Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘tomatoes’

Napoleon Bonaparte apparently had very little time for, or interest in, what he ate. Brillat-Savarin said of him “his household was organized in such a way that no matter where he was or what the hour of the day he had but to speak one word in order to be presented with a chicken, cutlets, and coffee.”

Out of that predilection grew the chicken dish named for Bonaparte’s famous victory at the battle of Marengo on June 14, 1800. As Robert Courtine recounts the story in his fascinating historical cookbook The Hundred Glories of French Cooking, the general’s cooking wagon had gotten lost, and his chef, Durand, had nothing in his own carriage but a drum of oil and a flask of brandy. Durand sent soldiers out to scavenge in the countryside, and they returned with a few chickens, eggs, tomatoes, and garlic. Then:

In the twinkling of an eye the birds are plucked. They are cut up with a saber and set to brown in some oil while the garlic is being crushed between two stones and the tomatoes thrown into the frying pan without even being peeled. A spurt of brandy flavors the sauce. And the victorious general is served as befits a leader … [the dish] attended by a ring of fried eggs and full military honors.

If that legend is true, the combination was a great serendipity.

Courtine’s recipe is the version of Poulet Marengo I like best, and happily it doesn’t insist on either the saber or the stones. Normally I do cut up a whole chicken for it, but this time for a casual supper for three, I used just three chicken legs – thighs and drumsticks. I salted, peppered, floured, and browned them in garlicky olive oil. (Courtine wants the garlic crushed and stirred in raw at the end of the cooking, but we prefer our garlic a bit tamer than that.)
.

.
Next I flamed them with a generous dose of brandy. It would’ve made a lovely campfire!
.

.
As soon as the flames died I added cut-up tomatoes (peeled, I confess), along with a few more “inauthentic” ingredients called for by Courtine: white wine, salt, pepper, bay leaf, thyme, and parsley. This all simmered, covered, for 40 minutes.
.

.
Meanwhile, I prepared another item added by Courtine’s recipe: slices of bread fried in olive oil. (Possibly Durand commandeered bread for Napoleon from the soldiers’ rations?)
.

.
At the last minute I fried the eggs, set them on the fried bread slices, and placed them around the serving dish with the chicken and its sauce. Et voilà, poulet Marengo!
.

.
It really is an excellent dish. The sharpness of the sauce, from the wine and brandy, contrasts beautifully with the lushness of the fried eggs and bread. The chicken just sits there enjoying it all – as we three diners did.

Read Full Post »

Ratatouille

I can’t let a summer go by without making ratatouille at least once. Actually, I’d probably make it several times, but Beloved Spouse prefers the Italian style of vegetable mélange – perhaps because he usually ends up slicing, chopping, and mincing all the components. I like the Italian type too, but there’s a ratatouille recipe I love to make: a very complex one from the Cooking of Provincial France volume of the Time-Life Foods of the World series.

VergeThis time I let BS off the hook, because I had found a different version of ratatouille that I wanted to try, and I was prepared to do all the knife work for it on a free afternoon while he watched a pre-season football game. The recipe is from Cuisine of the South of France, by Roger Vergé, the legendary chef of the Michelin three-star Moulin de Mougins restaurant in Provence.  So I approached this experience with high expectations, while BS readied himself for another season of dashed hopes.

Vergé calls it La ratatouille niçoise à ma façon and says that while the usual dish of that name “creates itself during a long slow cooking, taking about 2 to 3 hours,” his gives you “the advantage of keeping the freshness and texture of the individual vegetables.” That sounded attractive, even though my Time-Life book’s recipe (by the redoubtable M.F.K. Fisher) doesn’t cook for anything like that much time. So I gathered a half recipe’s worth of Vergé’s ingredients and set to work.
.

ingredients

.

Vergé is particular about the type of vegetables to use and the way to handle them. Peeling, seeding, and dicing the tomatoes were no problem, nor slicing up the green pepper and onion. Peeling stripes into the zucchini was attractive, and I duly cut them lengthwise and crosswise as indicated. Cutting up the eggplants – he specifies that long, slender type – was a bit of a poser, because he wants them in pieces “the size of your thumb.” For the size my eggplants were, the pieces would have had to be either fatter and flatter than my thumb or much skinnier than it. I went with fat and flat.

cut up ingredients

.

First I cooked the tomatoes in olive oil in a very hot skillet for just 2 minutes and moved them to a plate. In another pan I softened the onions and peppers together in oil for 15 minutes and added them to the tomatoes’ plate. In yet another pan, with high heat, I was to brown the eggplant pieces in oil and drain them in a colander set over a bowl to catch the oil they’d give off. That was a problem.

eggplant

Flat on one side and round on the other, my eggplant pieces refused to brown evenly. Also, they absorbed all the oil, needed more, and gave none back. Same shape and same situation with the zucchini, last to be sautéed.

That was all the cooking any of the vegetables got. At dinner time I mixed everything together in a casserole, merely heated it through, and stirred in minced garlic and chopped basil leaves.

ratatouille 2

.

It wasn’t bad, this ratatouille. Those vegetables always blend well together – though parts of the zucchini pieces had a faint flavor of char from my difficulty in browning them evenly. But the vegetables didn’t taste any fresher than they do in my preferred recipe. In fact, the flavors were a little muddled. And there wasn’t nearly as much tomato presence as I like.

The Time-Life ratatouille recipe uses twice the amount of tomato, cuts it in big strips, lays them on paper towels to absorb some of their liquid, and doesn’t cook them separately at all. Also, it carefully layers the individual vegetables in their casserole and simmers it covered for 30 minutes. That way, the vegetables exude a lot of liquid, but you keep drawing it off with a bulb baster and, at the end, boil it down to a luscious glaze that you pour over the ratatouille – which makes a dish that’s much prettier on the plate and far more interesting to eat.

So, though I wouldn’t turn up my nose at another dish of Vergé’s ratatouille if I encountered one somewhere, in my own kitchen I’ll stick with the version I love best.

Read Full Post »

A few weeks ago I wrote about my disappointment with a pasta recipe from Katie Parla’s cookbook Tasting Rome. Even so, it’s an attractive book – with lovely photography by Kristina Gill – so I was still eager to try their versions of other traditional Roman dishes. This next one I made, though decent, wasn’t anything to be excited about.

Pollo alla romana – chicken braised with peppers and tomatoes – is a simple but delicious down-home dish, a standby of every Roman trattoria. It was one of the first recipes I developed for publication in La Tavola Italiana, so as before I was judging Parla’s version of a dish against my own.

For a half recipe to serve two, I used two huge chicken thighs from my freezer. These monsters together weighed a whole pound, which, considering how much was solid meat, I figured could stand in for half a modest-sized chicken.

thighs

The first recipe direction interested me: It calls for salting the chicken pieces 6 to 24 hours in advance; and that’s all the salt there is in the entire dish. I’d never done that before. I tried it, and it was indeed enough salt – though I can’t say I detected the promised “more delicious final product.” The rest of the cooking procedure was also different from mine. Here are the book’s steps:

  • Brown cut-up chicken pieces in olive oil for 8-10 minutes; remove them to a plate.
  • Add sliced onions, sliced bell peppers, and garlic to the pan; cook uncovered 10 minutes, or until the vegetables soften.
  • Pour on white wine; deglaze the pan; stir in canned tomatoes and fresh marjoram.
  • Return the chicken pieces to the pan and add enough water to submerge them halfway.
  • Cook uncovered 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce is very thick and the chicken nearly falling off the bone.

And here are mine:

  • Brown chicken pieces in olive oil with garlic.
  • Pour on white wine, deglaze and cook briskly until it evaporates.
  • Stir in chopped canned plum tomatoes, salt, and pepper; simmer 15 minutes.
  • Add cut-up bell peppers; cover and cook gently until peppers are tender, 15-30 minutes.
  • If sauce is too thin, remove chicken and peppers; rapidly boil down sauce.

As you can see, a big difference is the book’s sauteeing the vegetables by themselves – that, and the addition of onions to the dish.

vegetables

That in itself is not a bad idea, but though I sliced the vegetables to the recipe’s specifications, they took much more than 10 minutes to soften.

Then after returning the chicken pieces to the pan with all the other ingredients, I cringed at the requirement to nearly flood the pan with water.

thighs afloat

Why on earth would you do that? It makes it possible – indeed, necessary – to complete the cooking with the pan uncovered, but why would you want to? The part of the chicken pieces exposed to the air is not being imbued with the flavors as it would in the moist atmosphere of a covered pan. I also feel that my version’s deglazing of the pan with wine while the chicken pieces are in it is important to let the chicken absorb some of the wine flavors.

Finally, 30 minutes wasn’t nearly enough for the sauce to have thickened and the chicken to be nearly falling off the bone. I had to cook it quite a bit longer, and the sauce still didn’t thicken very much. The timing problems, along with a few other anomalies in the recipe directions, made me wonder if the authors had ever actually cooked the dish for themselves.

Rather than plop those big thighs whole onto two dinner plates, I took the meat off the bones and combined small pieces of chicken with the peppers and sauce in a serving bowl.

pollo alla romana

The dish tasted all right to me: not unlike what I’d had in some restaurants in Rome. Beloved Spouse was less pleased with it. He said it wasn’t lively enough, the flavors too muted, and the sauce tasted both too sweet and too thin. (Tough critic, that spouse.) I had to agree that my recipe makes a more intensely flavored dish: fresher tasting peppers, more “chickeny” chicken. It’s faster and easier to make, too. So I’ll stick with my version – though I might try experimentally adding a few onions next time I make it. (Beloved Spouse just cocked an eyebrow.)

Read Full Post »

LTIAh, summer! When farmstands are laden with eggplants and tomatoes and peppers, and a happy home cook can revel in the bright flavors, turning out lively, colorful vegetable dishes for hot-weather dining – ratatouille, panzanella, gazpacho, caponata. I made the season’s first caponata this week, using my own recipe from La Tavola Italiana.

I didn’t much like caponata when I first tasted it, long ago. The one I had came out of a can, and my recollection is that it was mostly mud-colored, with an indeterminate flavor and a mushy texture. Much later, my first encounter with a freshly made one was a revelation.

Many good variations on caponata are possible. Ingredients and quantities are very flexible, but to my mind there are some limits – which are not always observed in the recipes I’ve seen. First, caponata is not a spread: it’s chunky. Second, it absolutely has to contain eggplant. (Believe me, some don’t.) Third, the components must be sauteed in olive oil. As you might guess, I like my own version. These are its ingredients:

.

Ingredients B

.

Those vegetables take a lot of chopping. My gallant knife-wielding husband took on the task for me, as always. (That’s not pure altruism: Tom likes caponata too.) Here they are, awaiting their baptism in the sauté pan.

.

chopped stuff

.

The first item to go into an inch of hot olive oil was the eggplant, after it had been salted, set in a colander for half an hour to give up some of its moisture, and lightly squeezed dry in a linen cloth. As soon as the eggplant had softened sufficiently and lightly browned in the hot oil, I drained it onto a plate and replaced it with the pieces of green pepper. When they had joined the eggplant on the plate, I drew off most of the olive oil, leaving just enough to soften the onion and celery, and then added the tomato for 10 minutes. In a separate little pot I briefly simmered the vinegar, capers, sugar, salt, and pepper.

The eggplant and peppers went back into the pan, along with the vinegar mixture, the pine nuts, and the olives, and everything simmered together for 10 more minutes. (A word about the olives: I usually buy oil-cured black ones, but this day I had some big green Castelvetranos in the refrigerator, which I pitted and chunked up, and they were beautiful in the mix. I’ll use them again.)

Caponata needs at least a few hours to sit at room temperature before serving, so the flavors have time to blend and harmonize. When they’ve done that, it’s really a delicious concoction, an ideal hot-weather first course or picnic dish.

.

my caponata

.

Leftovers – when there are any – keep well for a few days in the refrigerator.

*

caponataP.S.  There’s one other recipe for caponata that I like as well as my own. It’s the one made by Adelina, Inspector Montalbano’s housekeeper in the Sicilian mystery novels by Andrea Camilleri. It’s unlike any other caponata I’ve encountered. I’ve written about it here.

Read Full Post »

Some edible items seem to take root in my freezer or pantry. It’s not that I don’t want to use them – I do – but somehow the right moment doesn’t arrive. The Hatch chileslatest one was a large can of Hatch green chiles, which had been sitting in the pantry long enough for its use-by date to be looming. It was absolutely time to make something with it.

Hatch green chiles are a special kind of New Mexico chiles, grown only in that state’s Hatch Valley, along the Rio Grande. My can was the mild variety, though there are hotter ones if you’re lucky enough to find them.

I don’t know a lot about New Mexico cooking, but from a trip in that region some years ago, Tom and I did develop a genuine passion for dishes made with green chiles. Back home, the dish we’ve had our best luck with was a green chile stew recipe I found online. It’s from Central Market in Texas, which probably makes it anathema to all good New Mexicans – but hey, we’re gringos, and it tastes good to us.

When I opened my can of chiles I was surprised at how many it contained: This was a solid pack, and they were firm, clean, fragrant vegetables.

.

can contents

.

No way I was going to be able to use them all at once, so I deseeded and chopped up about a cup’s worth, carefully wrapped the remaining ones, and put them in the freezer for another day.

The recipe starts with browning cubes of boneless pork in olive oil. I’d defrosted a generous pound of meaty country-style pork ribs, and Tom cut them up for me. Using a little artistic license, I asked him for larger pieces than cubes: That wasn’t canonical, but I wanted to try it. I also decided to use lard instead of olive oil, for a porkier oomph.

???????????????????????????????

.

When the meat was browned I added chopped onions and garlic, cooked a few minutes, sprinkled on flour, cooked a little more, stirring. Next came a cup of chopped tomatoes, the chiles, salt, pepper, and a tiny pinch of sugar; finally a big potato cubed and two cups of broth. All that cooked gently, covered, for about two hours, until the pork was tender.

The chiles were indeed mild, but quite authoritative in the stew, providing a distinctive flavor and gentle warmth. I served it with black beans, rice, guacamole, and white corn tortillas, making a fine Southwestern combination.

.

???????????????????????????????

.

Though these Hatch chiles were canned, they were better tasting than either the fresh or the frozen ones we’d occasionally been able to buy here before. So good was their effect that if I make the stew again with the rest of this batch I intend to cut back the amount of tomato, so the chile will be greener. Or perhaps try a totally green chile recipe: We have fond memories of a bowl of what seemed a simple green chile puree that we ravened down in a nondescript diner somewhere near Sonoita, New Mexico.

*     *     *

Post script: It wasn’t long until the rest of the Hatch chiles got their day in the spotlight. Tom was the instigator, since we’d invited his brother and wife for dinner and he’d had ideas about ways to get that recipe greener and spicier. So out of the freezer came the remaining chiles. This time I became the cook’s assistant, as he proceeded to make the recipe his own.

For starters, he went heavy on the meat: The recipe calls for 2 pounds of pork to serve 6 to 8; Tom used 2½ pounds for the 4 of us. He cut the meat fairly small – not quite the little cubes the recipe indicated, but more normal stewlike chunks than in my earlier version.

pork browning

.

He increased the proportion of onion, reduced the tomato by half, used all the remaining Hatch chiles, and added – his secret ingredient ­– three chipotles in adobo, minced.

chipotles

.

After that, he more or less followed the original recipe’s ingredients and steps. It produced quite a hefty pot of chile, which scented the kitchen with the spiciness of the chipotles as it simmered along. I envisioned enough leftovers for another meal for Tom and me.

At the dinner table, after a first course of guacamole and chips, we served the chile with black beans, rice, and fresh corn tortillas.

.

second stew served

.

To our surprise, it was not the fiery dish that we’d expected, much to my brother-in-law’s relief and my sister-in-law’s disappointment. The Hatch chiles provided fine flavor again, but they had lost almost all their heat, compared to the first time around. Also, except for those cooking aromas, we couldn’t discern the chipotles at all. That was a pity but, fortunately, not enough to spoil our enjoyment: The ingredients did blend into a good, harmonious stew. At the end of dinner, there were just three chunks of pork left in the bowl.

 

 

Read Full Post »

It’s not that I actually needed a 15-pound slab of steel on which to bake pizzas.

I was doing well enough with the 20-pound Hearthkit stone that lived in my lower wall oven. But I wasn’t getting the puffy, crunchy rim of crust that’s one of the great pleasures of a true Neapolitan pizza. I realize that you can never really achieve that without an oven that reaches 800°, but other home pizza makers seem to get closer to it than I do, so I’m always on the lookout for better ways.

What started me on the path to a steel was a post on Roland Marandino’s blog Cooking from Books about a stand-alone countertop pizza oven. I was intrigued, so I googled the item and came across a review of it on the Serious Eats website. That author praised the oven but said it couldn’t compete with a baking steel and a hot broiler. Naturally, I had to look into this hitherto-unknown product. The same site had an extensive post about the steel.

I looked, I liked, I e-mailed the link to Tom. Within the hour we’d found the steel maker’s site and ordered one. In a few days it was established in our oven.

.

steel

.

Did it do the job for us? Well, not perfectly the first time. My fault, I think, because something went wrong when I made the dough. I followed a recipe I’d used before, and I’d swear I got the quantities right, but the dough came out horribly soft and wet, so I had to add a lot more flour to pull it together. It rose quite well, though, so I thought I’d salvaged it.

As dinner time approached, I preheated the steel for 45 minutes at 500°, then turned the oven to “broil” just before putting in the first pizza. Here are the two I made that evening, the first a simple margarita and the second with prosciutto.

.

first two

.

Not bad, but the crusts didn’t puff up as well as I’d hoped. They browned unevenly too; and in the front of the one on the left you can see ugly scales of dried flour. I hadn’t gotten the bottom crusts thin enough, either, so they were overly chewy. They both tasted good – all pizzas do – but in style they were only slightly better than my stone-baked pies.

.

Discouraged but not daunted, I tried again a few days later. This time I used a recipe for Neapolitan-style pizza dough from the Serious Eats site. It made a beautiful dough: soft and pliable, feeling alive in the hands. I was able to stretch it very thin, while leaving a good thick rim – though I seem to be incapable of keeping a round of dough actually round. Then on to the topping and baking.

.

second two

.

These two may not look very different from the first pair, but they came out considerably better. The thin bottom crusts remained firm, the edges puffed and browned more, and some air bubbles had developed in them (a desideratum for a light, delicate crust). The browning was still uneven, which I think means that my oven is hotter in the back than the front. I’ll have to learn to turn the pizzas halfway through the cooking – especially because the darkest part of the crust was the best-tasting: crisp, crunchy, almost nutty. By the by: Those brown things in the center of the right-hand pizza are mushrooms, not scorch.

.

Alas, I fear I still don’t qualify for a diploma from pizzaiolo school. But I’ve become convinced that the steel makes better pizza than the stone, so I’ll just have to keep working at it until I get the technique mastered. And since I don’t really know how much of the difference in the batches was due to the different dough recipes, for my next pizza practicum I’ll make that first dough again – carefully – and see how it comes out. It’s never a hardship to eat pizza!

Read Full Post »

December is a killer month for eating. Between dinner parties at home, dinners in friends’ homes, restaurant dinners, and festive business meals, we consume more rich foods and wines in this month than at any time the rest of the year. (Case in point, our Christmas Day dinner, which Tom has written up here for his blog.) When we were young, that was fine – we adored the glorious excess. Now that we’re – let’s say “somewhat” – older, we can’t deal with that level of consumption day after day. We admire and envy our friends who still can, but for us, some intervening days of very simple meals, just by ourselves, are absolutely necessary.

*

Here’s a recent one: melted cheese on a paratha, followed by pasta in a prosciutto-tomato sauce and a plain green salad.

dinner 1

This starter might be called an Anglo-Indian dish, except that it’s really nothing at all. For a small first course on a weekday evening, we often take a flaky paratha (purchased frozen from Kalustyan), top it with a good melting cheese (young Asiago is a favorite) – plus, perhaps dollops of something contrasting, sharp or acid or spicy – and grill it in the toaster oven. This evening Tom simply crumbled onto the paratha the remains of a chunk of excellent Colston-Basset Stilton, left over from Christmas dinner. It made a small but very satisfying appetizer.

LTIThe pasta dish is from our cookbook La Tavola Italiana, where it’s called Ziti alla San Giovanni. There are many different southern Italian pasta sauces of that name, and this is one of our favorites. It’s an easy, greater-than-the-sum-of-its-parts concoction, getting a lot of flavor mileage from a few ounces of prosciutto (some odd bits of which we almost always have in the freezer).

Chopped prosciutto is sauteed briefly in olive oil, then simmered with chopped tomatoes (in winter I use a jar of light tomato sauce, homemade from summer’s San Marzanos). When the pasta is still underdone I stir it into the sauce, along with shredded basil and a generous amount of grated parmigiano. In a final two minutes of cooking, all the flavors are absorbed into the pasta, producing a succulent effect quite different from just dressing fully cooked pasta with sauce and cheese. It’s a really neat bit of culinary alchemy, easy and unstressful and light on the palate.

*

Another evening we had an escarole and rice soup, followed by a plain pork roast and a potato spezzatino.

dinner 2

HazanThis modest, reliable soup is from Marcella Hazan’s Classic Italian Cook Book. We’ve enjoyed it for many years. You simply sauté escarole in butter and onion, add some broth and cook until the escarole is tender, then stir in Italian short-grain rice (e.g., Arborio, but we like Carnaroli) and additional broth. When the rice is done, turn off the heat, mix in grated parmigiano, and serve. It’s not a dish to change your life, but it’s one to make you happy with the life you have.

I roast loins of Berkshire pork, covered, for three hours at 325°. Long, slow cooking brings out the best of that heritage breed, continually moistening the meat with its own delicious melting fat. This time, I forgot to turn off the oven when I’d intended to, so the roast actually cooked longer than that. Happily, it was still perfectly good. And the cracklings were to die for.

pugliaThe potato spezzatino (the word means stew, but it’s not what we think of as a stew) was the only new recipe I tried for these deliberately homely dinners. It’s basically potatoes braised with tomato, which is a combination we like: even the dullest potatoes become tastier when introduced to a tomato. The recipe I used this time is from Maria Pignatelli Ferrante’s Puglia: A Culinary Memoir. You partially cook cut-up potatoes in olive oil, bathe them in white wine and boil it off completely, then add a little tomato, bay leaf, and water to cover; cook uncovered until the liquid has evaporated and the potatoes are very soft. The result was good enough, but Tom makes a potatoes-with-tomato dish that’s better than this. Bless him!

*

So those were a couple of our recent relief-from-elaborate-eating evenings as the year winds down. Very much needed, they were, after all the seasonal extravagances. Tonight is New Year’s Eve, so we’ll be back to extravagance once again. Champagne, foie gras, our own egg tagliatelle tossed with melted butter and topped with ample shavings of fresh black truffles . . . . But just before 2013 ends, I wanted to create this post to celebrate some of the simple foods that keep us contented in the interstices of elaborate meals. Happy New Interstices, everyone!

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »