Rooftop Gourmet

Last week, we left the city and spent a few days house sitting in the burbs for my family. We got to spend some time with Gino, our new Golden Retriever puppy and cook an extravagant meal in my parent’s kitchen. My family doesn’t have as an adventurous palate as we do, so since they were gone, I wanted to make something that would typically never be seen in their kitchen. We walked Gino, or more like Gino walked us, down to John Dewars on Linden street, which is where I get my meat when I’m not in the city.

 They have the best quality meat around and they also stock some unusual ingredients. I went inside in search of foie gras. Foie gras is the controversial ingredient that is most commonly made in France. It is the fattened liver of a duck or a goose, and it is extremely delicate and expensive. The reason it has been so controversial is because of the process in which it’s made.

 Gavage is the technical name for the technique used to fatten the birds up when they are young. It involves jamming a tube down the bird’s throat and force-feeding it corn, five to ten extra times a day, in order to fatten the birds’ liver. Even though the technique dates back as far as 2500 B.C, and the animals don’t have a gag reflex, you can see why some people consider it inhumane.

 Whether you find it disturbing or not, the flavor of the foie gras is incomparable. Its rich, buttery yet delicate texture is a real treat, and I can see why it’s so expensive. Because it’s so rich, I only bought a small amount in order to make an appetizer portion for the two of us. Some people prefer their foie gras molded into a pate’ or a terrine, but I think it tastes the best when it is pan seared. Traditionally, seared foie is served with toast and some type of sweet sauce, usually made with berries to balance out the richness of the liver.

 Siobhan started baking early in the morning when I left for work the day before, because I had an idea in mind. She went out into the backyard and snipped a bunch of fresh sage from my mother’s garden and bought some fresh blueberries. I am not much of a baker, so I let her do her thing and I came home to a giant loaf of blueberry-sage bread. The loaf was dense and moist, studded with plump berries and swirled with a chiffonade of woodsy sage. The combination or herbs and berries was new and exciting.

I decided to dredge a few slices of the homemade bread in a beaten egg and make an insane French toast. After all, foie gras is a delicacy in French cuisine, why not let it rest on a bed of French toast? I slowly toasted the bread in a non-stick pan and got my foie gras out of the fridge. Because of its high fat content, you really don’t want to handle the liver too long because it will melt in your hands.

 Letting it melt would be an expensive mistake so try to keep it melting in your mouth and not in your hands. I let my pan get smoking hot before I even brought my foie near it. This was judgement time and I was getting a little nervous because if you sear it the wrong way or leave it in the pan it could literally disappear before your eyes. It was like trying to sear a pat of butter. The one inch thick slice of liver hit the pan and the whole kitchen started to sizzle, I quickly flipped it over after a few seconds and started basting it with all of the fat that had already rendered out of it.

 Before I knew it, the foie had shrunk in half and it was seared, and warmed throughout. I plated it atop my blueberry-sage French toast and garnished it with some blueberry compote that I had leftover in my freezer. Since the foie is super rich, I sprinkled some minced lemon zest on top just to cut through some of the fat and keep your palate fresh and clean. Our forks slid right through the warm foie and each buttery bite dissolved on our tongues. Classically Foie Gras is served with Sauternes, which is a French sweet, dessert wine. 

We opened a half bottle of Muscat de Saint Jean de Minervois or otherwise known as the poor man’s Sauternes. Just as syrupy and delicious but for a fraction of the cost. This dessert wine is served chilled, and it perfect to pair with belt-poppinly rich foods such as foie gras and Roquefort blue cheese. It is made from the Muscat blanc grape and is full bodied and sweet.

There are tons of beautiful flavors or ripe apricots, mangos, quince, and honey. It looks like a bottle of melted 24 carat gold and the finish is long and luxurious. I don’t know what filled me up more, the Muscat or the foie, but we definitely needed some time before I started our main course. Just when you thought I couldn’t make anything more intense than a foie gras appetizer, John Dewars runs a special on two pound Wagyu beef “long bone” chops! Obviously, I couldn’t pass that up so I grabbed one for myself and a more human-like steak for Siobhan.

Wagyu is one of the most flavorful grades of beef because it’s fattened and lazy, making the meat intensely marbled with flavorful fat. The cow’s diet consists of chestnuts and beer which I guess is a little bit better than corn through a tube. I obviously didn’t want to mess around with the magnificent flavors of the beef, so I simply seasoned it with salt and cracked black pepper and I rolled the bone in tin foil so that it wouldn’t burn on the grill. While I seared this giant sledge hammer, I went inside and made a quick goat cheese mashed potatoes with a sprinkle of chives. I cooked the long bone to medium and plopped it down with a mountain of mashed. I opened a bottle of 2008 Orin Swift’s The Prisoner because it it has enough raw power to stand up to this massive chop.

The red blend consists of primarily Zinfandel but also has traces of Cabernet, Syrah, and Petit Syrah. This is an explosion of fruit in your mouth! The ripe berries and the new French oak swarm your palate, followed by a soft tannic finish. If I didn’t have such an over the top steak on my plate, this wine would kick its ass and take its lunch money. If I was alone, I would have picked it up like a lollipop and eaten it like a Flintstone. Even Dino (I mean Gino) got to gnaw on the bone (that was the size of my forearm) after I was done with it. Yabba Dabba Do!

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.

After scouring the Internet for possible honeymoon destinations, an image of the Greek Islands was stuck in my head all day. A gorgeous view from a balcony, surrounded by ivory walls overlooking crystal clear waters inspired me to make some Mediterranean fare. I picked up some lamb loin chops and baby lamb lollipops from the store and brought them home to spice them up.

 The lamb lollipops come from the rack and the loin chops look like mini T-bone steaks. Grilled lamb chops really don’t need a ton of heavy seasoning because there is so much flavor in the fat and connective tissues around the bones. When that fat hits the grill and gets charred, the result is pure heaven.

 I toasted up some whole coriander seeds, which is the seed of a plant very similar to cilantro that has roots that trace back to Greece and Asia. Toasting the spices releases all of the natural oils and brings out the essential flavors and aromas. I sprinkled the chops with the coriander seeds, a few fennel seeds, and some dried chile flakes before marinating them in lots of extra virgin olive oil.

I let the chops sit, covered in the spices and oil for at least two hours to really take in all of the flavor. The coriander provides a smoky/nutty flavor, the fennel brings some anise flavor, and the chile flakes bring a touch of heat… all flavors that work nicely with lamb.

 My herb garden is overgrown and creeping up the side of the house, so it was a great time to snip off some fresh oregano and mint. With the flavors of a well dressed, Greek salad in mind, I composed a salad around the huge bushels of mint.

Lamb chops have outgrown their mint jelly from a jar companion, but still taste delicious when paired with the fresh herb. I minced up a few cloves of garlic, and shallots and combined them in a mixing bowl with the juice of three lemons and some extra virgin olive oil. I whisked it into a classic vinaigrette before I tossed in some sliced Fresno chilies (red jalapenos), pitted Kalimatta Olives, garbanzo beans, and chopped oregano.

When I think of Greek flavors, I imagine a combination of fresh, acidic, briny, and of course salty. I brought the salty element into the salad in the form of Greece’s famous cheese. Feta is a brined and cured sheeps milk cheese that is typically seen crumbled in salads.

 The feta is produced in blocks and brined and cured in a salted water. If you can, buy the fresh feta when it’s still in the water as opposed to buying it in a package. Once it’s removed from the brine it dries out quickly. At the last moment before the salad was ready to be plated, I sliced the Feta and folded it into the vinaigrette along with handfuls of fresh mint leaves.

 I piled the oily chops onto the grill and the flames began to rise. I let lamb gets a nice char on the outside before I move them out of the flame and onto a tamer side of the grill.

The toasted seeds on the exterior of the chops added some texture and wonderful licorice and woodsy aromas during the cooking process. I plated the chops “family-style” on a large platter and poured my mint and Feta salad all over them.

 A little splash of lemon zest was the finishing touch that helped wake up all the amazing Mediterranean flavors. As the chops were resting, I put a quick chill on a bottle of 2007 Hamilton Russell Pinot Noir from South Africa. I like my Pinot Noir to be served slightly below room temperature, and a good ten minutes in the fridge does the trick, especially before drinking it on the hot roofdeck.

This wine comes from Walker Bay, South Africa, which is one of the world’s most up and coming wine regions. Hamilton Russell’s Pinot is exceptionally well made and is a great food wine. Unlike fruity Oregon Pinots, this wine is big and bold, with tons of black cherry, cedar, tea and notes of Asian spices. The acidity was off the charts, which was a great compliment to my succulent lamb and wild salad. Despite the wine’s high alcohol content (14%) it was barely detectable, showing that it could put up with a few years of cellaring. The finish was full of energy, with all sorts of flavors and perfumes lingering forever.

The chops were cooked to temperature, a warm pink center, and the subtle gamey flavors were balanced with the salty Feta and the minty aftertaste. Even the slight kick from the chilies were tamed nicely by the meaty garbanzos. With a platter straight from the Greek Islands, and a beautiful Pinot Noir from South Africa, this was quite the worldly feast. If only, Greece had made it to the finals of the World Cup, hosted in Africa’s tip, this would have been the perfect fusion meal.  

Want to know why your steak tastes better at a steakhouse than when you pull it off your backyard grill? Butter. That’s all there is too it. Well… not all there is to it but for the most part, it’s all about the butter. The quality cuts of meat, liberal salting, and a dim-lit dining room also add to the steakhouse ambiance.

If plain, boring, sensiouly silky, rich butter just doesn’t cut it for you… add something to the butter to make a compound or flavored butter as I did last night. The possibilities are endless. You could add herbs, truffles, chopped porcini mushrooms, crystallized ginger, pesto, honey or even fruit. In the words of Dr. Evil… throw me a friggin’ bone here… literally. Bones have been used in cooking for centuries to flavor soups and stocks, but what’s inside a beef bone is like the Holy Grail.

Marrow is like a beef compound butter in itself. Its slimy, fatty texture and concentrated beef flavor is typically spread on toast with a sprinkle of sea salt, but also famous in the classic northern Italian dish, Osso Bucco. Humans have been eating marrow for years. Back before humans learned to hunt, they were scavengers. Cracking open bones and sucking out the marrow was a great source of protein. Diners in the 18th century even designed a long and skinny marrow spoon that is now typically seen in antique shows.

Unless you’re a vegetarian, what could be better than a gorgeous piece of beef, enhanced with a beef flavored butter? When I stopped at my butcher the other day, not only did I ask for a prime, dry aged NY Strip, but a big ol’ bag of beef bones as well.

 Most supermarkets or butchers sell bones, but sometimes they can be frozen or hidden in the back because as you can imagine, they’re not the most popular item in the meat department. The poor old lady at the check-out counter thought that I had 17 Golden Retrievers at home.

I preheated my oven to 425 degrees and threw in a tray of vertically stacked bones to roast the marrow. It only takes about twenty minutes and your kitchen will start to smell like Julia Child has been making her Beef Bourguignon all day on your stovetop. Unfortunately, I do not own marrow spoons, but it’s just as simple to turn a regular spoon backwards and fish out the marrow with the handle.

 This part isn’t for those with a weak stomach, because the insides look exactly what you’d expect the inside of a beef bone to look like. Shiny, brain-like, gelatinous blobs of hot marrow spilled out into a bowl, one by one until I had about a half cup.

I promise you that if you close your eyes and take a spoonful, the most elegant, silky, buttery bite will slowly just dissolve on your tongue. There’s something incredibly sexy about eating bone marrow, as hard as that is for some of you to grasp. The sensation is quite similar to taking a bite of rich mushroom risotto, dowsed in truffle oil. I added a stick of softened, unsalted butter, and a handful of freshly chopped rosemary to the bowl and creamed my homemade compound butter until it was all incorporated.

I set the butter aside in the refrigerator to set because it became a little bit too soft during the mixing period and ultimately I needed it to be thick enough to pipe into a hollowed out bone. In the meantime, I prepared some classic, steakhouse side dishes. The asparagus I bought had some serious girth, so I decided to peel them before I tossed them into a pot of boiling water. Most of the time, I never peel them because when they’re grilled, the outer, fibrous skin usually chars and breaks down nicely. I was going for a more delicate, elegant cooking approach last night and simply blanched them and softly sauteed them before serving.

 I also sauteed some giant trumpet mushrooms that looked like they came from level 4 of Super Mario Bros. These massive shrooms, were meaty, and earthy… a great combo withthe marrow butter. I brought my dry aged steak to room temperature and seasoned it with coarse salt and freshly cracked black pepper while I preheated my grill. Dry aged beef has two significant benefits. Natural enzymes in the meat break down the connective tissue in the muscle to make for a more tender steak, and moisture in the muscle evaporates, leaving a more concentrated beef flavor.

As you can tell, I was doing everything in my power to showcase and enhance the beef. Once my grill was too hot to hold my hand over it, I slapped the two NY Strips down on the back of the grate. Inside, I piped the roasted marrow-rosemary butter back into the bone for presentation. I garnished it with a firm, sprig of rosemary which also acted as a tool to scoop the butter out.

After the steaks were ready to come off to rest, I slathered a dollop of the compound butter on top and watched the thick butter slowly melt into the flesh. As I plated, I opened a bottle of Chateau Clairefont Margaux from the highly acclaimed 2005 vintage. Bordeaux and rich beef dishes are a cute couple. They interact so nicely with each other and enhance the flavor of one another bite after sip and sip after bite. This particular wine from the Margaux region of Bordeaux is composed of primarily Cabernet Sauvignon, with a little Merlot and Petit Verdot blended in. The nose is perfumed with dried flowers and smoke and impeccably balanced with the bright, ripe fruit of cassis.

Even though the wine is quite young for a Bordeaux, it is refined, structured and succulent. As my steak knife slid through the pink flesh like butter, the aroma of pure and simple beef was met with flavors of earthy marrow and woodsy rosemary. As the wine sat and swirled around in my glass throughout the meal, it opened up quickly and released a second serving of fruit and oak. This was one of those moments where a perfect marriage of food and wine transform a normal meal into a heavenly experience. Let’s just say, when all was said and done, we had no bones to pick with the chef.

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.