Rooftop Gourmet

The French have always turned their noses up at Americans for their use of processed condiments. While I can see their point about condiments masking the flavor of the actual food, that is exactly what makes jarred condiments American. America was built on making everything bigger, faster, and easier. Why waste thirty minutes in the kitchen making homemade sauce, when you can just open a jar? If opening a jar is too much work for you… squeeze some ketchup out of a tiny packet.

If fast food chains didn’t slop mustard, mayo, ketchup, and “secret sauce” all over their burgers, the consumers might realize that they’re eating crappy meat. Americans were taught that the flavor is not in the food but rather in the condiment (which depending on the cook, may be true). Now that salsa has surpassed ketchup as America’s #1 condiment, people are putting it on everything and eating it by itself. Who said a chip was a food? Chips are gross by themselves, so why not use a chip as a utensil to eat your condiment.

If your kids don’t like the food that you put infront of them, parents are telling them to just put bbq sauce on it and eat it. We’re training Americans to dislike the actual food they eat, and giving them remedies to fix that problem in jars… or even squeeze bottles! While I am an advocate for creating delicious homemade sauces and salsas, I must admit, I am also American.

 I still slather Guildens hot and spicy all over my Fenway Frank, make homemade bbq sauce with Heinz 57, and my “dipping everything in blue cheese” habit has gone Oriental in the form of “Sriracha squirting”. Recently, I have discovered my new favorite condiment which has been on tables in China for many years.

 Black Bean & Garlic sauce is a popular Chinese condiment that is widely used in its cuisine to flavor all types of foods. After blowing through two jars in the month of July, I decided it was time to make my own from scratch. I sent my daring fiance over to the Super 88 (Asian specialty food supermarket) in search of some hard to find ingredients. Believe it or not, Black Bean & Garlic sauce is not made with black beans at all, or at least not with the black beans you’re used to eating. Douchi is the name for fermented soybeans that are used to create this sauce.

Fermenting and salting turns the soybeans black, mushy, and dry and gives it a strong salty, pungent, and bitter flavor. They aren’t very visually appealing but they taste delicious. After roaming around a giant supermarket with everything written in a different language for hours, Siobhan located the douchi as well as some rice vinegar, and brown rice vinegar.

I got home from work and put the trusty blender to use. I rinsed the gunk off of the fermented soybeans and tossed them into the blender along with ten cloves of garlic, a few spicy, Thai chilies, soy sauce, both vinegars, and some hot water. In no time, the brown sauce was silky smooth and creamy. Again, this sauce is far from picturesque but believe me when I tell you that it is a whirlwind of flavors in your mouth.

I picked up some of the largest littleneck clams that I have ever seen, in order to make a classic Cantonese dish… Steamed clams in black bean and garlic sauce. We washed, and scrubbed all of the grit off the outside of the clams and if we had more time we would have soaked them overnight in cold water and cornmeal. The live clams actually eat the cornmeal and it helps them regurgitate any impurities they have inside their bellies.

Turning a mouthwatering condiment into a sauce is so incredibly simple. We basically took a few spoonfuls of the black bean and garlic paste and threw it into a warm pan with some canola oil and a touch of water. After a few minutes of whisking a smooth, bubbly sauce appears before your very eyes.

That is when I added the littlenecks and placed the lid on for them to steam. The longer the clams take to pop their lids open, the more aromatic and thick the sauce gets. It is almost impossible not to peek underneath the lid and grab a taste of the sauce.

Once the clams opened up to expose their meaty insides, I tossed them around so that the sauce snuck into every crevice. We plopped the pan down infront of us and with a sprinkle of shaved green onions, and a good tear of chewy bread we had ourselves an amazing meal. We sat at the counter, fighting over the juicy clams, and using their shells as spoons to slurp up every last drop of the black bean and garlic sauce. The rich, earthy flavors were so new and exciting, unlike any other condiment we were ever accostomed to.

It was bitter, salty, spicy and earthy all in one bite. We washed down the shellfish with a frosty pint of Japan’s oldest brews. Sapporro brewery dates back to 1876 and has been making top quality Bavarian style beers in Japan ever since. Once you dip your lip through the foamy head, the beer is crisp and refreshing with a slightly yeasty finish. Sometimes, you just need to leave the cork in the wine and bust out an ice cold beer to wash down something as salty as this dish… especially when you’re constantly licking your fingers and rifling through paper towels.

Ironically, I spooned a ton of my homemade Chinese condiment back into an empty mustard jar for later use, but I promise you that this sauce is something that even the snobbiest French foodies would appreciate.

Grilled cheese reminds me of my childhood and I’m pretty sure that memory goes for most people as well. When I was little, I would go to friend’s houses to play and their parents would make us grilled cheese sandwiches for after school snacks and I noticed that everyone’s parents made it a little bit differently. Differently than my mother would at least. I was used to classic white bread and four slices of orange Kraft Singles, slowly toasted in a skillet with a little bit of butter. That was my childhood staple.

Whenever I’d come inside from playing in the yard, I’d whine to my mom, “I’m hungryyyy!!!”, and this was a quick solution that she didn’t mind spending two minutes to fix. As I got older, my perception of grilled cheese evolved… and I noticed my mother’s love for grilled cheese too. I’d have a couple friends sleep over and we’d ask my mom to make us some of her by then, famous grilled cheeses. I started to notice that my mother would always burn the first one and pretend like she was upset by it, but later I realized that she had a thing for burnt grilled cheeses. Somehow, that first ”mistake” always disappeared.

When I got to college, my concept of grilled cheese changed again. When I wasn’t eating twelve of them in one sitting, I was busy stuffing them with cheese Doritos and dipping them in con queso or blue cheese dressing. Probably the reason I put on the freshman thirty, but at least I was being creative with my comfort food that reminded me of home. Now, I still appreciate the classic Kraft contraption every once in a while, but I also can’t resist getting gourmet with my grilled cheese.

The other day, my school teacher fiance called me up at lunchtime because she had a craving for grilled cheese after working lunch duty in the cafeteria of her middle school. I told her, “great idea!”, but she had no idea what I had in store for her when she got home.

I wanted to pair different cheeses with different types of bread to create three of the ultimate grilled cheese sandwiches, in three different styles. Wine wasn’t the route to go with this blog so I opted to pair each sandwich with a different craft beer. Let’s face it… beer and cheese are a match made in heaven (just ask Brad Wasik from Wasik’s Cheese Shop in Wellesley center, who offers amazing beer and cheese pairing events from time to time).

My first GCS (Grilled Cheese Sandwich) started off on the light side (ironic, I know). I crumbled up some local goat cheese and spread it in between two slices of fresh sourdough bread. Taking notes from my mother, I slowly toasted it in a skillet with some butter until both sides were golden brown and the goat cheese oozed out of the sides. This became my early favorite because the sourdough toast and the tangy goat cheese were amazing together.

I poured a tall glass of Chimay Cinq Cents Gold Label, which is a traditional Belgian Wheat Ale, and watched as the foamy head settled to the top. I was shocked at how aromatic this beer was, almost more aromatic than it was flavorful but in a good way. I stuck my nose right into the glass like it was a fine white Burgundy and noticed all of the honey, clove, and yeasty smells. The beer was a hazy golden color and was full of carbonation. It was medium bodied with a bitter, caramel finish that was actually quite pleasant.

My second GCS was created using, freshly sliced pumpernickel loaf and two amazing melting cheeses. I was going for the picture-esque, Kraft television commercial, pull apart shot where the stringy cheese stretches for miles. I layered a slice each of both aged Gruyere and Emmental cheese, which is kind of like a funky Swiss.

 It was a good thing that the pumpernickel toasted quicker than the sourdough because these cheeses broke down fast and started to drip down the sides of the bread. The Gruyere is my type of cheese… super funky! and when it gets warm, the smell gets better and better. It was a really cool combination with the nutty, roasted malt flavors in the pumpernickel.

This is the GCS that you don’t want to serve to your children if you don’t know how to perform the HeimlichManeuver! I paired this one with a bottle of Samuel Smith Nut Brown Ale. This comes from an old English Brewery that has been making beer for hundreds of years. It’s much darker in color and has a significantly lower level of carbonation. The nose smelled of sweet apples and flowers but when I tasted it, it was rich and nutty. It had a cola-like mouthfeel, and almost tasted like toasted pumpernickel bread and toffee. It was like a New Castle on steroids!

My last creation was by far my favorite GCS and the richest one as well. I spread tons of creamy Gorgonzola (Italy’s blue cheese) in between two slices of dense, cinnamon-raisin bread and performed the same toasting procedure. I paired these two odd balls together because with a cheese that is so rich and full of mind boggling flavor, it would have considerably dominated a wimpy slice of Wonder. I needed a bread that had an equal amount of wallop to combat the Gorgonzola, so I chose one that was studded with plump raisins and laced with sweet cinnamon. Let me just say, that I have officially created a monster. The raisins caramelized with the toast and the blue veins just oozed out into the pan.

The love affair of sweet and savory was the most incredible GCS combination of the night. I paired this one with a bottle of Schlafly Reserve Barleywine Ale from Missouri. The beer was a burnt orange color and smelled like vanilla and sweet oak. I had never had a barleywine ale before but I really enjoyed this beer. Just like the GCS, it was a perfect balance of earthy and sweet. Tons of bourbon and maple flavors combined with a dry, creamy finish. After three giant craft beers, and three different, super rich, grilled cheese sandwiches it was time to revert back to my childhood once again and take a much needed nap.

I judge a good burger by how many times I have to wipe the juice off of my elbows… among other things. I love experimenting with different ground meats, cheeses, toppings, condiments, and serving vessels. The possibilities are endless when it comes to burger building; which is a science in itself. I love caramelized onions because they show you how an ingredient can become something completely different with just a little heat and patience.

The strong, pungent raw onion releases its natural sugars very slowly and transforms into rich, sweet,  glob of melt-in-your-mouth goodness. Last night I took caramelized onions to a whole new level. Not only did I cook them in rendered bacon fat, I let them overcaramelize  for over an hour in my dutch oven. Once they were dark brown in color I added some red wine, balsamic vinegar, sugar, and black pepper. I let everything slowly reduce for another half hour until what was left in the pot was a sticky, sweet bacon-onion marmalade.

I had to hold my girlfriend back because she was a repeat offender of sneaking spoonfuls when I wasn’t looking. The underlying smoky bacon flavor combined with the sweet onions and tang of the balsamic reduction was just what I was looking for to spread atop my oversized beef patty.

I always choose a ground chuck or a ground beef that has at least 20% fat and season it liberally; in this case, I tossed in some finely minced garlic as well. The next step is the cheese and for me this is a huge decision because I am a cheese fanatic. If I was stranded on a deserted island I’d take a wheel of stinky Linburger over a gallon of water in a heartbeat. Because I spent so long in the kitchen creating this should-be-everyday condiment, I decided to let it shine and keep the cheese in the background.

 I picked a simple grated Gruyere because it’s an excellent melting cheese with tons of flavor. The final step is choosing the ensemble that will adorn and cradle the beef patty. I have always been a huge supporter of the sandwich-sized english muffin, but I came across some Italian ciabatta bread, still warm from the bakery. I buttered and toasted the sponge-like loaf which awaited the arrival of the bloody rare beef, ready to soak up all the flavor.

I topped the finished product with a tiny handful of baby arugula to add some freshness to this handful of heart attack. In order to get my jaws around the first bite, I needed to be wearing a poncho, because the juice ran down my chin and forearms until I didn’t care anymore. As soon as all of the flavors came together in that magical first bite, my physical appearance and hygiene were thrown out the window.

I paired the burgers with Harpoon Brewery’s 100 Barrel Series Island Creek Oyster Stout. I must say, when I heard about this beer, I was extremely skeptical even though I am a huge oyster fan. I love a nice pint of Guinness with some raw oysters more then the next guy, but I never thought I’d ever taste a beer that was brewed with the actual oysters in it!

 The roasted barley and chocolate rye malts give this brew a rich and smoky nose to it with just the slightest hint of brinyness. It has a gentle mouthfeel that isn’t too over bearing and finishes with strong minerality and a lingering flavor of burnt pumpernickel toast. I really enjoyed this pint with the burger because the roasted barley and the smoky-sweet marmalade were a perfect pair. If only my hands weren’t so messy I would have been able to get better grip on the pint glass.

 When I was forced to wear gloves during my ride to work while waiting for my heat to kick on, I knew it was that time of year to make a huge batch of stick-to-your-ribs chili. There’s nothing like a spicy bowl of chili on a cold winter night to make you forget that the thermometer reads 21 degrees. I have made countless different types of chili over the years (and was even involved in a chili cookoff) but this is by far my favorite and the most comforting.

Texans will tell you that authentic Lone Star state chili has no beans in it, just beef… and lots of it.

 I stopped by Whole Foods on the way home from work and bought four pounds of beef chuck stew meat. Whenever I cook chili, I always make a large enough batch so that I can freeze individual portions and reheat them for quick dinners. Chuck meat is best for this chili because it’s flavorful and tough but after hours of slow cooking, the fibrous meat breaks down and literally melts in your mouth.

 I like to sear the beef cubes in the pot first, then remove them before I start sweating the aromatics; it gives me some time to wipe the tears off of my face after dicing three large yellow onions. I also add about six cloves of garlic and a half dozen fresh jalapenos. Sometimes if I’m feeling like a masochist I’ll toss in a few Habanero chilies to burn off my taste buds but I wanted to make a tame batch this time around.

 Heat from chilies are measured by the level of capsaicin in the seeds and skin and are placed on a scale called the Scoville scale. The more Scoville units a chili has, the more fire it produces (a jalapeno only has between 2,500 -8,000 out of about 10 million). After all of the aromatics are soft, I add some tomato paste and then the dried spices.

Usually it’s about 2 parts chili powder to 1 part cumin, with a splash of cayenne, dried oregano, and my secret ingredient… cinnamon. Just a pinch of cinnamon will leave people scratching their heads as to what that underlying flavor is. I never cook with any wine that I wouldn’t drink by itself, and the same goes for when I cook with beer. Once all the alcohol is cooked off, what you’re left with is flavor, so I never skimp on what is going into the pot.

 I decided to use one of my favorite specialty beers, the Innis & Gunn Oak aged beer from Scotland. This beer has layers of complexity from aging the suds in mature oak casks, previously used to make bourbon. Flavors of vanilla, toffee, and orange peel make this rich beer perfect for chili. I deglazed the pot with the beer and some beef stock, then added the meat back in for a long simmering session. After about two unbearable hours on the stovetop waiting for it to thicken and tenderize, I was ready to get myself a bowl.

The chili was steaming hot and the entire apartment smelled like a cowboy’s campfire. The only thing this ‘bowl of red’ needed was a glass of red. I paired the chili with the 2006 Franz Hill Vineyards Zinfandel from California. I chose red Zinfandel because it almost reminds me of chili; big, powerful, meaty, and peppery.

The tannins aren’t too strong which would clash with the heat and it’s loaded with tons of ripe berry flavors. Don’t get me wrong though, this isn’t your pop and go everyday Zinfandel. The Franz Hill is sophisticated and somewhat reminiscent of a French Rhone wine. The only downside to slow-cooking chili is once you’re finished and satisfied, it’s time to break out a box of S.O.S pads.

 Over the weekend, a bunch of my college friends flew into town for their annual Boston trip. I know how these guys like to eat so I had to come up with some affordable meal ideas that could feed an army.

My initial thought was a baked pasta dish because I can assemble everything ahead of time and just throw it into the oven when they start to get feisty. I am a cheese fanatic, so I decided to make a five cheese (the more the better) casserole and top it with chopped, buttery cashews. I had to bring out my monster, lobster pot just to boil enough water to cook five pounds of rigatoni.

The rich, cheese sauce started out with a simple bechamel sauce; one of the classic, French mother sauces. Equal parts butter and flour get whisked frantically over medium heat to create a light roux. Once the flour taste was cooked out, I added a ton of scalded milk and brought it to a simmer.

The roux is what thickens the milk and creates the base for the cheese sauce. One by one, I added the different cheeses; first the Gouda, then the Fontina, then the Gorgonzola, then the Parmesan, then more Gorgonzola, and lastly some Mozzarella. By the time I was done whisking, and all of the cheeses slowly melted into the sauce, my arm was exhausted.

The creamy sauce was like glue but insanely rich and decadent. After the pasta was strained, I gave it a cheese bath with some fresh peas and folded it into an industrial, tin foil baking sheet. I added some breadcrumbs, chopped cashews, and grated Pecorino cheese on top to give it a buttery crunch; my favorite part of baked mac and cheese is the crispy crust.

After about thirty minutes in the oven, the crust had formed and the inside was gooey and bubbly.

The contrast between the crunchy cashews and the creamy cheese sauce was a hit, but after everyone had a brick of the casserole it was time to start the main course. I’ve found that one of the best ways to feed a ton of people on a budget is to buy large, inexpensive cuts of meat and cook them slow and low (braise them).

Once the meat gets tender enough to pull it apart with a fork, I shred it all up and serve it in tacos; this is also perfect because people can eat standing up (I don’t have enough chairs for everyone anyway). I bought a five pound beef top round that I cooked over low heat on the grill, inside a tin foil tray. I filled the tray with a mixture of fresh ginger, limes, garlic, Thai chilies, beef broth, and soy sauce.

The huge, caveman cut of beef braised in this liquid for over three hours until it was falling apart on its own. I put some of my friends to work shredding it while I prepared the accompaniments for the taco bar. I made carmelized shallots, sliced green onions, a Siracha sour cream sauce, and a purple cabbage slaw that was tossed with rice wine vinegar and sesame oil.

Even though everyone was stuffed from the cheesy casserole they still managed to wolf down a few tacos. The five pounds of beef goes a long way; I still have about half leftover. This would be a great idea for a Super Bowl party a few weeks down the road even though it will be tough to decide who to root for.