Rooftop Gourmet

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.