From Canned Corn to Curry

My mother hated cooking, despite being a good cook from what I can remember as a child. The story goes that she didn’t know how to cook much when she married my father.  As my father would tell it, “She couldn’t cook worth a damn.”   

She made typical American dinners that I assume most suburban housewives made in the 1980s. Using an electric stove and an oven that was always 50 degrees off, she regularly whipped up Veal Parmesan, Pork Chops, Meatloaf, and Chicken Divan. Yes, we were a family of red-blooded carnivores. 

A medley of canned or frozen carrots, corn, lima beans, and peas paraded through my adolescence providing hardly any nutrients to my developing body.  One of the only fresh vegetables I remember eating was Silver Queen corn on the cob – my mother’s favorite - which we could only get in the summer.

Now that I’m the same age as my mother when she married, I can’t imagine having to cook for a new husband and four young children every night. Especially if I didn’t relish slaving over a hot stove.  

With this in mind, I think I finally get it. I get why my mother only bought frozen veal patties for the Veal Parmesan. I get why McCormick’s brown gravy mix was used for her sauces.  And I get why we always had Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup on hand in the cupboards. It was all about making relatively cheap and quick dinners that the entire family would eat.

Tonight, my single self made a fiery Thai Chicken, Zucchini and Tomato Curry that I came across in Food & Wine magazine. I proudly write that the only thing to come out of a can was the coconut milk.  I used a little extra red curry paste since I like the heat and served the curry over some jasmine rice.  No Uncle Ben’s white rice as my mother would have used.

While eating with a runny nose from the spicy curry, I thought to myself that its no wonder I grew up only eating American food. “Ethnic” food in my parent’s home meant spaghetti with a loaf of French bread from Pathmark to soak up the extra Ragu with meat sauce on the plate.

I’m grateful that I love to cook because I can’t envision the kitchen as being a place of unwanted exertion where I only have the energy, time, and appetite to broil well-done beef and boil some potatoes to serve with butter on top. Tomorrow I may experiment with a recipe for Middle Eastern Kibbe in Yogurt Sauce, well, simply because I can. 

 

The Risotto Challenge

"Boy you must really be into risotto if you are taking notes," the guy next to me at the bar says. I proudly reply, “I have a food blog and I'm going to blog about this event. It’s true. I’m the only person jotting down notes on the sheet listing all 16 risotto entries in yesterday’s competition.  

Only 14 contenders actually showed up. I guess the pressure was too great for the no shows.

Held in the tasting room at Jimmy’s No. 43 in the East Village, the 2^nd Annual Risotto Challenge had two rounds. Round #1 served at 1pm and round #2 served at 3pm. 

The “tasting room” at Jimmy’s No. 43 is little more than a small, poorly lit room with a makeshift stage at the far end with folding chairs set up.  Fourteen risotto stations complete with chafing dishes and burners are set around the perimeter of the room. I chat up each contender as they put a dollop of risotto on my plastic plate. Most everyone is relatively new to cook-off competitions, which surprises (and inspires) me.

My top pick was the Mango Salsa Risotto made by Ricky Silver. The sweet mango cubes combined with the spicy jalapeño for a great flavor combination. I actually said “wow” out loud when I tasted it, so I knew I had my winner. Ricky expressed his concern about using a polarizing herb like cilantro in his dish. I gushed to him that I loved cilantro and explained that it added color to his mostly yellow dish. Ricky seemed relieved.  

With a shocking jet-black color, the Squid Ink Risotto was the most peculiar looking dish of the event. Eliza Ronalds-Hannon and Tali Biale topped their briny flavored dish with fresh calamari, grape tomatoes, and scallions. The seafood and tomatoes added a light and summery texture to the dish. Due to the use of squid ink, and my love for calamari, I couldn’t help but make this one a favorite.

Another uncharacteristic dish was Marsha Nicholson’s entry Risotto di Farro con funghi porcini e due pesti. Quite a mouthful to say and eat! Marsha explained that using farro, a grain that kept the Roman legions going, instead of a rice based risotto makes the dish chewier. Two different pestos created a deep complex flavor. Using porcini mushrooms, ramps, aged gouda and walnuts added a powerful earthy taste.

The guy sitting next to me at the bar, otherwise known as my risotto partner in crime, is Brian or Bryan, as I never got the spelling of his name. Since we both showed up alone and plopped ourselves down at the bar, we chatted about risotto and our lives throughout the event. He proved himself to be invaluable by entertaining me with his sarcasm and helping me identify which risotto was which when I realized my risotto scoops were not in clockwise order on my plate during Round #2. Without Brian/Bryan I’d have been subjected to risotto sabotage!

Mental note - For my next cook-off/challenge I will make sure I know what entry I’m eating.

I also have to plug Laena and Livia, the women of Anarchy in a Jar (anarchyinajar.blogspot.com), because their slogan “the revolution starts in your mouth” is so ridiculously brilliant. If their jams and jellies are half as good as their slogan, they have got it made. I didn’t care for their beet and raspberry jam risotto, but they have white peach preserves coming out in July. I might have to venture to Brooklyn for some.

The Risotto Challenge wasn’t as full of creamy goodness as I thought. Actually only a couple of dishes were creamy. But I’m inspired to be more creative in the kitchen and think outside the box. And maybe I’ll even enter the competition next time. After all, I have a whole year to prepare. 

 

Food Writing with Phoebe Damrosch

(Phoebe Damrosch)

In an attempt to test the waters of food writing, I signed up for a one day food writing class at the Gotham Writers Workshop. 

Being the dork that I am, I was the first to arrive on a gorgeous Saturday morning. The class is held at a Jesuit boys school nearby Union Square in Manhattan. The large crucifix beside the loudspeaker over the teacher's desk serves as an eerie reminder of my twelve years of Catholic schooling. Thankfully, I know we won't have to pray before this class. 

The teacher's name is written on the board before she arrives: Phoebe Damrosch.

The name immediately triggers deja vu. Damrosch, D-A-M-R-O-S-C-H. I know that name from somewhere. Suddenly it hits me and I'm filled with butterflies. 

I reach into my bag and pull out the book I just started reading last night. It says:

"Service Included" by Phoebe Damrosch. 

Temporarily crippled with nervousness over the surprising coincidence, I recall some fairly personal details about Phoebe's love life that I had just read. 

Phoebe walks in and I'm shocked to see how young she is. Her hair is almost shoulder length making her look about 28, though she could easily be in her thirties. She's also much heavier than her picture on the back cover, I think to myself. But then, she gushes about her young baby at home. Aha! 

Phoebe settles into a chair and introduces herself. She explains her background in food and writing. Phoebe has the distinction of being the first lead female server at Thomas Keller's swanky restaurant Per Se. Her unique experience segued into a book deal and a new career in food writing. I already knew all of this of course. As she sits at the head of class, she is noticeably warm, smiley and upbeat for 9:30am.  

I discreetly hold Phoebe's book up on my desk so she can see it. (Yes, I'm a brown-noser who was sitting in the front row. So sue me!) She beams at me and and says with emphasis, "Oh you must know alot of things about me."  I meekly respond telling her I'm only on the first twenty pages, but in my head I'm thinking about a couple of particularly sordid details she wrote. 

Each student introduces themselves and explains what they hope to get out of the class. Many students have current or past experience in the food industry. Crap, I feel woefully out of place with no background in food besides eating food every day of my life. A few students even boast about their food blogs. (I hadn't started mine at the time). I try to ignore my dearth of food industry experience and focus on what I'm here to do: learn about food writing and see if I want to explore it as a possible career. I'll add that its hard to focus at first due to a particularly attractive and young sommelier sitting two feet away from me. I'm a sucker for younger guys, what can I say?

Class is divided into several topics including recipe/instruction, reporting, reviewing, travel, memoir, and questions about the business.  It will be six hours of intense writing exercises that exhaust my mind and paralyze my wrist. I'm used to typing, not handwriting after all. 

Our first exercise is to write out a recipe for our favorite dish. This is a ridiculously difficult task and if you think I'm lying, try doing it yourself. See if you can remember the exact amount of ingredients in Grandma's brisket! 

I struggled through the reviewing section as well while we nibbled on chocolate samples and wrote down our impressions. Due to my still undeveloped palate, I missed important flavor characteristics like chalky, earthy, fruity, and rife with coffee undertones. I did discern between yummy gourmet chocolate and bland Hershey's chocolate so I gave myself a pathetic pat on the back for that small victory. 

Students paired off for the reporting section of class. My partner, Kristen, and I spend 5 minutes quickly interviewing each other to find an interesting food story to report on. Many years ago, Kristen ran a catering business and before that worked at the Park Avenue Cafe. While frantically jotting down notes, our main goal is to "find the angle." Although Kristen admits she didn't give me a scintillating story to report on, she was thrilled to uncover my tale about the specific foods I make for men I date.  

Yes, I use food to show a man how I feel about him and no, the men have no idea I do this. I specialize in Chicken Soft Tacos and Martha Stewart's Mushroom Linguini Bake. Quick and tasty Chicken Soft Tacos are for the casual boyfriend. Mr. Right Now as I would say. Mushroom Linguini Bake, which requires two hours and three pans, is for the serious boyfriend. I've only had two Mushroom Linguini men in my life. I don't pull out a laborious Martha Stewart recipe for just any fellow! 

Most everyone's food report stories are funny but Phoebe perks up hearing about my dating & food story. The class howls with laughter from Kristen's hilarious writing style and Phoebe chimes in saying the topic is an example of a story you want to know more about, a story that would be great in print.  I thought so too obviously but its nice to hear compliments from the teacher. 

By the end of class, everyone must select their best written piece from the day and read it aloud for everyone. I love my topics, but I don't feel that any piece I've written is worthy of reading in front of others. Great, my anxiety returns. The readings begin at the other end of class, so I know I'm the second to last person. I listen to stories that are surprisingly well written, personal, and engaging. Its late in the day and two people have to leave class early since it is a Saturday after all. Since my anxiety has reached epic levels, I do something I regret.  I gather my things and leave class, too insecure to read anything that I've written. 

Yes, it was an embarrassing failure on my part to slink out of class with my tail between my legs. But, I chalk it up to a learning experience. I'm a perfectionist and would never want to read some quickly written slightly rambling piece to a published author in a classroom full of former chefs, caterers, wine connoisseurs and other foodies. However, I'm now steadily blogging and enjoying it immensely. The distinction between before taking the class and after, is that before I was simply daydreaming about food writing. Now I'm actively doing it. That is one big step in the right direction. 

Mascarpone Revelations

It’s something I was completely wrong about. No, not the meaning of life or the details of the Cuban Missile Crisis. I was wrong about mascarpone.

I thought it was an almond paste. I always saw it as an ingredient in desserts. I envisioned it as a tube like toothpaste, sitting in the baking aisle near the candles, frosting, and self rising yeast packets.

When Peter was making pasta the other night, he started to make a sauce recipe that his daughter Olivia had made. Mind you, Olivia is an 8 year old cooking prodigy. I thought, hmm....mascarpone and pasta. Interesting. I asked Peter if it was almond flavored. He replied back that it can be almond flavored in some desserts. But then he drops the bombshell news that it is cheese.

Whhhaat?!?!?!? Mascarpone is a cheese? Wait a minute here.... cheese is my favorite food in the whole damn world! How can mascarpone be a cheese? I'm stupefied. Why was I not informed about this? Did I miss that class in 8th grade? Why did Lidia Bastianich never cook with it on any episode I've ever watched of hers over the years? This is mind blowing.....

And as it turns out sublimely delicious!

The ingredients for the pasta sauce were quite easy from what I can recall.

20 green peppercorns smashed with a spoon
Butter
Mushroom stock
Heavy cream (or milk)
Mascarpone
Grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and Pepper

God my brain is still reeling from the earth shattering news as I type this. I’d type out the proportions and measurements, but I’m not sure I want to divulge this life changing sauce just yet. (Course if you contact me, I might…just might...let you in on the secret. For a cost!)

To me, I thought Peter had essentially made an alfredo type sauce. Even though I've never really had an alfredo sauce outside of several mildly retching Lean Cuisine chicken alfredo dinners that I ate when dropping some beer weight after college.

But Lord God almighty the sauce was so damn heavenly. So creamy, so rich, so decadent, so overwhelmingly peppery if you aren't careful with those pesky peppercorns! The sauce was almost too luxurious to go over mere pasta. I could envision lovingly ladled by an old Italian grandmother over something more substantial like chicken or even a steak if I wanted to go into coronary bypass in one meal.

Mascarpone was a mystery to me that is now slowly unraveling.