Salsa Verde or “Green Sauce” is something that is used in many different countries and cuisines. The green-ness refers to the color of the ingredients in the sauce, rather than the sustainability of the ingredients. Italian salsa verde is like a chunky pesto with the addition of capers and anchovies, while Mexican salsa verde is made from roasted tomatillos and jalapenos. Every country has their own version of “green sauce” and it’s a great way to freshen up any dish.

Consisting mainly of fresh herbs, and some type of acid, the sauce can transform a rich, hearty ingredient into a light, summery meal. With a heat wave upon us, I was craving a dinner that would satisfy my red meat craving, yet keep me from sweating and feeling gross. I decided to make my own, “not your average” salsa verde by combining different green ingredients from all different cultures. Basically this was an American Salsa Verde because it was new, fresh, and a giant melting pot of ingredients.

I started out a base of finely minced shallots and garlic. This sauce is served raw so make sure to get those knives working hard because no one wants to bite into a large piece of raw garlic. The next ingredient I tossed into my mixing bowl was edamame. Edamame is a Japanese, immature soybean that is boiled or steamed in the pod. You usually see them on the tables of sushi joints, served as an appetizer because they’re a simple snack that is packed with nutrients. They have the texture of a fresh lima bean and the color of Kermit the Frog. The next ingredient I added to the mix was some thinly sliced haricot vert; France’s elegant version of green beans.

 Haricot vert is the fancy term that the French gave to the slender, chop stick sized green beans. Unlike the American version, the haricot vert are half the size and uniformly straight. I thinly sliced the long beans and added them to the bowl to give a slightly firmer texture and flavor.

 I then rinsed off some capers (a component in the Italian salsa verde) and tossed them into the mix to bring a salty, briny pop to the sauce, along with bunches upon bunches of chopped fresh, Italian flat-leaf parsley. The parsley really brings all of the ingredients together and makes the sauce light and fresh.

 Lastly, I chopped up a handful of fresh mint to add another element of flavor and freshness. Mint is to the Greeks, what basil is to Italians… they put it in everything! I rounded out the sauce with some high quality Extra Virgin Olive Oil, fresh lemon juice, salt and pepper. I stirred it up until it reached the salsa-like consistency that I was looking for and I let it hang out on the counter for a while so that all of the flavors could meld together and meet one another.

 In the meantime, I boiled some baby Yukon Gold potatoes and tossed them with some butter and sea salt as well as prepared my skirt steak. As you have probably noticed, I eat a lot of skirt steak. It is clearly my new favorite, wallet happy, flavorful alternative to pricey rib eyes and dry aged sirloins. It looks like an accordion and is sometimes referred to as the beef diaphram.

 It comes from the “plate” section of the cow, right below the ribs of the animal. What is lacks in tenderness it makes up for big time in flavor, you just need to learn a few simple tricks in order to make it seem tender. Skirts are usually marinated, pounded, or slow-cooked to tenderize them, but simply grilling and slicing on the bias works just fine. If you picture the long, stringy grains of muscle all flowing in the same direction, you want to hold your knife perpendicularto them. Breaking up the strands by thinly slicing makes it easier to chew as opposed to a mouthful of rubber bands. I seasoned my skirts with salt, freshly cracked black pepper, and some balsamic vinegar for some sweetness. They only take a few minutes on the grill, so you really have to let your grates get glowing hot before plopping them down.

 Once the steak had some time to rest off the grill, I sliced it and poured my beautiful, bright green salsa verde all over the top. Each random component glistened in the golden olive oil and slid down the side of the skirt. I topped it with a small salad of picked whole parsley leaves, mint leaves, lemon zest and sliced Fresno chilies. The Fresnos gave the dish a touch of heat that balanced out all of the other bold flavors in the sauce. I chose to pair this steak dish with a unique wine from an up and coming growing region in the United States.

The 2007 NxNW Walla Walla Cabernet Sauvignon sounds like it would come from a place the Muppets would live, but Walla Walla is actually a grape growing appellation of the Colombia River Basin in Washington State and Oregon. The NxNW stands for North by Northwest, and is a collaborative project created by four distinct wine makers who are blending grapes from different plots of land in the area.

The idea is to focus on a single grape varietal and showcase the different ways it is affected when grown in different terriors. It’s a perfect wine for this “not your average” salsa verde because just like the sauce, it has Cabernet grapes that were grown in all different vineyards blended together to create something magical. Of all the wines, I have ever seen, NxNW hands down has the most informative label. It has everything from the select vineyard sites and percentage of grapes from each, to the type of soil and dates of harvest. The wine was a dark purple color and surprisingly chewy for a low alcohol Cab. It was apparent that the fruit was the main focus in this wine.

Cherry, plums, and black raspberries flood your palate with hints of oak and roasted red peppers. After the third or fourth sip, the wine opens up and takes on a sharp cola flavor. The intense fruit played nicely with the char from the grill and the tannins were smooth enough not to overpower the light salsa verde. Thankfully we weren’t eating outside on deck in the 100 degree heat because this wine was big… too big to drink when sweating through your clothes, but perfect with this dish in the air conditioning.

Last week, I had a few friends over for a family style dinner including my friend Dave who recently moved to Chicago. I wanted to make something that had a connection to his new city and to the unforgettable, family-style Italian dinners thrown by his grandfather… some of my earliest food memories. Growing up with Dave was great, because every so often he’d call me up and say, “hey… want to go eat at Pa’s”? It was one of the most exciting events of the year.

If you’re eating at Pa’s… you better bring your appetite because there is never any shortage of food. We would roll into his Italian Cantina, or private basement kitchen with six hungry guys, and he’d have enough to serve twenty. The entire industrial range would be swarmed with pots and pans, filled with homemade sauces that had been simmering for what seemed like days.

Platters of Italian cold cuts, antipasti, and freshly baked bread covered the giant oak table in the heart of the kitchen. The smell of his signature Amatriciana sauce catches your nose, he greets you with a smile and a hug, and instantly you feel like part of the family. Pa is an amazing cook but when I think back on the countless feasts I’ve endured in his kitchen, it’s not the amazing food that sticks out in my mind.

 Rather, it’s his demeanor in the kitchen. He is an entertainer, and you can see it in his eyes, he truly loves having everyone around. His generous warmth and love for sitting down at the table and eating, laughing, and drinking together is so apparent. Pa’s Cantina is definitely where my love for cooking and entertaining developed. Being around family and friends and watching them eat and enjoy your food is one of the most rewarding feelings for me.

No wonder Pa would plop another bowling ball-size meatball on my plate, even after I loosened my belt. Now that Dave was stopping by, it was my chance to recreate that family-style dinner feel in my own kitchen.

 It appears that Dave brought some of the windy city with him to Boston, because the monsoon-like conditions outside made a slow cooked meal sound even more enticing. When I think about Chicago cuisine, it’s all about the sausage. From Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago, to Upton Sinclair’s shocking novel, The Jungle, about the citys’ meat packing district.

 I immediately ran over to the Butcher Shop in the South End to pick up a few links. The Butcher Shop makes their homemade sausage the old school way. They buy whole hogs, grind up the pork and spices, and pipe the mixture into the natural casings… absolutely delicious!

I love that they link the sausages together they way you’d see them hanging in a storefront in Italy, or toying with a dog in an old Tom & Jerry cartoon. I brought the links home and hung them from my kitchen cabinet where they dangled away like a savory wind chime. I wanted to keep everything whole, and rustic, all roasting away together in one pan so I didn’t do much to my ingredients.

I gave my roasted tomato sauce a simple base of garlic and shallots, which I smashed, and sliced. I set my oven to 350 degrees and the stage was set. I pulled out my giant roasting pan, big enough to fit a suckling pig, and gave the smashed cloves and sliced shallots a head start in the oven. I wanted to ensure that the sweetness of roasted garlic and caramelized shallots came through in my sauce. Once they obtained a rich caramel color to them, I tossed in three dozen vine ripe, cherry tomatoes that were about the size of a Titleist Pro V1.

 Roasting whole tomatoes in the oven brings a whole new flavor to the ballgame. It’s so much different than making a sauce from a can because you’re using fresh tomatoes that pop, wilt, and stew in their own natural juices. When you throw in a few other simple ingredients, like shallots, garlic, and fresh herbs the result is comfort food at its finest.

After the tomatoes had popped and softened up, I took the pan from the oven and gently pressed down on them with my tongs, just to release the rest of the liquid. I placed the entire chain of links right into the roasting pan along with some fresh rosemary, oregano and thyme that I snipped from my garden. Back in the oven it went, where we could forget about it for an hour, giving us more time to catch up. The woodsy aromas of the fresh herbs and sweet garlic filled the kitchen as we poured some more wine and hung out over the stove. Typically, you wouldn’t think to use such strong herbs such as rosemary and oregano in a tomato sauce, but in this case, the dish is hearty and rustic. Save the basil for the delicate marinara sauce.

As the sausages roast in the bed of tomatoes, they release their flavorful pork fat drippings into the pan and add another element to the sauce. When the links were cooked through, I removed the pan one last time and finished the sauce with a healthy glug of 25 year old Balsamico. The syrupy vinegar adds more depth and sweetness as well as some striking acidity to help cut through the pork fat. I dumped the sauce onto a platter, and gave everyone a plate and a tear of chewy bread. The skins of the sausage were nice and crispy, perfectly encasing the moist, juicy meat. That signature “pop” of every bite made me smile. The sauce was packed with flavor, totally deserving an equally special wine.

I opened a bottle of 2004 Col D’Orcia Brunello di Montalcino, a wine that I have a special connection with. During my first trip to Italy in 2001, my family visited the small town of Montalcino and got a chance to swing by the hillside, Col D’Orcia estate. There we met with the winemaker, and got a tour of the facility followed by an amazing lunch on the back porch. We were privileged to be able to taste the highly acclaimed 1997 Brunellos before they were even released to the United States. Spending four hours at the table with my entire family, throughout a twelve course meal in the heart of Tuscany wasn’t a bad afternoon. Brunello translates to “nice dark one”, in the local dialect and is the unofficial clone of the Sangiovese grape. It is known as the King of Tuscany due to it’s complexity, power, and price tag.

 Brunellos are often compared to the fine Pinot Noirs of Burgundy because of their smooth tannins, and ripe, fruit driven character. The wine is a deep ruby color, with loads of plum and raspberry fruit, impeccably balanced with slight nuances of oak. The tannins are so smooth, that the wine just rolls off your tongue as masterfully as the Italian language. The wine’s striking acidity makes it food friendly and inviting. As most great Tuscan wines do, this Brunello has faint aromas of cherries and fresh herbs, and a sneaky licorice taste on the finish. This mini family-style feast would make Snooki and the cast of the Jersey Shore jealous…. and the Brunello is far better than Ron-Ron Juice. We even had a slight “Situation” when I burnt my arm on the roasting pan, and I dropped my camera into the bubbling, hot sauce (thank God I bought the warranty). Just like in Pa’s Cantina, it wasn’t about the food we ate or the wine we drank, it was all about the great company we did it in.

The closest I’ve come to Hawaii is spending a week at the Disney Polynesian Resort, where I got up on stage and learned to hula dance as a four year old. I have always wanted to go to Hawaii but over the years, my reasons for making the trek have changed. Growing up, I was intrigued by the volcanoes and amazing beaches, but now I find myself completely captivated by the islands’ diverse cuisine.

The wild ingredients, fresh fish, and cooking techniques all seem to be a fusion of cuisines brought together by multiethnic immigrants over the years, particularly American, Asian, and Portuguese. One of the most traditional Hawaiian dishes is a kalua pig which is the equivalent to what we know as a pig roast. The kalua pig is typically the star of a Luau and it’s wrapped in banana leaves and slow roasted underground.

I wasn’t breaking out the jackhammer in Southie and digging myselff a hole in the sidewalk, so I tried to create a pork dish that would show off some of Hawaii’s contrasting flavor profiles. I love the balance that they use between sweet and spicy, and most of their traditional recipes have great contrasting textures.

I decided to slow roast a pork tenderloin, which is the tender, most delicate part of a pig. That sounds kind of strange referring to a fat animal that snorts around in its own poop as delicate, but believe me, when a pork tenderloin is not overcooked, it melts in your mouth. Why do you think you grew up smothering your pork in apple sauce? Well for one, pork and apples taste great together (as do most fruits), but also because it was overcooked. I remember chewing my grey pork for days at the dinner table, fighting to swallow even the smallest bites.

Now a days, we don’t have to cook our “other white meat” as we do chicken, because we know where our pigs come from, and what they eat. Pork should have a slight pink hue to it in order to remain juicy. Instead of apples, I decided to use plums as my fruit to compliment the pig. I seasoned the plums with Chinese Five Spice, which is a staple in Hawaiian cuisine and now one of my new favorite “reach for” spices in my cupboard.

It’s a blend of dried star anise, cloves, cinnamon, ginger, and fennel seeds. It’s very aromatic and Christmas-sy. I sprinkled it generously on top of my raw plums and then gave it a zest of fresh tangerine peel before I threw it into my oven to roast.

Roasting the plums brings out the natural sugars and juices, forming a sticky, sweet sauce that oozes out of every slice. The spice mix and citrus zest combined with the sweet fruit would have been a killer dessert with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

I also made a paste in the food processor of garlic, fresh ginger root, and tons of macadamia nuts. This was going to act as my crust over the tenderloin as it roasts, to infuse flavors, add texture, and keeping the pig moist. I turned my oven way down to 300 degrees and let the pork cook slowly and gently. As the paste started to roast, the sweet garlic and spicy ginger perfumed the kitchen as the buttery nuts turned golden brown.

Thankfully, the tenderloin was cooking in a low oven because there were plenty of other steps involved to create this Hawaiian feast. I actually learned how to make sticky sushi rice for the first time. Surprise… it’s very similar to making regular rice except it’s extremely sticky. I stuck my fingers in to taste whether or not it was over cooked and I pulled my hand out covered in white specks. Most of Hawaii’s meals are served over a simple patty of rice so my goal was to form this ball without making a huge mess.

I failed miserably and found small kernels of rice stuck all over my body (don’t itch your face when rolling sushi rice). Siobhan rinsed her hands in rice wine vinegar which completely wiped all of the stickyness away. I also made a pineapple-habanero sauce to drizzle over the juicy roast and add a slight kick to the meal. I started off by sauteing some shallots in butter along with a halved habanero chili and some cubes of fresh pineapple.

As the fiery chili roasted, you could smell the sweetness in the skin, and the burning fire in your nostrils. I tamed some of the heat with a glug of honey before I pureed the sauce. It was quite ironic drizzling the sauce over the plate because it actually looked like a thin applesauce.

When my internal meat thermometer read 145 degrees, I pulled my roast from the oven and let it rest. The meat is still cooking even though it’s out of the oven, so a ten minute nap will bring the meat up five degrees. I thinly sliced the delicate tenderloin trying to keep the crumbly, nutty crust in tact. I plated a few slabs on top of the sushi rice and adorned it with the pineapple-habanero sauce and a few slices of roasted five spice plums. I paired this Hawaiian meal with a German Riesling from esteemed producer Dr Loosen.

The 2007 Dr Loosen Ursiger Wurzgarten Kabinett from Mosel is a terrific wine with Asian cuisine and spicy food (I just spent 20 minutes trying to find out how to get those cool, German dots of punctuation over the “U’s” on Wordpress with little success) Typically, you’ll see most pork dishes paired with medium bodied, fruity reds like Malbec, but in this case the pig is delicate and has lots of spicy flavors swarming around your palate. At around 8% alcohol, this Riesling is rather sweet, but not overly syrupy like some dessert wines.

The grapes are grown in red clay soil at a wicked high elevation creating a clean, minerally wine. The nose is spicy and fruity with an odor that smells like frozen honey. There is tons of acidity, with flavors of lime and tropical fruit. The touch of sweetness helps calm the heat in the sauce and wakens all of the flavors in the spice rub. I have never quite experienced an earthy white wine, but I can truly taste hints of the soil in the finish despite how crisp and refreshing the acidity is.

The juicy pork melted in your mouth and the crispy Macadamia nut crust was loaded with roasted garlic and ginger flavors. Hawaii is also famous for SPAM… ground pork in a can, which this dish was the polar opposite of. The pig was definitely still the star, but when dressed with all types of flavors from different cuisines it brought it to a whole new level… so good that I was tempted to break out the hula moves that Minnie taught me 23 years ago.

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.

Robert Atkins eat your heart out! Carb-phobic consumers, cover your eyes. This whopping mouthful of an appetizer is my submission in Davio’s Boston’s Spring Roll Creation Contest. Davio’s is famous for their Philly Cheese Steak Spring Roll, which my tastebuds first got the pleasure of devouring six years ago at Spinazola, a foodie-centric Boston fundraiser. Since then, reminiscing that magical experience has led me to their downtown restaurant, and urged me to wolf down about fifteen during halftime at Gillette Stadium. These spring rolls are everywhere!

I stumbled upon this exciting contest on Facebook last week and noticed that I only had one night left to submit my recipe. My competitive nature led me to the Super 88 Asian Market in search of spring roll pastry dough because I wasn’t going down without making them for real in my own kitchen. The winner gets their spring roll creation on the Davio’s menu along side the gold medal winner from Philly.

Trying to stay within the same “comfort food” genre that Davio’s spring rolls fall into, I decided to give Vietnam a taste of the Deep South. Good old fashioned, homemade macaroni and cheese was the poison that I picked to become gift wrapped and fried. In the past, I have made several versions of homemade macaroni and cheese but I wanted to stick with something basic for this contest. I started by creating a light roux (equal parts butter and flour) whisked over medium heat to act as the base for my cheese sauce.

 Once the flour taste is cooked out, and a golden blonde paste is formed in the bottom of the pan, I poured in my milk and kept my forearm busy whisking away. The three cheeses I picked were Gruyere, Fontina, and Parmigiano-Reggiano because they are amazing melting cheeses, and they all have distinct, pungent flavors.

The Gruyere is funky and creamy, the Fontina is sharp, and the Parm is nutty and salty. I slowly added all three cheeses into my Bechemel and let them melt away and thicken the sauce. After everything was incorporated, and I needed to put yellow police tape up around my stovetop to keep me away from licking the spoon, I boiled my pasta.

I chose Ditalini because it was a micro-macaroni, perfect for stuffing inside of a spring roll wrapper. Once the mini tubes were al dente, I drained them and tossed them into the bubbling cauldron of cheese sauce. I was tempted to grab a fork and dig in, but this was a competition and I needed all the product that I made to practice my rolling technique.

Spring Roll pastry is different from spring roll wrappers, which I learned the hard way, after Siobhan came home with the transparent rice noodles. The transparent variety is typically eaten raw and stuffed with seafood and julienned vegetables, but in southern Vietnam, the deep fried pastry is more common.

 I finally found them, tucked away in the frozen section of the market and thawed them out on my countertop. To keep the pastry moist, I topped it with a clean, damp kitchen towel, which helped prevent the sheets from cracking.

These sheets are paper thin, and need to be peeled away one by one while you’re rolling them up. I gently brushed them with egg wash, which acts as a glue, and dropped a handful of macaroni and cheese in the center of the square. I made sure that I let the mac and cheese cool down before rolling them because the heat wouldn’t be good for the delicate pastry. Pinching, rolling, tucking, and folding… roll after roll until I reached my capacity and figured I’d have a heart attack if I made one more. I felt like I was smuggling pasta from a buffet into my neatly folded handkerchief.

 Once my makeshift deep fryer full of vegetable oil came to temperature, I started dropping these cigar-like tubes of deliciousness in one by one. The frying process was long and grueling, but my skin, and kitchen survived the trauma. I dissected my test victim and sliced it in half, revealing a gorge of flowing cheese sauce and a perfect bisection of tiny noodles. 

Threre wasn’t even enough time to blow on it to cool it down, before my brain told me to dive right in and take a bite. They were like Russian Matryoshka dolls of fried cheese… cylinders inside cylinders of mouthwatering, cheesy, euphoria. Just to add an orgasmic punch to the appetizer, Siobhan separated some eggs, and made a quick aioli laced with tons of white truffle oil. The three cheeses alone were something to ogle about, but when dipped in the aromatic truffle sauce, it was time to bring out the bibs. The crispy, thin skin of the spring roll wrapper was the perfect vessel to hold this down home, comfort classic.

 I ate two spring rolls and then took a break to watch some t.v, but I kept finding myself sneaking back into the kitchen for more carb on carb lovin’. I would pair this dish with a dry, crisp Sauvignon Blanc and a trip to the cardiologist. You will need a fresh wine, with triumphant acidity to cut through the richness in this spring roll. The other Davio’s fans have some great ideas, so it will be a true test to see if these fried, steakhouse sides hold up in the spring roll battle. Win or lose, I now have my go-to appetizer recipe for the start of the 2010 Patriots season.

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.

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.