Rooftop Gourmet

Wood has played an integral role in winemaking and in various types of cuisine throughout time. From Early Man, first learning to cook their food over a wood burning fire, to pit masters using Mesquite chips to smoke and flavor their brisket in the South. Wine would not be what it is today if it weren’t for French and American Oak barrels that add all sorts of characteristics and flavors to the juice.

Those subtle, rich vanilla nuances in your Cabernet… missing. The fleshy, buttery body that your California Chardonnay possesses… bye bye. The smoky, cedar and cinnamon stick finish in your elegant Pinot Noir… gonzo. Wood is such an important component in wine because it helps balance the fruit and tannins.

Last night I decided to make a dish, and use a technique that was said to be developed in the Pacific Northwest. The cuisine in Oregon, Washington, and Alaska is nowquite diverse but there are still many Asian and Native American influences. Pacific Northwestern cuisine contains a alot of fresh salmon and shellfish that is usually smoked or roasted on cedar planks. In one of my very first blog posts, I used this technique with an empty cigar box that I had laying around the house.

I took one whiff of the box and knew that it was made of Spanish Cedar. The smell is so distinct and rich. It reminds me of a walking into a sauna or slipping into a cedar hot tub. A while back, I bought some pre-cut cedar planks from Whole Foods, so I soaked them overnight in salted water which keeps them from burning on the grill.

Salmon is a full bodied, oily fish that takes on the smoke so well without getting over powered. This is one of the easiest preparations to do and your guests will be so impressed by how moist and flavorful the fish comes out. I removed the planks from the water and patted them dry with some paper towels. The spicy cedar notes were already perfuming my kitchen while I oiled up the top side of each plank.

 I arranged a landing pad of thinly sliced lemons on one side of the plank for the salmon to rest on. As the board heats up the zesty lemon keeps the fish moist and gives the fish some acidity.

 A sprinkle of salt, cracked black pepper, and a few sprigs of fresh thyme from my garden, and they were ready to make their way to the grill. I preheat my grill full blast, but then turn it down to about 300 degrees before I slide the planks to the back. You want the fish to cook slowly, as it absorbs all of the smoky flavors with the hood of the grill closed. Within seconds, the entire neighborhood was popping their heads out of their windows and coming out on their roofdecks to see where the smell was coming from.

The strong cedar aromas filled the air and my grill looked like it was sending smoke signals. This is something that you could prepare ahead of time if you’re having a dinner party, so when your guests arrive, all you have to do is throw the planks on the grill. Believe me, they will be intrigued by the smokiness and you won’t even need plates.

Just when the salmon filets were slightly firm, and medium rare on the inside, I finished them with some more fresh thyme and a touch of butter to add some richness and to marry the woodsy aromas. I removed the planks from the grill and took them inside to let them rest. I made a quick side dish of sauteed garlicky spinach and shaved fennel. I thought that the sweet garlic and the licorice flavors in the fennel would pair nicely with the smoky fish.

The flaky, pink flesh broke away quite easily and was loaded with cedar notes. The peppery thyme, and roasted lemons definitely lightened it up and added the liveliness that the dish needed. Since I was using wood to add flavor to the fish, I chose a wine that uses French Oak barrels to add flavor to the juice.

 The 2006 Clos du Val Pinot Noir spends one year in new French Oak which gives the medium bodied red a smoky, spicy character. The nose is full of black cherry, strawberry, and who would have thought…cedar! The silky texture of the wine in your mouth is what really impressed me the most. I wanted to swish it around on my tongue all night without swallowing because the tannins were so soft. Flavors of cherry, strawberry and cinnamon were clearly present and the finish had a slight twang of crystallized ginger.

A Pinot this multi layered and complex was reminiscent of a fine red Burgundy. It complimented the slow roasted salmon perfectly. There are some nights when a wine pairing turns out great, and then there are nights like this when the pairing is simply magical. This meal gave me a better appreciation for what wood can do for you. I wanted to run outside and hug a tree.

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.

Back in June we planted a bunch of vegetables and herbs, and adorned our roofdeck with the potted produce. The jalapenos started budding and became targets for sea gulls and other critters that climbed their way up three stories. We started to notice that these hungry animals would bite the baby chilies off the vine but then drop them on the deck because they didn’t like how spicy they were. Finally, the other day we walked upstairs and noticed that one of the full-sized jalapenos was left on the vine, unharmed so we picked it.

There’s something extremely gratifying about cooking with produce that you grow yourself. I took a tiny nibble into the flesh to check out the flavor and was blown away. These were the spiciest jalapenos I have ever tasted!

The heat was pushing Habanero levels, and I hadn’t even eaten a seed yet (the seeds are where all the Capsaisin is stored). I knew that Siobhan was in for a surprise because she isn’t quite as adventurous when it comes to the Scoville Heat Scale (a man named Scoville invented a scale that measures the Capsaisin or heat in different chilies). I decided on making a Thai-Japanese fusion dish because I had a can of coconut milk that would help balance some of the fire in the chilies.

A traditional red curry is made in a mortar in pestle, where tons of different ingredients are ground up into a paste before adding them to coconut milk and other meats. I took a shortcut and used the dried red curry spice, adding it to my sauteing, minced jalapeno and shallot. I waited until the vegetables got soft and then cooked them with the dried red curry until most of the aromatic oils started to release.

You’ll notice all of the liquid and oils start to run a deep, golden yellow and that’s when you know to add your coconut milk. Red curry is a little bit spicier and a little bit richer than the Yellow Madras curry.

I really love the combination of sweet, smoky, spicy, and savory flavors that the powder adds to any dish. Canned coconut milk is rather thick and gloppy, and a touch sweet, so in order to thin it out, I squeeze in the juice of a fresh lime. Normally, you would never think about adding an acid to a dairy product, but in this case it makes sense. The sauce is actually enhanced by the sharp acidity and it helps bring out all of the flavors in the curry.

 I let my creamy, straw colored sauce simmer away while I prepared my fish. Haddock is very similar to Cod, or as they say here in Boston “Scrod”. It’s a firm (when fresh), white fish that is relatively mild, which makes it a great blank canvas for all sorts of flavors. I hate overcooked fish, and one way that I avoid it when preparing a delicate fish like this is only cooking one side.

 I dab the filet with a paper towel in order to remove all the moisture from the exterior so that the fish won’t steam in the pan. Then I simply sear it on high heat in a frying pan with just a drop of oil. After about two minutes, I turn the heat down to low and slowly let the rest of the fish cook through. This technique took me a long time to get good at but once you get the feel for judging when to take the fish off, it’s quite easy.

 I gave this Thai dish, a Japanese twist by adding some Nori, or roasted seaweed. I love sushi, but I have to admit, I have never attempted to make it at home. Nori is the seaweed that is used to roll Maki. It’s firm and crunchy until it’s introduced to some heat or moisture. Then it softens up and tends to melt on your tongue. I plated to pan seared Haddock on top of a lime wedge in the center of a bowl and sprinkled some julienned Nori over the top. As soon as the seaweed hit the flesh of the fish, it wilted, curled and draped over the side of the filet. In no time, the Haddock looked like it was wearing a Howard Stern wig.

I ladled the warm red curry into the bowl and the aromas were mesmerizing. The spice from the curry and the sweetness of the coconut met the zest from the lime and the roasted ocean flavor in the Nori. The flaky fish gently fell apart into the rich broth and ever so elegantly dissolved in your mouth, leaving your palate with a whirlwind of different flavors… heat being the last to leave. Spicy Thai dishes are ruined by dry wines, and vice versa. I called upon Austria’s signature grape, the Gruner Veltliner which is usually dry, but the particular one I had was made in the Smaragad style.

It is harvested a tad bit later in the season, and has a touch of residual sugar. The 2008 Loimer Gruner Veltliner is medium bodied but still quite refreshing. It’s a pale straw color but has a hint of green in it when it shimmers. The flavor profile is quite simple, a touch of apple, flat Sprite, and a hint of white pepper. The sugary, lemon-lime flavors work beautifully with the heat from my ridiculously intense jalapeno. Between the coconut milk and the touch of residual sugar in the wine, the dish calmed down enough for Siobhan, to the point that she ended up licking her bowl clean. I don’t know what she’s putting in the soil up on the deck, but everyone seems to enjoy the fruits of her labor… even the annoying squirrels.

Over the weekend, I got a chance to slip down to Cape Cod for a few days and enjoy the warm weather at the beach. We set up shop at Dowse’s Beach in Osterville, a two minute walk from my grandparents house. The beach was packed with families and young kids boogie-boarding in the waves, which was a good sign that the water was warm. I sat down with, surprise… a non-food related book for the first time in ages, and soaked up some sun. The ninety degree heat was almost unbearable after an hour and it was time to jump in the ocean. The luke warm, salty bathtub water felt amazing despite the swarms of seaweed floating on the surface.

After all the fake mustache and arm pit hair jokes weren’t funny anymore, I started to examine all the different species of seaweed that floated by, and the foodie side of my brain kicked into overdrive. I thought about an article I read recently on the health benefits of seaweed and the many bowls of perfectly seasoned seaweed salad I’ve slurped up at Japanese restaurants.

 It turns out, that “vegetables of the sea” contain sufficient amounts of calcium, sodium, magnesium, potassium, iodine, iron, and zinc, along with tons of other vitamins that human beings require, but most of the time lack. Specific types of seaweed, in particular the Wakame variety which is most commonly seen at your local sushi joint, has been known to flush the body of toxic pollutants, promote youthful skin tones, and keep your hair healthy.

After floating around the Atlantic ocean amidst all of these slimy creatures for about an hour, I finally concocted a dish in my head that incorporated all of this mineral-rich kelp. It was the first time I’ve ever used seaweed in the kitchen but I was fairly certain that my idea had promise. I was leaning towards an Asian theme due to the seaweed but I also incorporated some Italian and southwestern flair to the dish.

I fine tuned all the parts while sitting in bumper to bumper traffic in my wet bathing suit, anxiously awaiting the kitchen. I stopped off at the grocery store and picked up some sushi-grade tuna that was bright purple in color and impeccably firm.

I also grabbed two containers of Wakame seaweed, which slightly resembles an over dressed, salad of fresh cut grass. The sea “noodles” have a briny, sweet flavor and a great pop of texture. When I got home, I prepared the seaweed salad the same way a Japanese restaurant traditionally would. I dressed it with rice wine vinegar, a touch of sesame oil, sesame seeds, and chili flakes. Since it was still incredibly humid outdoors, I was planning on eating on the roofdeck so I decided to serve the dish cold.

 I made an Asian pasta salad using a specific Italian variety of spaghetti made from ground Farro wheat. Farro is similar to barley or a wheatberry, which looks like a big, brown grain of rice (sometimes it’s furry). In Italy, people soak the farro and then cook it in the style of pasta to make farro salads, usually tossed with vegetables. I had this really cool, dark brown spaghetti in my pantry that I found in an Italian specialty market, that ground up the farro and turned it into pasta. I thought that the contrast of the dark spaghetti and the bright, lime green seaweed would look beautiful on the plate as well as acting as the healthiest pasta salad known to man.

Where else can you get all of these oceanic vitamins and minerals, as well as healthy carbs? I simply cooled down the spaghetti and tossed it with the salad, watching the long slivers weave together into one nest of deliciousness. As for the tuna, I wanted to spice it up a little bit with the heat of some Mexican Chili powder but I was afraid that if I rubbed the spice on before searing it, it would burn.

I heated up my skillet until the smoke alarm was just about to ring, before I quickly seared all for sides of the fish evenly. Immediately after I removed it from the pan is when I decided to roll it up and cover the entire eight inch block with this rich, rusty brown colored, chili powder. The heat that was still lingering in the outskirts of the fish heated up the powder and released all of its aromatic oils.

I popped it into the fridge for it to chill and firm up before I sliced it. I plated the seaweed pasta salad and made sure to sharpen my knife, because any sushi chef will tell you, the key to slicing raw fish is a sharp blade. Long fluid motions, without sawing, will keep the flesh in tact and make the dish presentable. I fanned the sashimi out over my nest of pasta and adorned the dish with some drops of ginger-wasabi cream that will bring a whole different type of heat to the party. I marched upstairs and plated this healthy dinner on the table right next to an empty ice bucket that needed a clean, crisp white to wash this food down with.

 I opened a bottle of 2008 Quinta de Azevedo Vinho Verde from Portugal. Vinho Verde translates to “green wine”, referring to its youthfullness rather than its color or organic benefits. The Vinho Verde is light and fresh, with less than one bar of CO2 pressure, it doesn’t quite qualify as a semi-sparkling wine but definitely has some fizz. The hazy straw color foams up in the glass from the tiny little bubbles and gives off aromas of stone fruit and flowers. This was one of the most refreshing wines that I’ve ever tasted and a great compliment to such profound flavors and textures in the dish. The strong, natural acidity cleans your palate and leaves you with flavors of Granny Smith Apples and peaches.

 If you close your eyes, it almost seems like you’re drinking a very strong Bellini (Prosecco and white peach puree). Despite the low alcohol content, this wine was bone dry, leaving no traces of residual sugars. We left the forks in the drawer and cracked apart a few sets of chop sticks like wishbones and devoured this meal as the sun went down. The meaty tuna was so fresh and delicate, it seemed to melt away on your tongue. The contrast in texture in the pasta salad was exciting and the two different genres of heat from the chili and wasabi played nicely with each other. Even though there was a lot of food, it was such a healthy dinner and I felt great afterwards; almost light enough to float in the ocean again without sinking to the bottom.

I don’t know about you, but this heat wave is starting to get exhausting. With record temperatures skyrocketing to 100+, the last thing I felt like doing was turning on my stove or standing over a scorching hot grill. Just stepping outside onto the deck felt like walking into a giant oven. I came home from work, peeled off my sweaty button-down, and decided to make soup. Yes… that’s right, soup in a heat wave.

 Gazpacho is a traditional Spanish soup made from raw vegetables, that originated in the southern region of Andalusia.

Now a days, gazpacho has many different variations, and the term gazpacho is almost generic for chilled vegetable soup. The good thing about this refreshing, summer soup is that it can be made entirely in your blender or food processor.

Most countries have some type of staple, peasant dish that incorporates crusty, day-old bread into a fabulous meal, such as the Italian tomato and bread soup or panzanella, a cold bread salad. Gazpacho is Spain’s equivalent of these peasant dishes that takes leftovers and brings them to life.

 Since, the preparation is so simple, I decided to make both the classic red and white varieties. The red gazpacho is tomato based, and in my opinion tastes better when it is chunky and has some texture.

I didn’t have any day old bread, so I toasted some sliced white bread and cut the crusts off like I would for a toddler’s PB & J. I soaked the crusty bread in some ice water for about twenty minutes while I got my blender ready.

From there on out it’s just a matter of tossing in different ingredients as if you were making a smoothie. I rang the water out of the bread by squeezing the soggy toast in clenched fists and added that first, along with tons of cherry tomatoes, red onion, jalapeno, garlic and cucumber.

 Cucumber, bread, garlic and tomatoes are staples in red gazpacho, but I enjoy a little heat from the jalapenos. As the blender roared away, I added a stream of extra virgin olive oil, and a splash of Spanish Sherry vinegar. The bread thickens the soup and makes it all come together.

After everything is incorporated, I passed the liquid through a fine mesh strainer to remove some of the gritty skins, pulp, and larger chunks of bread. With the red gazpacho, I like a chunky texture so I reserved a small dice of all of the components that I folded into the puree after. I cleaned out my blender and refrigerated the gazpacho until it was time to serve. My white gazpacho is a little bit more elegant and refined than the red. I start off the same way, with the soggy bread, and garlic cloves, but I then toss in some toasted almonds.

 The almonds give the soup a nuttiness to balance out the sweeter flavors of white grapes. Into the blender goes some of the ice water, and some white grape juice followed by the Sherry vinegar, and extra virgin olive oil. I usually press the “liquefy” button on my blender for this soup because a smooth, velvety texture is more important. I also pass the liquid through the strainer twice to make sure there is no grit in the mouthfeel.

 The white gazpacho is then seasoned, chilled, and set aside until it’s ready to serve. The longer these soups sit in the fridge, the more flavorful they get, which makes leftovers a must. Since I set my thermostat for 68 degrees, I felt that it was okay to turn my stove on for only two minutes. I quickly seared some fresh scallops on one side until they were golden brown and caramelized.

 Seafood and gazpacho are a great combination. A lot of times restaurants will serve their gazpacho in a martini glass with a few jumbo shrimp dangling over the edge. I plated a few of the scallops like buoys in the middle of each soup and topped them with a few different garnishes. With two different soups and some light seafood, we needed a wine that was equally refreshing.

I chose to open a bottle of Fetish Field of Dreams Moscato, from the Barossa Valley, Australia. This wine is modeled after the slightly sweet, slightly sparkling wines from Northern Italy. The crisp, effervescence is so refreshing with the soup. When you pour the cold wine into the glass a foamy head appears, reminiscent of a Belgian Ale. It gives off aromas of flowers, white peaches and honeydew melons.

Unlike other dessert wines, the moscato is low in alcohol and isn’t sticky and syrupy, which makes it pleasant to serve with a meal. The subtle, sweet fruit complimented the spiciness of the red gazpacho, and was pleasantly elegant with the white. The tiny bubbles cleared your palate after each sip and prepared you for a slurp of a totally different flavor. After tasting the wine, and the soup separately, I realized that a few splashes of the bubbly moscato would actually give the soup a whole new character.

Marinating fresh berries in Moscato is also a great dessert when spooned over a creamy custard. We had plenty of leftovers of soup to bring to the pool the next day, but the Field of Dreams disappeared quickly. Thankfully, I didn’t start hearing voices about building a baseball field in the middle of South Boston, but if it meant that rain will come, I might consider it.