Rooftop Gourmet

When the meteorologists were predicting Snowmageddon, I was making plans for the first Iron Chef Dinner Party. Amidst all of the school and work cancellations, I sent out an email to seven friends who live within walking distance to kitchen stadium (my apartment) in case there really was a blizzard and they needed to trudge home. The email was explaining the rules of the dinner party that were based upon one of my favorite television shows, Iron Chef. The reason I love this show so much is because I love food and I’m a competition junkie.

 Every night when I cook, I compete with myself and I do NOT like to lose. I am extremely hard on myself when something doesn’t come out as I had planned, just ask my girlfriend. I didn’t want to single any one of my friends out and make them the challenger because that wouldn’t make for a fun night, so I structured the dinner party so that we would all be on the same team, competing against the food. I, the chairman, picked the secret main ingredient (the protein) that the entire meal was based upon, which the guests had no idea what it was until they walked in my door.

The other seven guests had one job, and that was to each bring one ingredient to the party. This ingredient could be a fruit, vegetable, herb, spice, nut, juice, syrup…anything you could imagine. It was left up to them to go out and decide whether they want to play it safe, or throw me a curve ball. I knew that they were all shopping on their own, but I was still a little nervous that I would have to make a dish with seven knobs of ginger.

 It’s really a crap shoot, and stirs up the anxiety, waiting in an empty kitchen with eight pieces of protein, not knowing what direction the meal is headed. Earlier in the day, after I sent out the email, I went over to Yankee Lobster and grabbed eight fresh pieces of salmon that were thick and firm. I wanted to choose a fish for the secret ingredient and I figured that salmon was the most versatile because it’s slightly heavier and can match well with a wide variety of ingredients and flavors. A light, flaky white fish wouldn’t stand a chance if someone brought me curry powder or anything strong. I was happy with the secret ingredient but still a little nervous because I had no idea what I was going to do with it; if someone brought me cheese, I was screwed.

 I went home to portion out the fish and get the other kitchen staples ready while I waited for the guests to arrive bearing gifts. Soon enough, they walked in one by one carrying their grocery bags and unveiled their mystery ingredients. When we had everything laid out on the counter top, we realized we had one really challenging task at hand. The ingredients that we had to work with were:

Secret Ingredient: Salmon

1) Leeks

2) Sesame Seeds

3) Black Beans

4) Shiitake Mushrooms

5) Pomegranate Juice

6) Plantains

7) Wonton Wrappers

I was adamant about not crowding the plate with loads of ingredients, so we decided on creating two dishes, which each couple would share. This worked out well because in my head, there were two completely different themes to all of these ingredients, one of them being Asian and the other one Caribbean. The plantains and the wonton wrappers threw me for a loop because I had never really worked with plantains and Wonton wrappers had everyone thinking about ravioli.

Plantains have a flavor similar to bananas but they are hard and starchy; that sweet banana flavor comes out through cooking them. After about fifteen minutes of endless conceptualizing, I left the think-tank and began prepping the ingredients, getting pans hot, and preheating the oven. I sprinkled the plantains with coarse sea salt and dried cumin and threw them into the oven to roast. We cleaned the leeks and got them into a pot to braise with butter and stock.

I diced up some shallots and started reducing the pomegranate juice on the back burner while searing some shiitakes on the front burner. The controlled chaos set in and ideas started to come together while cheese and wine was devoured in the background. We decided to julienne the wonton wrappers and flash fry them in some vegetable oil to make for a crispy topping for the salmon. The wrapper dough sizzles and curls as soon as it hits the hot oil. I dusted the crunchy wontons with some salt and dried ginger, and set them aside for plating.

 The food processor made an appearance after the plantains were soft and caramelized because we made a roasted plantain and black bean puree, laced with some cumin and lime juice. This was going to serve as the base for one of our salmon dishes. The other dish was going to be Asian inspired, with sesame salmon on top of braised leeks and shiitake mushrooms.

I seasoned the fish and began pan roasting them which became a problem because I only have four burners. Pots and pans were getting thrown all over the place, competing for flames and oven space.

We lined up the eight plates in a row and began the assembly period once the fish was almost finished. The teamwork kicked in, and the puree was being spread into ring molds, the mushrooms were seared, and the reduction was thickening; it was like I had sixteen hands. I plated the salmon atop the puree and drizzled the thick, syrupy pomegranate reduction over the fish; somewhere Bobby Flay was sweating.

Then we moved on the next dish. We sprinkled the toasted sesame seeds all over the crust of the seared salmon and plated it over the braised leeks that were soft, and buttery. The shiitakes added an earthy quality and the crispy wontons were a great contrast in texture to the moist fish; eat your heart out Morimoto.

For the first time all night, the entire apartment was dead silent. The clang of the pots and pans had stopped, the roar of the oven was humming, and the loud, boisterous chatter had ceased until every plate was licked clean. Three hours prior, each person only knew one thing… what was in their bag, and now they had two beautifully composed dishes in their stomach. This is a great idea for your next dinner party because it brings everyone together, forces them to be creative, and it’s easy on your budget.

“ALLEZ CUISINE!”

What could be more romantic than a big pot of snails??? Those slimy creatures that peek their heads out of dirty shells and eat decaying leaves are actually the perfect Valentines Day feast. Snails and oysters are considered to be an aphrodisiac; a term derived from Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of love.

An aphrodisiac is any type of stimulation thought to arouse sexual excitement, which many foods have been known to do based on their appearance, savory taste, or odor. Some of the most common aphrodisiacs are oysters, snails, truffles, chocolate, garlic, and of course, wine.

 Last night I decided to start Valentines Day early and made a baked escargot and oyster gratin. Escargot is a classic French dish of baked snails usually bathing in tons of butter and garlic. If you’ve never tried a snail before, they’re not as chewy as they look. When baked in the gratin they literally melt in your mouth and are high in protein (around 15%), and extremely low in fat (except they’re usually cooked in butter).

 I started off by making a compound butter in the food processor. I diced up tons of garlic and shallot and combined it with softened butter and loads of fresh parsley. This gave the butter a pleasant, light green hue to it which I spread throughout the inside of my new, mini-Le Crusset baking dish.

When I first came across the canned snails and oysters, I admit I was a little creeped out but once I opened them, they weren’t as funky as I had expected.

 It’s important to rinse the snails under cold running water before cooking them to remove any dirt or grit. Once the snails and mollusks were clean, I arranged them in the buttered baking dish with cubes of Gruyere cheese and topped them with a breadcrumb-Parmesan mixture, and a splash of lemon juice.

 Gruyere is a great melting cheese and is great for this dish because underneath the crispy breadcrumb crust, the gooey Gruyere gets nice and stringy.

I threw it into a 400 degree oven and popped a bottle of 2007 Maison William Fevre Chablis “Champs Royaux” from Burgundy, France. This wine is a blend of different Chardonnay grapes from many of Fevre’s terrific growing sites. It’s not a single vineyard wine but it drinks like a Grand Cru for a fraction of the cost. The Chardonnay spends most of its time in stainless steel tanks as opposed to oak barrels, which makes it lighter and more dry compared to those buttery California Chards.

This wine is refreshingly crisp, with loads of minerality and Granny Smith apple flavors.

The chalky, limestone soil is present in the finish along with some honey and herbal notes. This vibrant white is a perfect pairing for the briny snails and slashes through the buttery sauce with elegance. While the gratin was in the oven, I took out some creamy goat cheese and warmed up a French baguette to use as a sponge to clean out the baking dish.

When the Parmesan and breadcrumbs became golden brown, and the snails were bubbling away, it was showtime. We started spooning the little shell-less creatures onto slices of warm bread and the result was euphoric.

 The buttery, garlic sauce was heavenly combined with the cheesy crust. We sat at the table for hours, drinking the fine White Burgundy and dipping our crust into the dish at a snail’s pace.

Seth Kunin has been making wine in California since 1998, and he pays tribute to the Old World Chateauneauf-du-Pape with his 2007 Pape Star from the Central Coast. This wine is a blend of Grenache, Mourvedre, and Syrah just like in the northern Rhone Valley, France except it’s expressive of the Central Coast of California; which gives it a slightly modern twist.

 Most of the time, I pair a wine with whatever I’m making for dinner, but tonight I picked the wine first. I had some extra time, so I walked through Whole Foods with no concrete plans, just an idea of the style and character of the Pape Star.

I strolled past the meat counter and these beautiful, pink veal chops immediately caught my eye. Veal is slightly more delicate than beef and would be a match made in heaven for the medium bodied red.

The Pape Star has smooth tannins and tons of cherry, raspberry and currant flavors with a hint of spice in the finish from the Mourvedre. It’s extremely smooth and gentle on the palate and has some bright acidity, reminiscent of blood oranges.

I wanted to showcase the plump veal chops by limiting the other ingredients I put on the plate, so I stuck with roasted yams to add an element of sweetness to the dish. I made a rich Dijon Mustard sauce freshened up by a fine chiffonade of fresh basil.

The combination of basil and mustard is something new that I had never tried but it worked very nicely with the succulent veal and the char from the grill. It reminded me of Dijon mustard sloshed on a charred Italian sausage from a cart outside of Fenway, only slightly more elegant.

On my way to checkout, I walked past a basket of heirloom tomatoes that were all different sizes, shapes and colors and I just couldn’t resist. I grabbed a bunch of them along with some blood oranges to make a salad.

There are millions of different varieties of heirloom tomatoes (too many to keep track of) with all sorts of funny names that sound like CareBear characters; I think I grabbed some Green Zebras and Big Rainbows.

I sliced the multi-colored orbs nice and thin, and showered them with blood orange zest, blood orange supremes, extra virgin olive oil, and a sprinkle of fancy sea salt crystals. The essential oils in the zest brought the juicy tomatoes to life and added an interesting flavor to the salad. I seasoned the chops and headed out into the cold to throw them on the grill.

They only took about 5 minutes on each side before they were medium in temperature, and I brought them in to rest. The chops were very well marbled for such a young animal and they were loaded with flavor, giving the Pape Star a run for its money as the star of the night.

 Cooking is like therapy for me. Whenever I have a long, stressful day, I come home, turn down the oven and slow cook something for hours. Not only is slow cooking beneficial for the protein, but it’s also therapeutic for the mind and soul. The result is a tender and juicy piece of meat, along with a  home-cooked feeling of comfort and satisfaction. Last night, I made a slow roasted Porchetta, which is a culinary tradition in Tuscany.

 There are many variations of Porchetta but it’s basically a whole pig or boneless pork roast that is seasoned with garlic, rosemary, fennel seeds and other herbs, which is then slow cooked for hours; it was introduced to Americans as “Italian pulled pork”. In Italy, Porchetta is sold by pitchmen out of carts or vans during holidays and public gatherings; basically, the Italian version of an ice cream truck that pulls up to your little league games.

The slow cooking (225 degrees) process keeps the meat moist and gets the outer layers of fat nice and crispy. I bought an end cut of loin and liberally seasoned it with salt, fresh cracked black pepper, garlic, rosemary, sage and toasted fennel seeds that I pulsed in the food processor.

 If this wasn’t a last minute dinner idea, I would have marinated it for a couple of days in this mixture to really intensify the flavor. I was really screwing with my oven’s mind by cranking it up to 550 degrees to start in order to get a nice crust on the pork, then turning it down to 225 degrees for the remainder of the cooking process. The whole process takes about two hours, so I had plenty of time to relax and get everything else prepped. I made a rich sauce with a reduction of Calvados (Apple Brandy), beef broth, shallots and butter.

The light brown, silky textured sauce was reminiscent of a Cognac-laced gravy. I then sauteed some shaved fennel and celery to serve with the pork, along with some caramelized shallots and bing cherries for a touch of added sweetness.

I paired this dish with one of my favorite Tuscan wines, the 2006 Avignonesi Vino Nobile di Montepulciano because its flavors remind me of the ingredients I used to create this meal. The wine is jumping with acidity and emits tons of fresh cherry aromas on the nose. The tannins are smooth and the wine is rich with underlying hints of fresh herbs, licorice(fennel), and spice.

 It’s medium bodied and low in alcohol which pairs perfectly with the succulent roasted pig.

 The wine is made up of primarily Sangiovese (locally known as Prugnolo gentile), and a blend of a few other locally grown grapes, followed by minimum two years in oak barrels. After the internal meat thermometer read about 155 degrees, I removed the pork from the oven and let it rest for about 10 minutes, allowing the internal juices to recirculate.

Two thick slabs of melt-in-your-mouth-pork later and my day was instantly improved. The minced garlic on the outside of the meat slowly caramelized over the two hour stint in the oven and balanced nicely with the piney rosemary and mouth-watering pork fat. Plenty of leftovers made for an amazing Porchetta Panini for lunch today; maybe one day someone will start driving a Porchetta truck like in the old country. Forget the children, I’d be the one running down the street after it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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