Lamb is a meat that some conservative eaters shy away from. Anchovies are an ingredient that most conservative eaters run away from. Put them together; magic! Lamb tends to have slight gamey, funky, earthy notes in it’s flesh and fat, somewhat resembling a dry-aged steak.

Anchovies blow the roof off the umami factory. I made a thick puree of anchovies packed in olive oil, garlic, rosemary, and Dijon mustard. I massaged the goopey, brown paste into a gorgeous rack of lamb and let it marinate in the fridge overnight so that the flavors could penetrate.

As soon as the meat came back down to room temperature I roasted it whole in a hot oven so that the crust would form while the garlic-anchovy mixture caramelized. You could smell the fat dripping away and the pungent flavors sweetening in the oven.

The previous day, I took all of my leftover ramps, or wild leeks, and made a pesto that was intensely perfumed and naturally spicy. I also roasted some baby potatoes and fried some shallots to add a bit of crunch to my dish.

For an added treat, I pickled some brown and yellow mustard seeds, which after only a few hours start to soak up the pickling liquid. They plump up and still have a slight pop to them, kind of resembling caviar; a mustard caviar that is as funky as the rest of the plate.

When the lamb was rare, I pulled it from the oven and let it rest on the cutting board for at least fifteen minutes. If you cut into the rack too early, all of the delicious juices will run onto your cutting board. You need to let the juices redistribute before slashing into it.

The crusty fat cap was loaded with flavor and the center of the chops were pink and juicy. I plated them atop the ramp pesto, with roasted potatoes, crispy shallots, shaved radish, and the pickled mustard caviar. It was definitely a funky plate but everything worked very well together.

I served this with the 2011 Belle Glos Clark & Telephone Vineyard Pinot Noir from Santa Barbara, California. This wine is a fruit-driven Pinot with loads of intense, blackberry, blueberry, and warm cherry pie offset by a toasty backbone with notes of cinnamon and nutmeg. It’s got enough weight and structure to hold up to these intensely-infused chops and just the right amount of funk to compliment it.

A pairing of land and sea proved to be a match made in umami heaven. And to all those “anti-anchovy” people out there, you would never know this dish contained anchovies if I didn’t tell you (which in most cases holds true to any dish containing anchovies). They’re actually really good for you too!

Ramps are like a long-distance girlfriend who you fell in love with but then she quickly moved to Europe to persue her modeling career, only to return home once a year to her loved ones. After a while you start to forget what she looks like. The phone calls become less frequent. You don’t check her Facebook page as often as you used to. During the dog days of summer, and through the long, blistery winter nights, you start hanging out with her friends, the Spanish yellow onion, and the leeks, more and more. Soon enough, your European crush is just an afterthought and the idea of ever holding her in your arms again has slipped from your brain. Then the snow melts, and just when you thought she had met some handsome guy in Paris, she tweets at your in the middle of the night saying that she’s boarding a flight back to New England #can’twaittoseeyou! . Flush with emotion you jump out of bed and head to the airport. As soon as her green scarf pops out of the terminal doorway you remember just how beautiful she is. You give her a big hug and a kiss, rinse her under cold running water, and wipe the dirt from in between her tender leaves. She reeks of delicate garlic and sweet, sensual Spring onions. You grind her up, you roast her, you eat her raw. Gently caressing her frail leaves and gnawing on her delicious bulbs. You simply cannot get enough of her. Three times a day at least; breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Hot and heavy for about a week, and just when you start to feel like this is how it was meant to be all along, POOF! She’s gone again. Packed up her shit in the middle of the night and took a red eye back to London.

Allium tricoccum; a ramp or a wild leek native to Europe. These delicacies only emerge from deeply rooted soil once a year in early Spring.

They last about two weeks and then they’re gone until next year. They’re the ultimate tease.

When I see them at the market, I buy everything that I can. If I somehow can’t use all of them fast enough, I’ll pickle them for later. You do not want to close-talk me from about April 25-May 10th; my ramp breath is usually on a rampage despite how much mouthwash I drink.

It comes out of your pores! Aside from being beautiful, their fusion of sweet garlic and pungent scallion flavor is remarkable.

I grill them, roast them, slice them raw in salads, make ramp pesto, pickle them, and even use the tops as a mop to baste large hunks of pork on the grill. The other day I popped into Siena Farms and they had flatbread shells, tons of wild mushrooms and a massive bucket of ramps.

I grabbed handfuls of oyster, maitake, and shiitake mushrooms, the ramps, and a bunch of wild scallions that were about two feet long.

Since the flatbread shells were par-cooked, all I had to do was top them and blast them in the oven briefly to finish cooking. As the base for my discs, I spread a thin layer of fresh, goats milk ricotta cheese from Vermont on the dough.

Then I sprinkled the roasted mushrooms that I chopped up, sauteed ramps, raw ramps, and raw scallions. I finished the flatbreads off by cracking a farm fresh egg directly into the little nest I created with the ramp “twigs”.

I blasted them off for about 8 minutes in a 550 degree oven. After about 4 minutes the entire kitchen perfumed with onions and garlic. As soon as the dough was crispy and the egg was softly cooked I pulled the pizza from the oven and sliced it on the cutting board.

I finished it off with more sliced ramps, scallions and a burst of fresh lemon zest. We climbed up to the roofdeck with an ice-cold bottle of Chateau d’Esclans Whispering Angel Rose’ from Provence.

Probably one of the most well-known of the Rose’ family thanks to owner and marketing genious, Sacha Lichine. If you have a yacht in San Tropez of have been to Nantucket in the summer, you’re familiar with Whispering Angel.

It’s more popular than whale belts and boat shoes in those parts. It’s light pink in color and exudes intense aromas of strawberries and watermelon, but finishes clean and dry on the palate with notes of tea and white pepper.

It’s the ultimate Spring wine and it tastes great under the warm sun with a bite of ramp-engulfed pizza dough sopped up with a golden, runny yolk.

The pungent flavors of the onions, some of which were fresh, and some of which were charred and bitter, balanced with the creaminess of the ricotta. The wild mushrooms added some earthy flair to the flatbreads and the yolks just made it that much sexier.

Get your ramp cravings in now because in the blink of an eye, she’ll be gone for the summer.

]]> http://www.rooftopgourmet.com/chicken/ramp-and-mushroom-flatbread-with-wild-scallions-and-farm-egg/feed/ 0 http://www.rooftopgourmet.com/pork/grilled-oysters-with-boston-baked-bean-butter-clams-escabeche-a-la-new-england-clam-chowder/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=grilled-oysters-with-boston-baked-bean-butter-clams-escabeche-a-la-new-england-clam-chowder http://www.rooftopgourmet.com/pork/grilled-oysters-with-boston-baked-bean-butter-clams-escabeche-a-la-new-england-clam-chowder/#comments Fri, 26 Apr 2013 02:51:54 +0000 Mike http://www.rooftopgourmet.com/?p=7248

There’s no question that Boston has been through a lot this past week. I simply cannot fathom what the victims and their families are going through and my prayers go out to them. One thing that I do know is that Bostonians are resilient.

After taking a massive punch on Marathon Monday, the entire city jumped to their feet and rallied behind one another. It is truly inspiring to hear stories of first responders, civilians, medical staff, local police, and the selfless individuals who have helped raised money, donated blood, or stepped outside of their daily routines to help make another life better.

Marathon Monday will always have special meaning to me, but now it just got more intense; now it’s about Boston pride.

Ironically, I am moving out of the city in just a few weeks, but I couldn’t feel more attached. I created this post as a way to pay homage to the my favorite city in the world and to its deep-rooted history; even culinary history.

When you think about certain dishes or foods that are truly ‘Boston’, clam chowdah and baked beans are at the top of that list.

In the 1700′s, Boston was involved in the exportation of rum in certain trade routes. Molasses is a key ingredient in the rum distillation process and was commonly housed in the city.

Molasses is exactly what makes typical baked beans ‘Boston’. Settlers would add the dark, syrupy sweetener to the pot of baked beans and let it stew overnight to be served with brown bread on Sundays.

Clam chowder is one of the city’s oldest dishes, served 250 years ago at Ye Olde Union Oyster House.

Now it was about 70 degrees and sunny this past Wednesday, when I started brainstorming this blog. The last thing I felt like eating was a big pot of baked beans and bowls of steaming clam chowder so I put my own spin on these two Boston classics; something that I could enjoy on the roofdeck with a cold glass of Rose’ or maybe a few beers.

I grabbed a couple dozen of the largest, local oysters I could find along with a dozen Mahogany Littleneck clams. Shellfish is my go-to when it starts to get warm out.

There’s nothing like sucking back a few bivalves under the glaring sun; it reminds me of dodging waves, up to my neck in ocean on the shores of Cape Cod. I did a quick rinse on some Navy Beans and got them stewing early in the morning with hunks of smoky bacon, brown sugar, stock, and of course the “Sweet Sassy Molassy”.

Almost instantly when the sugars started to caramelize the kitchen was perfumed with sugar and pork. I felt like I was prepping food at Plymouth Plantation. As for the clams, I decided to create a chilled version of New England Clam Chowder in a single bite.

I poached the clams just until they opened and quickly transferred them to an ice bath to stop the cooking. In a separate pot, I sweated down some aromatics that you’d typically start a chowder off with; onion, celery, garlic, black peppercorn and bay leaves. I hit that pot with a shot of dry white wine and let the alcohol burn off.

Once I was happy with the flavoring, I quickly chilled the acidic mixture in the pot and used it to marinate my clams in. Escabeche is a technique that was used before refrigeration because it not only preserves seafood, it also imparts flavor via marination.

The littleneck clams sat in this winey, herbaceous concoction until right before I was ready to plate. I cleaned out the shells to use as serving vessels and prepped some other chowder components for garnish. I removed the clams after about five hours and tossed them in some creme fraiche and lemon juice before spooning them back into their shells.

The creme fraiche acted as the dairy aspect of a chowder. I topped each clam with some crispy bacon, diced potato, and chive. It was a little chilled chowder soup in every bite.

When the beans were mahogany in color and packed with flavor, I cooled some of the cooking liquid and beans and added it to some softened butter. I made a compound Boston Baked Bean butter that I rolled into a pipe and froze until I was ready to hit the grill.

The cross-section of the butter log was pretty cool looking with individual beans actually sliced in half. The butter was rich, sweet, and salty and it was ready to top a steaming oyster. I tossed the bivalves on the grates and waited until they started to squeal and steam.

One after another the lids began to pop off like mini jack-in-the-boxes. I quickly removed the top shell and tossed a healthy hunk of compound butter in each one and you could smell the sweet, roasting sugars caramelizing with the briny oyster liqueur.

Once they were cool enough to devour, the feast began. As intense as the Boston Baked Bean juices were, they didn’t overpower the extra-large oysters that were still plump and juicy. I’m always an advocate of pork and shellfish, but this combination of smoky pork, sweet molasses, and briny, salty oysters was remarkable.

The clams were refreshing and intense, with the buttery potato cubes and the salty bacon working in harmony with the creamy and acidic creme fraiche and the sweet clam.

People are saying that they want to forget about what happened last week. I don’t. I don’t ever want to forget what happened last week because I have never been more proud of my city as I have today. We got knocked down, but what happened after that shows our true colors. I want to talk about tradition. I want to talk about pride. I want to talk about strength and togetherness. I want to talk about what this city was built on fundamentally, mentally, and spiritually. The type of stuff that has made Bostonians who they are today. I understand that in the grand scheme of things, beans and clams aren’t as important as news about homemade tourniquets and true heroes. But Boston culture was built on peasant dishes such as these. Dishes deeply-rooted in the city’s history that deserve mention. I am so proud of my city, and of the selfless people that I pass everyday on the streets. I wish I could feed them all.

*I will be running the 2014 Boston Marathon to raise money for a great charity, and to show my support and pride for the greatest city in the world. #BostonStrong

Last week, while driving home from work, I had an epiphany while eating a fruit cup. I rummaged through the melon and strawberries and went knuckle-deep into bottom of the quart container to dig out my favorite fruit; the golden nuggets of pineapple.

Before tossing them down the hatch, I noticed that the tops of the chunks were stained bright red from resting below the strawberries. For some strange reason, it got me thinking about natural dyes extracted from fruit.

I had heard about using natural dyes to stain yarn, or cloth, but why not use it to change the color of other foods? It must impart some flavor as well as just a coloring effect right?

The rest of the drive home, I started racking my brain as how to incorporate the color and flavor of strawberries into a dish. It was somewhat of a far-fetched science experiment, but there are some natural flavors that work well with strawberries, so I used that as my starting point.

The first real experiment was to see how much color and flavor you could actually impart onto another food. I picked up some fresh scallops because they are relatively neutral in color and flavor. They were the guinea pigs for my strawberry experiment.

I covered the fresh strawberries in water and let it simmer for about fifteen minutes until the liquid was bright red and the actual berries had turned opaque. It was shocking to see how dark the liquid actually turned.

Next it was time to see how dark this natural dye actually turned the scallops. I let the liquid cool down completely and I steeped some fresh ginger and black peppercorns in it before adding my raw scallops.

To my surprise, even after the first five minutes, the bright white shellfish had been stained a soft pink color.

I decided to throw the bowl into the fridge and forget about it for a couple of hours. Sure enough, I returned a few hours later and it was like dying Easter Eggs.

My scallops were bright red in color! I was so curious how much they would taste like strawberries. It kind of reminded me of how winemakers produce Rose’ wines. The length of contact from the skins of the grapes with the juice determines the degree of pink hue in the wine, but it also imparts body and flavor.

Now, because I didn’t want the scallops to be one dimensional, I decided to roast them on a cedar plank with hopes that it would infuse some toasty, smoky flavors along with the sweet strawberry notes.

As soon as the scallops were cooked through, I brought them inside to see how they tasted. Despite being bright red in color, the actual flavor of strawberry wasn’t as prominent as the visual but it was definitely there and it married nicely with the cedar notes.

In Italy, fresh strawberries are paired with aged Balsamic Vinegar so I tried to incorporate that marriage in the dish. I served the scallops on some fregola grains with some basil pesto and some pork liver pate’ topped with a strawberry-Thai basil salsa. A sticky drizzle of 20 year aged Balsamico tied both parties together.

The slight sweetness of the berries and the balsamic was a nice touch with the rich pate’ and the basil pesto was nutty and worked nicely with the scallop. Aside from being ascetically pleasing, the flavors actually worked very well together. I served this little first course with some fresh Rose’ of course.

The 2012 Sascha Lichine Rose’ is part of the Chateau d’Eclans family who also makes the more famous, Whispering Angel Rose’. It’s not as bone dry as the Whispering Angel, and it has notes of fresh strawberries and white pepper. It was a refreshing sip after a bombardment of intense flavors.

Cooking a whole duck can be frustrating because everything cooks at different rates, and the texture of the breasts is quite different from that of the legs; not to mention the copious amounts of fat.

If you can separate the breasts and the legs, then you’re in good shape.

I picked up a whole duck the other day, and decided to make a duck pho; a traditional Vietnamese broth and noodle dish made from beef or chicken. I was inspired by a pho made by Ming Tsai at a recent wine dinner that I attended at his flagship restaurant, Blue Ginger.

The broth was so rich and aromatic that I couldn’t wait to tackle my own pho at home. To make the broth is simple, all you really need is time.

I took the carcass and roasted it in a hot oven to caramelize the bones and then tossed it into the giant pot with carrots, onions, celery, ginger, and some chilies. I covered everything with cold water and brought it up to a simmer while I prepared my little satchel of spices.

Traditional pho spices are star anise, fennel seed, cinnamon sticks, cardamon pods, peppercorns, and cloves. I wrapped these aromatic spices up in a wad of cheese cloth and tied it off like a dumpling with butchers twine.

As soon as the satchel became saturated in the warm water the scent in the kitchen began to intensify like mouthwatering potpourri. Other than occasionally skimming impurities from the surface of the pot, there isn’t much else to do but wait for your broth to be ready.

I took all of the excess skin and fat from the duck and slowly rendered out the fat for later use. I also cooked the legs confit (completely submerged in fat at low temperatures) to serve on the side of my pho.

As for the breasts, I wrapped them in plastic wrap and threw them in the freezer. Without an industrial slicer at home, I had to get the breasts nice and firm so that I can slice them as thin as possible.

My plan was to serve the sliced breasts raw on top of the pho, so that as soon as it hits the scalding broth, they cook with just a few swirls of the chopsticks. As the broth marathon kept bubbling along, I prepped my toppings for my pho by picking cilantro and Thai basil leaves, and slicing green onions and Thai chilies.

I even opened a bottle of 2009 Domaine Grand Veneur ‘Clos de Sixte’ Lirac from the Rhone Valley, France. Even upon first sniff, I knew that this wine would be a killer pairing for the dish because of it’s bold cherry, toasty spice, and licorice bouquet.

It’s Grenache based with hints of Syrah and Mouvedre, deep brick red in color and it’s loaded with complex charcoal, espresso, black truffle and Chinese Five Spice notes.

As with the broth, there are layers and layers of flavor in every single sip of this wine. Highly touted by Robert Parker, this wine is an excellent choice with duck or any food for that matter. Fast-forward about five hours and my broth was dark yet crystal-clear.

I had skimmed and strained it multiple times so that I could see the bottom of the pot through the sea of extreme flavor. I seasoned it with fish sauce, salt, soy and some lime juice to make sure it was up to par and ready for the noodles.

I grabbed some packets of rice noodles that I dropped into a separate pot of boiling water. They cooked very quickly and I transferred the correct portions to the bowls.

I ladled the steaming duck broth over the top and began layering my toppings. Aromatics, chilies and been sprouts in a large pile and when the cilantro and Thai basil hit the surface of the liquid, their essential oils just intensified the flavor even further.

I sliced my frozen duck breast paper thin and let it thaw on a plate to the side of my bowl, adding a few slices at a time and watching the color change from bright red to light brown.

The noodles were thin and slippery and they smacked off our cheeks as we twirled our chopsticks over the giant bowl. Our faces were moist with steam and our noses were running from the subtle heat of the chilies. The aromatic spices reminded me of hovering over a cup of strong tea and I couldn’t stop slurping despite the hot broth burning my mouth.

The breast meat was so delicate like thinly sliced sashimi. It was completely addictive and completely delicious. After experiencing our first pho session at home, it’s definitely something that we will do in the future. We even had tons of leftover broth

for later in the week where we used the confit duck legs instead of the breasts.

Last weekend I ate at Westbridge in Cambridge and ordered the Braised Lamb Neck for two. I was climbing vertebrae like a culinary soldier, stuffing hunks of succulent meat and fat into my face.

On Tuesday, I did a wine dinner at Blue Ginger in Wellesley and Chef Ming Tsai did a lamb roulade; the most impressive part? He took the bones, still scrapped with shards of meat, fat, and connective tissue and deep-fried them and then tossed them in chilies and honey.

He served a platter of “bones” family style for us to go Homo Sapien on, sucking, ripping, and chewing the remaining bits off of every inch.

Put 50 of those bad boys infront of me with some ice cold beer and I’m a happy man. Blue Dragon bar snack??? hopefully. Inspired to make a lamb dish to compliment the 50-degree and sunny forecast I set out to find some spare lamb parts that didn’t resemble the traditional chops, loin, or leg.

I stumbled upon racks upon racks of fatty lamb and I could not have been happier. Being a pork fanatic, I usually stray from ribs when it comes to other animals.

Why mess with perfection right? Boy was I wrong! If you love lamb chops that are juicy and fatty, and love ripping the charred fat from the bone, this will change your life.

I am temporarily smoker-less in South Boston so when I make ribs, I braise them and then splash them on the grill for the crispy char element.

I was forced to do the same with the lamb ribs but in my opinion, I think that smoke would overpower the flavors of these bones. I rubbed the racks in traditional flavors like garlic, olive oil, and rosemary.

I also made a quick miso-soy glaze that I drizzled on top with some bruised lemongrass, Hungarian paprika, chili flakes, and coriander seed.

I wanted the sticky soy and miso to add a deeper, richer flavor that would caramelize on the grill and add depth to the ribs. I wrapped the racks up in tinfoil and braised them in the oven at 325 degrees for about an hour and a half. I let them cool completely and then fired up the grill.

I transferred the remainder of the braising liquid (which by this point had combined with loads of euphoric lamb fat) to a sauce pot and reduced it even further to glaze my ribs with on the grill.

I flashed them on a fiery grill to charr the outside fat cap and to warm the ribs in general. Earlier I had roasted some red bell peppers and then let them steam under some plastic wrap.

I made a fiery sauce with the puree of peppers, vinegar, honey, and Thai chili. It had just enough acidity to compliment the rich ribs, and enough sweetness from the peppers and honey to balance the heat of the chilies.

As the ribs were on the grill, I realized that I totally forgot to make a vegetable or something else to go with the carnivorous platter that was shaping up before me. I was craving something crispy and after destroying our pantry and cupboards I picked up the phone.

I called the bar down the street and ordered a large order of crispy onion rings. Fat kid move to the fullest and I don’t care. I had slaved over lamb ribs for 4 hours I can enjoy it with some serious onions rings. As the ribs were cooling, I walked down and got my take-out order.

I piled the crispy rings on the cutting board and chopped into the racks. I have never seen such a beautiful combination of meat and fat. Each bone was a masterpiece. This was a type of meal that you eat on

the roofdeck with your shirts off and a roll of paper towels.

Charred lamb fat and crispy-fried onions flying everywhere! It was an absolute massacre. When we had a chance to breathe, we opened a bottle of Ben Marco Malbec Expresivo; the reserve label from the Ben Marco line. This is a Malbec, Cabernet, Syrah, blend that comes from old vines and sits in new French oak. It’s a monster. It’s sweet cherry, dark plum fruit combined with chocolate, nutmeg, mocha spice is smooth and rich. Layers upon layers of creamy, luscious, dense wine that bombards your palate with smoky blackberry and spicy oak. It’s decadent and voluptuous but finishes somewhat tame as to not overthrow even a maniac meal such as lamb ribs with onion rings. Even though this platter looked like a corner booth and T.G.I.F Fridays, I promise you that it was more refined. Lamb ribs are a must-try! I was totally blown away and will be making lamb ribs all Spring. In like a lion, out like a lamb!

From The Lady & The Tramp to The Sopranos, Italian-America cuisine has taken over Hollywood and secured a spot in the country’s top comfort foods. Even though spaghetti and meatballs is more American than it is authentically Italian, there’s no arguing that it’s one of the first things that comes to mind when we think “Italian”.

Through movies and tourist-y restaurants, we’re made to think that you can walk into a ristorante in Rome and sit down to a big bowl of spaghetti and meatballs; good luck.

I don’t care how cliche’ the dish is… it’s hands down one of my favorite comfort foods. There’s nothing like a great bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. That garlicky, red sauce with a hint of basil slopped over meaty spheres and al dente noodles gets me every time.

I’ve experimented with different ways to make meatballs for years and only one technique has proven to produce the most succulent, moist, flavorful balls.

My secret ingredient: day-old croissants. Screw breadcrumbs, if you’re going to pile ground meat over a mound of carbs what’s a few extra calories?

I stopped by my local, hipster coffee shop and asked for some old croissants that they bake fresh everyday.

It was 6pm so they had been sitting out

for a while and crumbled into flaky, buttery pieces when I picked them up with the wax paper.

The first thing I did when I got home was break the pastries into little pieces and soak them in milk. This moistens the croissants and rehydrates them before folding them into the meatball mix.

I use a blend of equal parts ground beef and ground veal and the key is not to over-mix it. I squeeze the milk from the pastry and toss it into the bowl with a couple of eggs, Pecorino cheese, parsley, salt, pepper, and lemon zest.

I carefully fold the mixture together and roll them into golf ball-size rounds.

The more you handle the balls, the tougher the get. I prefer garlicky, thinner style tomato sauce that just coats the pasta without being gloppy and thick.

I take whole peeled San Marzano tomatoes from the can and I run them through the mill to remove the skins and seeds.

I toast loads of sliced garlic in olive oil, hit it with some white wine and then reduce the tomato sauce down until it thickens slightly.

Sometimes, I cook the meatballs directly in the sauce, but sometimes I prefer a nice crust on the outside. I seared the meatballs on all sides in a sauté pan and then finished roasting them in the oven before transferring them to my sauce.

A little of the pasta water over high heat and the red sauce will cling to the spaghetti perfectly. Right before plating, I hit it with some torn pieces of basil and some chili flakes for some heat.

I top the plate off with some freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano and the only thing else I need is a red-checkered table cloth.; Italian-American at its finest. The buttery croissants do wonders for keeping the meatballs soft and juicy and the parsley and lemon zest keep them light and refreshing.

I tie on a bib and suck bowls of this down like I’m eating from a troph… it’s one of my many weaknesses. I opened a bottle of 90+ Cellars’ first Collector’s Series Barolo they every bought; Lot 26.

It was quite tannic and young when it was released years ago and I somehow had the patience to forget about it for four years. From the moment I popped the cork, I knew that it was ready to go. The bouquet was intense with fresh violets and crushed cherries.

The chalky tannins were softened from time but still coated my palate and then were alleviated by the oily noodles and cheese. Instead of the brooding wine it was before, now it was softer and more elegant in style. Loads of red fruit, currant and spice with lovely floral and cinnamon notes in the finish. Sopping up the remaining sauce with a crusty piece of bread and drinking bone-dry Barolo from a rocks glass makes me happy. A little Frank Sinatra playlist, dim the lights and I’m in heaven.

Perfect scenario for a weekend visit although deciding who to root for was problematic. My friend’s defensive schemes shut down the greatest quarterback of all time and the Browns demolished the Pats 34-14.

With mixed emotions, I set out across the city in search for some serious grub. I wandered into a hip-looking place called The Greenhouse Tavern and never left.

Only twice in my life have I ever gone on vacation and eaten in the same establishment more than once; 2007 in Alba, Northern Italy, and 2010 in Cleveland, Ohio; it was that impressive, addictive, and engaging. I literally went for dinner and then again for lunch the next day because I couldn’t physically eat everything on the menu in one sitting.

Looking back, Chef Jonathon Sawyer was doing things then that chefs are experimenting with now in Boston. He recently began “recycling” his beverage program at the restaurant, turning excess beer and wine into homemade vinegars.

These aren’t your typical vinegars. These are the most personalized vinegars you’ve ever seen or tasted.

Each bottle tells the tale of what beer or wine it started off as, when the fermentation took place, and what it should taste like. So impressed with how “alive” these vinegars are, I recently started selling them in my store.

Last night was my first chance to cook with one of his two, craft beer vinegars. I fell in love with the rich, malty smell of the Paulaner Double Bock vinegar. It was slightly sweet with notes of toffee and butterscotch, cut by sharp acidity and tartness; it screamed for pork!

I picked up a double cut Berkshire pork chop from the butcher and ogled over the cloudy fat cap the entire way home. I envisioned a quick take pork and beans with some braised greens and a tangy sauce.

I started reducing some dark beer with a little Worcestershire, shallot, and stock for my sauce. Once it reduced and thickened, I hit it with a good glug of the Tavern Craft Beer Vinegar and a dollop of whole grain mustard.

I braised some bitter greens with some chopped, smoked kielbasa and Cannellini beans to act as the base for my chop. The smoky, porky, bitter, and creamy components were to play off the tartness and acidity in the sauce. I seared my massive chop and basted it in a thyme-brown butter before finishing it off in the oven.

I plated the gorgeous chop and spooned the fragrant sauce

on top, finishing it with some bread & butter fennel pickles. The pork was still slightly pink and super moist in the center and the outside was fatty and crispy. The hint of beer vinegar and mustard in every bite sent my salivary glands into overdrive.

Flavors of dark German rye bread, caramel and praline from the dark beer were invigorated by the fermented, acidic, puckering vinegar. It’s hard to make a double cut Berkshire pork chop taste better than it already does, but this sauce did the trick.

I opened a bottle of 2010 Stolpman Estate Grown Syrah from Santa Ynez Valley. Unlike most American Syrah, this was somewhat elegant and reserved which I loved. Impressively perfumed with violets, blackberries, and crushed rocks.

It had some Old World restraint but a complete wine all-around. Juicy plum, blackberry, and blueberry with hints of licorice, graphite, and black pepper. Not too dense and jammy, and a long, rich finish. I was afraid that an American Syrah would overpower this dish but it married beautifully.

I think I now love vinegar almost as much as I love pork.

I’m sure that this past Wednesday you probably saw tons of good Catholics running around town with dirty foreheads. I was planning a dinner to come home to after 6pm mass, but the ashes were stuck on my brain (and eventually my forehead).

I have a strange liking to all things extremely bitter; Amaro, coffee, IPA to name a few, so it’s no surprise that I love it when food gets burnt, especially toast and onions.

In honor of ash Wednesday, I decided to completely char some sweet, Vidalia onions on the grill and then use them as a bitter component in a vinaigrette.

As for the protein? The hot ingredient du jour… chicken. Yes, chicken is making a huge comeback in the popularity race; especially when it’s fried.

I decided to brine my chicken pieces in a black tea solution that I found in my wife’s tea cupboard. This black tea in particular had cocoa peel and orange peel enhancements which I thought was a great addition to my poultry.

I steeped four tea bags in boiling water and made my brine with sugar, salt, water, ginger, chilies, and lemons and I put Nemo to use, burying it into a massive snowbank on the deck to help cool it down.

I let the chicken hang out in the brine for about 8 hours and when I removed the pieces to dry the black tea stained the skin a beautiful, deep mahogany.

I roasted the pieces in an extremely hot oven until the skin was super crispy and the brine helped keep the meat juicy and tender.

I served the chicken on a cold buckwheat soba noodle salad that was simply tossed in some rice vinegar and sesame oil.

To make my ashy vinaigrette, I blended the charred onions with brown

rice vinegar, a little dijon mustard, and olive oil.

It was a nice smoky, bitter tart compliment to the roasted chicken. It actually almost make it seem like the chicken was grilled.

I don’t brine very often simply due to timing, but this dish made me a believer. It was some of the tastiest chicken I’ve ever had.

I opened a bottle of 2010 Domaines Schlumberger Pinot Gris from the Alsace region of France. It was slightly off-dry and loaded with stoney minerals and crisp acidity.

Notes of stone fruit and wet rocks in the nose followed by heavy citrus, pear and a slightly sweet finish. It complimented the juicy chicken and the bitter notes from the ash.

It was a great start to this years season of Lent (although we won’t be doing much fasting).

Believe it or not, it’s citrus season. Most people think that those bright, racy, acidic, tangy fruits peak during the warm summer months but they actually grow better in the cold weather. Maybe it’s Mother Nature’s way of pumping us full of Vitamin C to kiss the late winter flu season goodbye.

It feels kind of weird posting a ceviche dish in the middle of a blizzard but how could I pass up a mountain of beautiful blood oranges at the market.

Citrus makes your food taste better. Just like food needs salt, acid is another key component in making your meals pop.

Acid comes in many different forms, and as cool as fermented vinegars are, citrus in it’s purest form is something special. It adds flavor and helps balance out other flavors around it.

Mouthwatering, puckering citrus makes you salivate. Ceviche is one of the first thing that comes to mind when I think of citrus.

Although nothing is actually cooked, the acid in the citrus does the “cooking” by reacting with the protein and changing the taste and texture so that it gives off the appearance of being cooked.

For some reason, everytime I see raw squid cut into rings I am reminded of Udon noodles; a thick, Japanese noodle variety.

They look eerily similar in color and texture. I decided to create fake Udon noodles by slicing the squid bodies into long strips and then making them into the ceviche.

Then all I had to do was toss in some other ingredients to make it look like a noodle dish, and before I knew it I had a ceviche in disguise.

As my squid noodles were marinating in freshly squeezed lime juice I prepped everything else. I segmented the beautiful blood oranges, each one a slightly different hue of raspberry red to burnt orange.

I roasted and chopped some peanuts, along with scallions, chilies, cilantro, and mint. After about 20 minutes in the lime bath, the squid went from translucent in color to a creamy ivory.

I tossed them with all of the other ingredients and plated them in a bowl as if it was a cold noodle salad. It was a delicious and refreshing combination of flavors; the fresh herbs

combined with the bright citrus and spicy chilies and the nutty peanuts added some crunch.

We slurped up the squid as if they were al dente Udon noodles and they were actually very soft in texture so it was hard to realize that we were eating ceviche.

We opened a bottle of Protea Chenin Blanc from South Africa that comes in a really cool bottle for all of you out there that choose a wine based on how attractive the label is.

This is a bone dry Chenin with crisp flavors of honeysuckle, lime and stone fruit. Bursting with acidity, it really complimented the cold dish but would have been better on a warm night on the roof deck.

Either way, it was wishful thinking that Spring may be around the corner but instead we got two feet of snow. Maybe I jinxed Mother Nature.