heavy saucepan, heat the cream and milk together slowly, being careful it does not come to a boil. In a bowl, beat the egg yolks and sugar with an electric mixer until pale  and fluffy. Pour 1/3 of the hot cream mixture into the egg mixture and whisk constantly until incorporated. Pour the egg mixture into the remaining cream/milk in the pan and stir over very low heat until it starts to thicken. Add orange zest and Grand Marnier, stirring constantly until the mixture coats the back of a spoon.

Remove from heat.  Add the softened gelatin to the hot mixture and stir until completely blended.

Strain mixture through a fine sieve, then cool mixture on a bowl of ice cubes and water. Add the yogurt and whisk until completely blended. Refrigerate until thoroughly chilled. Serve in tall parfait glasses or form into “egg” shapes and set on dessert plates. Garnish with crushed almond brittle and crushed raspberries.

Serves 4-6.

 

 

Cook-For-A-Day at the C.I.A.

The Culinary Institute of America, the prestigious non-profit culinary academy that opened in Hyde Park, New York in 1946, is renowned for turning out such superstar chefs as Todd English, Charlie Palmer, Grant Achatz, Rocco DiSpirito and Anthony Bourdain.

So it was with a sense of wonder and “what-the-heck-are-we-doing-here?” bemusement that my mother, my sister and I arrived at the Napa Valley branch on a recent sunny Saturday for a hands-on “Tastes of the Napa Valley” cooking class. (The school now has campuses in St. Helena, CA, San Antonio, TX and Singapore in addition to the Hyde Park property.)

We arrived mid-morning and joined seven other adventurers in one of the CIA’s massive professional kitchens. After listening to chef Sandy Dominguez explain the drill–- everyone works with a partner, wears a toque, grabs hot pan handles with a dishtowel, and cleans up as he goes -- we set to work. 

The personable Chef Sandy circulated among all the students, offering encouragement and sharing tips. (She showed how to easily remove the seeds from a messy pomegranate by submergin them in water and scooping seeds out with fingertips; and demonstrated a cool way of cleaning a hot grill with an old facecloth rolled and tied with string and dipped in vegetable oil.)  But, for the most part (and much to my amazement) she turned us loose with a stack of ambitious recipes, including Quinoa Croquettes; Mussels Steamed in White Wine with Romesco Sauce and Grilled Bread; Curried Sweet Potato Skewers with Curried Onion Dipping Sauce; and Lavender Shortbread. And she reiterated our goal: All dishes on the buffet table in 1 ½ hours.

And again to my amazement, the “students” performed impressively. No one in the group --- a  mother-son combo, a mother-daughter combo, a newly married couple, a mother of a CIA professional student, and my mother, sister and me --- had any training to speak of. I was probably the most proficient cook in the bunch, having covered cooking classes and restaurants for the San Diego Union-Tribune for 25 years. But even I felt challenged by the thought of whipping up Grilled Lamp Loin with Pomegranate Syrah Sauce (with toasted and ground coriander seeds, and bruised mint!) and Jeweled Couscous in a strange kitchen in under 2 hours. And my poor sister, Marcia, pictured right with chef Sandy Dominquez, had to create Olive Oil Crackers from scratch, and had her first run-in with a massive, man-eating Robot-Coupe in the process.

But, sure enough, the buffet table (pictured below) was laden and lovely at the appointed hour; the food was fabulous; and the cooks-for-a-day were giddy with the excitement of their accomplishments. 

Though cooking and learning at the C.I.A is a very serious business, the school does offer occasional classes for what they call “enthusiasts,” that being, euphemistically, someone with more enthusiasm than talent or commitment.

There are all-day classes, five-day “Boot Camp” adventures, two-day specialties such as BBQ Boot Camp, two-hour demonstration classes, and two-hour hands-on “food explorations” that end with a buffet of all the dishes cooked. I think it’s an ideal way to round-out a visit to California’s wine country; it’s also a great holiday gift idea.

Here are a couple recipes from our “Tastes of the Napa Valley” class to whet your appetite for a hand-on adventure of your own.

 JEWELED COUSCOUS

Serves 8

1 cup dried couscous

1 ½ cups water

½ cup fresh orange juice

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 tablespoon orange zest

2 teaspoons kosher salt

¼ cup black currants

1 red pepper, seeded and diced

3 scallions, thinly sliced on the bias

¼ cup golden raisins

2 tablespoons fresh Italian parsley, minced

Place the couscous in a large bowl. In a small sauce pan bring the water, salt and butter to a boil, then  pour the mixture over the couscous and cover with plastic wrap. Let sit for 10 minutes.

In another bowl, add the orange juice, orange zest, currants, red pepper, and golden raisins, and let them soak until plump.

Uncover the couscous and add the raisin mixture and fluff it with a fork, making sure to blend out the lumps.

To serve, place on a large platter and garnish with the scallions and minced parsley.

 

WILD MUSHROOM PATE

Makes enough to fill a 3-cup mold or dish

5 tablespoons butter

½ cup chopped shallots or green onions (white part only)

1 ¼ pounds thickly sliced fresh wild or cultivated mushrooms

2 teaspoons finely chopped garlic

2 teaspoons curry powder, or to taste

½ teaspoon ground cumin

1 cup toasted cashews, preferably unsalted

2 tablespoons toasted nut oil, such as walnut oil, or olive oil

2 tablespoons finely chopped mixed herbs such as parsley, chives and/or basil

2 teaspoons finely grated lemon zest

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

 

Heat the butter in a large saute pan over moderately high heat. Add the shallots, mushrooms, garlic, curry and cumin, and saute until mixture is just beginning to brown and all liquid has evaporated.

While mushrooms are cooking, add the cashews to a food processor and process until finely chopped. Add oil and continue to process to make a paste or butter. Add the mushroom mixture and process until smooth. Stir in the herbs and zest and season  with salt and pepper. Place in a 3-cup mold or other ceramic dish. Can be stored, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Allow to return to room temperature before serving.

 

Raves for Bottega Ristorante

How do I love Bottega Ristorante? Well, I need both hands to count the ways.

For starters, this three-year-old Michael Chiarello restaurant, in the heart of the Napa Valley hamlet of Yountville, is a totally captivating scene. The rooms are stylish, with lots of space, high ceilings, flattering lighting and a bustling open kitchen. From the instant you step inside the door, there’s an energy and joy that’s palpable. The staff is lively, attractive and adroit; Chiarello himself seems to be everywhere, meeting and greeting his guests; and the sophisticated, well-dressed crowd knows how to have a great time.

Then there’s Bottega’s food – it’s fabulous. There’s simply no other word to describe the single potato dough raviolo I enjoyed recently. The delicate pasta package was filled with spinach and ricotta cheese and topped with an organic, soft-cooked egg that mingled its vivid yolk with a brown butter sauce flecked with fresh sage. The perfect package was showered with fresh black truffles.

Fabulous would also describe the unique caramelle pasta that was filled with tiny dice of caramelized butternut squash and Bosc pears, and finished with brown butter, pecorino cheese and deep-fried sage leaves. The final flurry of poppy seeds and crushed Amaretti was fascinating. (The caramelle pasta shape was a new one to me; it’s a small, homemade tube pasta that gets twisted on each end and looks like a piece of salt water taffy.)

Our shared appetizers were also something to rave about: a perfect bite-size specimen of sushi-quality   tuna teamed with one paper-thin slice of crisped garlic and one fragrant basil leaf; and heavenly burrata with walnut pesto bruschetta, peppercress and a truffle vinaigrette infused with orange essence.

Brussels sprouts are the darling of wine country menus this season. We ate them at Bouchon in Yountville (with smoky bacon lardons); at Grace’s Table in Napa, where they were creamed with bacon and potatoes; and at Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen in St. Helena where a simple salt-pepper-butter version paired well with seared chicken breast.

But the shaved, caramelized sprouts at Bottega ended up stealing the show in a stylish salad (pictured here) that also included toasted Marcona almonds, wisps of prosciutto, citrus segments and an aged balsamic vinaigrette.

Bottega’s wine list is heavy on local, small-production wines which you’ll rarely see anyplace outside of the wine country. (There’s also an admirable roster of Italian wines but I can’t pass up a great wine made locally for a great wine that’s been schlepped 6,000 or more miles.)

And Bottega’s service is nothing short of superlative. Our server was a charming, professional young guy with joie de vivre to spare and no shortage of opinions. Another server (who joked that he was the oldest guy in the place) was equally endearing, appearing out of nowhere when my sister’s Black Pepper Bucatini alla Carbonara arrived at the table. He swooped in and picked up her knife and fork, eagerly tossing the hot noodles, broccolini and crisp guaciale with the barely cooked egg on top. “You don’t want the egg to cool before it’s mixed with the pasta,” was his basic message, delivered with a joy that was contagious.

Though we loved everything about our dining experience, the icing on the cake was just that --- icing on the cake. Or, more accurately, creme anglaise on the cake. Chef Chiarello graciously surprised us with the house signature dessert -- a luscious chocolate souffle cake, with molten chocolate center, hazelnut creme anglaise and candied hazelnut brittle -- to celebrate my mother’s 89th birthday. (The dessert requires 20 minutes to cook...plan ahead.)

Located in the atmospheric Marketplace 1870, a development of eateries and shops in a 140-year-old winery estate, Bottega Ristorante offers great options for an after-dinner walk. Stroll the V Estates or browse the windows in Yountville before heading home to bed.

Lemon Meringue Pie Re-visited....at The Ivy Inn

Some desserts have really good PR machines. The chocolate lava cake, also known as molten chocolate cake, flourless chocolate cake and chocolate fondant cake, has been the hands-down darling of the past couple of decades. Diners can’t get enough of the stuff, even when it’s a mediocre rendition (sometimes a prepared, frozen product!) that’s coming out of the kitchen.

Then there’s lemon meringue pie. Not an ounce of drama, no cachet, no sensationalist articles in newspaper and magazine food pages. But the simple, glossy British-American classic has been pleasing its fans since the 19^th century.

Of course, my personal favorite is the one my mother made every year for my birthday (who said it had to be a birthday “cake?”) Hers was the condensed milk variety, a pale, smooth and creamy filling topped with fluffy egg white peaks bronzed in the oven.

But recently I found another version that I love, sorry Mother, just as much.  OK, OK. Almost as much.

That's the Lemon Meringue Ice Box Cake at the The Ivy Inn in Charlottesville, VA, where I dined a week ago with my husband and his college friends.

The elegant creation starts with a wafer-thin, buttery graham cracker crust and moves onward and upward with tangy, zest-infused lemon curd and caramel cream layers. On top, an ethereal cap of toasted meringue, along with barely-there pieces of candied lemon zest and coarse organic sugar. On the side, a delicate lemon lace cookie. And it's all framed by a fresh, fragrant lemon-berry coulis.

The combination of tastes and textures is awesome…which is why my husband and I went back to the Inn for a second dinner two nights later.  Professional food critics aren’t supposed to do that….with only three nights in Charlottesville, I should have dined in three different restaurants.

But the lemon meringue wonder, by pastry chef Jon Thornburg, lured me back to the Inn just as effectively as mythology’s Sirens seduced sailors to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island.

And the fact that I had also flipped over chef-owner Angelo Vangilopoulos’ Puree of Butternut Squash
Soup on the first night made the repeat visit an easy call. (Yes, I ate the soup, swirled with scallion cream and dotted with smoked bacon bits and glazed, spiced pecans, on the second visit, too!)

Both dishes were in perfect sync with the Inn’s gracious, homey Virginia-horse-country vibe ---
sophisticated but understated. The original property – a multi-building estate – was built shortly after a fire destroyed the original building in 1815. Since then it has changed hands several times, including years of stewardship by the University of Virginia, whose “grounds” are a mile away. (The property was once called “Faulkner House” after William Faulkner, who was a distinguished University “Writer in Residence.”)

Since 1973 the quaint cottage surrounded by overgrown gardens, has been The Ivy Inn restaurant. (This photo is from the blog HarvestThymeHerbFarm.) In 1995 it was purchased by Vangelopoulos, who graduated from the Culinary Institute of American (CIA) in Hyde Park, NY, and trained at  Washington, D.C.’s Galileo restaurant and Cilantro’s in Del Mar, CA.Today he runs the restaurant with his wife, Farrell.

The rest of the menu, which changes frequently and features products from the central Virginia area, is as enticing as the dishes that hooked me. Consider Polyface Farms Slow Cooked Chicken with cloud-like gnocchi, local Andouille sausage and wild mushrooms;  Pumpkin-Seed Crusted Red Drum Fillet with couscous, avocado, lime and Carolina shrimp; Homemade Pumpkin Ravioli with crispy leeks, pumpkinseeds and fresh sage; Sticky English Toffee Pudding…then make a detour to this captivating academic town and check out The Ivy Inn.

(2244 Old Ivy Road, Charlottesville, VA; 434-977-1222. Appetizers $6-$12; entrees, $22-$36. Lemon Meringue Ice Box Cake, $8.)