Rooftop Gourmet

Winter is officially here and with the holiday season approaching, our free time is limited. After long, grueling days of work and returning home under the pitch black sky, our weekly dinners slowly transform from meticulous and drawn out to quick and rustic. There’s something comforting about hearty peasant fare (as long as the ingredients are fresh and of great quality) this time of year that makes you forget that it feels like six degrees outside. Let the flavors of the ingredients speak for themselves, leave the ring molds and squeeze bottles in the cabinet, and garnish your plate with nothing more than a torn piece of crusty bread…and maybe a big glass of red wine.

Last night I opened a bottle of Barbera d’Alba, arguably one of my favorite varietals since I fell in love with it on my last trip to Piedmont, and because of its versatility when it comes to food pairing. The wine is stellar on its own, but the intense fruit, high acidity, and soft tannins makes it a perfect match for a wide variety of dishes from roasted pork loin to spicy seafood stew.

The specific Barbera that I decided to pop comes from an “unknown” producer under the label, 90+ Cellars, the hottest beverage brand since Four Loko got the boot.

90+ Cellars is the essentially the T.J Maxx of the wine world. They buy high quality, surplus wine from vineyards all over the globe and offer it to you at a fraction of the cost.

Wineries haven’t slowed production even though the economy has been shaky, leaving them with excess product that 90+ is more than willing to pay cash for. Now that customers have had the chance to sample numerous “Lots” over the past year, they now taste the quality, understand the value, and the frenzy has begun. Certain Lots are becoming everyday staples in households everywhere, only to disappear months, sometimes even weeks later when the batch runs out. Customers who call me looking to purchase previous Lots often react as though they lost the family pet.

This whole “you may never see me again”, philosophy has led to an enormous boost in bulk wine buying. I now have some sympathy when Siobhan comes home from the T.J Maxx Runway Collection with Prada shoes for $125 because she just had to have them. I get it. They’re normally ten times that amount. I still think that the twelve bottles that come in a case of wine will get more use than the shoes that kill your feet but who cares? You get the concept.

The Lot 27 Barbera d”Alba is awesome and cheap as hell…perfect for my hearty peasant dish. When creating this dish, I had the ingredients of Portuguese fisherman’s stew in mind, the heat from a San Fransisco Cioppino, and the consistency of a thin, Manhattan clam chowder.

I pulled out my Le Crusset and started layering flavors one by one to add tremendous depth to the stew. I started off by sauteing finely diced carrots, celery, and onion and then a huge handful of fennel bulb, sliced paper thin. I wanted to leave fennel in long strips and the mirepoix rather chunky to give the dish some character and texture.

Next, I tossed in some minced garlic, rosemary and a palmful of dried chili flakes, one of my favorite ingredients. Normally you see these red and yellow flakes crammed inside of a shaker next to the stale “Parmesan” cheese on the counter of your local pizza joint. If you buy fresh ones you’re taste buds will notice the difference. I tilted the pot so that most of the juices and olive oil ran down to one side and I held that corner of the vessel over the flame. This is a quick way to toast the garlic and chili to your desirable doneness as well as infusing the oils that will help cook the rest of the ingredients.

 I disrobed the hot Italian sausage from their casings and browned the meat in the pot before I deglazed everything with some white wine and clam juice.

The wine adds flavor and acidity and the clam juice adds a briny undertone that helps you realize that this is still a clam dish. Call it clam essence rather than clam juice if that helps you stomach the terrible name. I feel as though it is the most important ingredient because it knocks the pork sausage right back down to size and says, “this is our show”.

Next, I open two cans of whole, peeled tomatoes and mill them myself. You could buy the cans of tomato puree but your stew would be too thick and I don’t like to think about what the tomatoes looked like that were pureed for those cans. A jar of whole, peeled tomatoes confirms that you’re orbs are gorgeous and healthy. By this point, almost everything is into the cauldron, and I crank up the juice and let it simmer away. After fifteen minutes of a roaring integration of flavor, I add a huge bowl of fresh chopped clams.

Most grocery stores like Whole Foods will have these sitting out because they make chowder daily (just make sure that they weren’t previously frozen). While the little guys are cooking away, I rinse off some live littlenecks and toss them into the pot too. It’s always nice to have some clams in their own shells along with the hundreds of other guys. You know that the stew is ready to serve when the shells of the littlenecks open on their own.

I ladled the steaming, chunky soup into my conveniently shaped, clam bowls and drizzled some really good extra virgin olive oil on top. Siobhan and I each held one side of the chewy Italian loaf and pulled it apart as if it were a wishbone although our wishes was already granted in the fragrant bowls infront of us. Each spoonful was so simple but had so much depth of flavor.

The acidity from the tomato, the briny clams, the sweet pork, the woodsy rosemary, and the faint burn on the finish from the chili flakes. As expected, the juicy Barbera was a match made in heaven. The tannins were mellow and didn’t interfere with the spicy notes, rather the gobs of cherry and plum flavors counteracted them beautifully. The wine is round, medium-bodied, and has notes of brandy and syrupy balsamic reduction in its long, complex finish. 

Siobhan and I ditched the spoons after the first bite and started using the empty shells and loaves of bread as our utensils of choice. 90+ Cellars only purchased 554 cases of this gem, so stock up and experience the “wow-factor” for yourself. Experience a case of Lot 27 and maybe you’ll turn a blind eye the next time your wife comes home with a beautiful Alice+Olivia dress for a fraction of the suggested retail cost.

The past two years, Siobhan and I have split time between two Thanksgiving feasts. We travel to Bridgewater to her aunt and uncle’s house for lunch and then shoot down 95 to my parent’s house in Wellesley for dinner. The two meals are spaced out just enough, and we have learned to pace ourselves so that we can manage to enjoy both without gaining 500lbs. The two gatherings are so incredibly different, yet similar in so many ways. Siobhan’s family is huge…so huge that this was the first year that I actually remembered everyone’s name.

We walk into the house and we’re greeted by parents, aunts, uncles, nephews, cousins, grandparents, dogs, you name it… everyone’s there. All running around, eating, drinking, dancing and laughing. It’s like one big house filled with love and controlled chaos. The long, rectangular dining room table is always the center of attention (when the cousins aren’t singing) because of the hours and hours that Siobhan’s aunt puts into decorating it.

 Every year it is breathtaking. This year, the colorful china was set with miniature pumpkin name tags, and above our heads dangled hundreds or burnt orange leaves. The leaves were hand picked from her backyard and hung from the ceiling with invisible string, all floating in mid air at all different heights. Illuminated by the chandelier, the autumn leaves made it feel as though we were eating in the middle of the forest, or in a scene from a Harry Potter movie. When the food is ready, all twenty-five of us rush into the dining room and cram into our seats. Siobhan’s grandfather says grace, and everyone goes around the table reading a passage about giving thanks while the smells of roasted turkey, and sweet potato pie fill the air.

 When it’s “go time”, a whirlwind of serving bowls fly through the air, spoonfuls of stuffing are being tossed across the table, the wine is flowing, and for the first two bites of food, everything is quiet. All the hustle and bustle of passing, serving, and pouring comes to a halt to take that first chomp into the turkey. Then it all goes back to normal, and by normal I mean chaotic in a fun way.

Everyone is talking to everyone, and in order for them to hear one another, they talk louder. It was quite intimidating my first year but now I’ve accepted that I have to just yell to be heard. My favorite part of the meal is when the three different stuffings come out. They always serve a traditional oyster stuffing, an Italian stuffing, and a Portuguesse stuffing. All three are delicious and have something unique and special about them. I also always try to fulfill my dark meat craving in Bridgewater because I know that my mom has a turkey breast roulade in the oven and there won’t be any dark meat in sight.

I grab one of the legs and start to slice the succulent meat off the bone with my silverware before I give in and just pick it up with my hand as if I was at the Medieval Manor. The loud conversations at the table are pleasantly interrupted by clinking wine glasses and heartwarming speeches by certain family members. After everyone is stuffed, the men get up and watch football in the den while the women clear the table and do the dishes; after all it is a very traditional Italian family. I don’t complain.

Right before I start to doze off into a Tryptophan coma, we say our goodbyes and head to the car. I typically make it Braintree before I have to unbuckle my belt because I’m stuffed from the stuffing sampler.

The main difference between Siobhan’s Thanksgiving and the one at my house is numbers. This year we only had five at our table in Wellesley. Don’t be fooled though because it is equally as loud and chaotic, between my brother telling jokes, and me and my mom running around the kitchen.

This year, my mom tried out a new recipe where she butterflied, and deboned a massive turkey breast, and stuffed it with Italian sausage, pine nuts, dates, figs, and herbs. Siobhan and her rolled it up tight and tied it off with butchers twine, leaving the skin on the outside to get crispy. The result was by far the best turkey that she has ever made to date. As soon as the first slice fell onto the cutting board it was apparent how moist and juicy this bird was going to be.

 We carved it into thick slices and surrounded it with her famous mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and silky gravy. The combination of the crackling skin and the juicy turkey in every bite was amazing.

The roasted brussel sprouts are Siobhan and I’s favorite vegetable so we gobbled those up quickly. I was shocked to see that even my dad has some color on his plate, but later realized that the single green bean was being used as a divider to make sure that his potatoes didn’t touch his turkey.

We opened a bunch of different wines, but the highlight of the night was the 2005 Neely’s Picnic Block Pinot Noir from Santa Cruz, California. It was the ultimate Thanksgiving wine. Perfectly balanced fruit and earth, with a touch of oak in the background. It was pure velvet on my tongue. The singing and dancing still echoed in my ears from before, but at this table the only noises were “mmmmmssss”, and the clinks of serving spoons diving in for seconds. For dessert, we struggled to force down some pie and these bite-size fudgie pepperment patty bars that Siobhan made.

By the time I couldn’t physically eat anymore, I changed into sweatpants and we set off for our home in South Boston. We are so thankful to have such great families that take such different approaches to the holiday. In Bridgewater, it’s a party and a celebration, and in Wellesley it is a time of relaxation. We are so lucky to have the best of both worlds and that the main component in each home is love and thanks.

First of all… I want to apologize for the long delay. This is probably the longest I’ve gone in between posts since my start in September of 2009. As you can imagine, running a retail, full-service wine shop this time of year is pretty ridiculous. I have been so busy selling wine and working longer hours that I am usually sound asleep (snoring) on the couch by 9pm. After the Thanksgiving rush died down this weekend, I got the chance to make my way back into the kitchen.

I decided to take a classic recipe from my idol, Julia Child, and put my own spin on it. Julia Child’s Beef Bourguignon recipe has to be the most searched for recipe on the Internet. It just has to be… especially after the popularity of the Julie & Julia movie. Her cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, is up there with The Scarlett Letter, The Great Gatsby, and The Bible.

The classic French dish is a perfect example of how simple, peasant cooking has been transformed into haute cuisine. Instead of sticking to the classics and braising my beef in red Burgundy wine, I decided to break the rules again and take a trip “down under”.

The Barossa Valley, Austrailia produces some of the most powerful, extracted, fruit forward wines on earth. I wanted to intensify the flavor in my stew by reducing the jammy, dark berry flavors in a Barossa Valley Shiraz opposed to a lighter Pinot Noir from Burgundy.

 I started off my recipe by searing the cubes of fatty, beef chuck, stew meat followed by sauteing some diced red onion, tons of garlic, and some meaty portobello mushrooms. The pungent flavors in the garlic and red onion were a lot less delicate than the flavors in the traditional dish. As the aromatics were sweating in the Le Crusset, I spent the majority of the morning hands-deep in pearl onions. These little bastards are the biggest pain in the ass!

I boiled them to loosen their skins, but then trying to peel them is hands-down the most annoying task in the kitchen… period! It’s even worse than peeling and deveining shrimp. Not to mention, my eyes are so sensitive to onions that I was peeling these golf balls blind, dripping unnecessary tears all over my cutting board.

I dumped one and a half bottles of Australian, Barossa Shiraz into the pot and cranked up the heat to reduce the liquid by at least half. The high alcohol levels burn off and the flavors of blackberry and chocolate reduce into a thick, syrupy braising liquid. I returned my seared meat to the pot and let it simmer at around 325 degrees for about an hour, until it was getting nice and tender. For the final half hour, I added my Yukon Gold potatoes and pearl onions to the pot to tenderize and cook in the braising liquid.

What wine should you serve with Beef Barossa? A wine from the Barossa Valley of course! I chose the 2007 Molly Dooker “Two Left Feet” Red Blend. This is just one of the brain childs of Sarah & Sparky Marquis that continuously gets amazing press and high accolades. This wine is a blend of Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Merlot… a “Super Barossa” if you will.

Have you ever gotten unnecessary headaches from drinking wine? Sometimes these cranial throbs are due to the histamines inside of the oak aging barrels, but other times they are from the sulfates that are added to wines to preserve them on long trips overseas. Even though the emergence of sulfates are a natural occurring process in winemaking, the people at Molly Dooker have created a way to eliminate the excess of added sulfates to a wine.

 Instead of adding these migraine inducing chemicals, they have found a way to inject an inert Nitrogen gas during the bottling process that hovers over the level of the wine. This layer of gas protects and preserves the wine but has a tendency to prevent the full flavor profile open up when the screw cap is popped. Introducing the Molly Dooker Shake… a new dance move that will maximize the flavor of all Molly Dooker wines in one simple booty shake. By opening the screw cap, letting the wine breath for a few seconds, returning the cap to the bottle, and shaking the living hell out of the bottle, the roundness of the wine will expand, and maximize the flavor potential the the red blend has to offer.

With melt-in-your mouth cubes of beef, tender pearl onions, and starchy potatoes, the full-bodied red is a perfect match. The bold flavors in the stew went head to head with bold flavors in the wine. Mouthfuls of blue and black fruit, so thick you could cut them with a knife, bombarded my palate but soothed my tongue from the hot stew. After a bottle of this wine, one would clearly be dancing as though they had two left feet. It wasn’t elegant, it wasn’t French, it surely wasn’t your typical Beef Bourguignon. It was awkward as hell and somewhere, Chef Julia Child was turning in her massive grave.

Dashi is as fundamental to Japanese cooking as Escoffier’s mother sauces are to fine French dining. What most home cooks don’t realize, is how much stock is used in restaurant kitchens. Homemade stock is made, and simmered overnight at least twice a week and used in just about every dish. It serves as the base for a multitude of soups, sauces, and pasta dishes. In Japan, Dashi is used very similarly, flavoring miso soups, simmering liquids, or noodle dishes.

My somewhat recent dashi discovery has elevated our simple weeknight meals, offering a speedy and healthy alternative to take-out. Just like there are many different types of stock, there are numerous varieties of dashi.

Three of the most common are Kombu (rehydrated sea kelp), Niboshi (sardine heads and entrails), and Shiitake (rehydrated mushrooms). Now a days, there are instant dashi broth packets that are sold throughout Asian markets and can be utilized within seconds. The common denominator with dashi is the unusual, strong flavor that was identified in 1908 as umami, or the “fifth flavor” attributed to human taste.

With the insane popularity of soup in America, especially this time of year, I am shocked that dashi soups and noodle dishes haven’t blown up in major cities (Chinatown excluded) yet. Sushi joints are a dime a dozen, and I predict that Shabu and noodle bars are the next craze to sweep the nation.

Humorously inexpensive Asian comfort food at it’s finest… a bowl (or plastic quart container) filled to the brim with the richest, piping hot broth you’ve ever tasted and stuffed with fresh noodles. It’s cheap, it’s healthy, and most importantly… it is delicious and satisfying. The other night, I combined a few of the different dashi making methods as well as tossing in a little surprise of my own.

 I started off by rehydrating some dried Shiitake mushrooms and Kombu (dried sea kelp) in some steaming hot water. You can buy Kombu at an Asian market or even Whole Foods has multiple varieties. Out of the package, it looks like a big, dark green piece of plastic that chipped off a little kid’s Big Wheel. Once you soak it in nearly boiling water for about ten minutes, it comes back to life and flavors the water. The mushrooms do the same, and before you know it… the liquid left inside the bowl is good enough to be slurped up as is.

In a large pot, I sauteed some sliced lemongrass, onions, garlic and some dried Thai chilies for the base of my dashi. Once they were soft, I added the residual liquid from the Kombu and Shiitake as well as a few more quarts of scalding hot water.

This is where you want to flavor your broth to your liking all while tasting it continuously. I just so happened to have a few packets of Bonito flakes in the cupboard from a previous Shabu Shabu meal so I ripped one open and tossed the contents into the steaming cauldron. Bonito flakes are dried fish flakes that are pre-packaged and used in Japanese cooking to flavor dishes like this. I really have no possible way to describe the flavor because it is unlike anything I had ever been exposed to. All I can say about it is that it doesn’t taste “fishy” at all (a term that has negative connotations that I don’t like using and that was probably created by picky eaters who were at one point in their lives exposed to non fresh fish. “Fishy” to me is delicious… “fishy” to someone who doesn’t like fish is terrible).

After the broth simmered for a few minutes, I added a spoonful of white miso for some protein and flavor, as well as the rehydrated Shiitakes, sliced seaweed, and some fresh mushrooms. Cooking the Udon noodles is like cooking pasta directly inside of your tomato sauce; it’s unheard of but in this case it’s perfectly normal. As the noodles were cooking, I added a few slugs of quality soy sauce for some additional flavor and salt content.

A few more stirs, and a couple more slurps and the broth was perfect! Inside my trusty, plastic quart containers (which are FREE by the way at Whole Foods salad bar… up to five per visit) I placed a few surprises at the bottom. Three fresh oysters per serving that will eventually cook when the hot broth is ladeled over them, but will undoubtedly squirm up to the surface and present themselves as a deliciously, sneaky treat.

I portioned out the noodles into each container and then ladeled the remaining dashi over the top. A handful of sliced green onions and a set of chopsticks and we were ready to dive right in. The constant steam emitting from the quarts was unbearable at first, but then became addictive once the aromatics hit your face. For something that was so simple to create, it had an insane amount of complexity and layers of flavor. Once the broth cooled slightly we sat infront of our favorite t.v show and slurped away, trying to dodge the slippery noodles that slapped across our cheeks.

Alternating between chopsticks, and soup spoons, back and forth until we reduced the contents by at least half. It was then, when my first bivalve managed to float up to the surface and weaved its way into a tangly nest of noodles. That one bite of Udon, Shiitake and a plump, juicy oyster was one that I will remember for a long time. The rich, umami broth and the briny oyster was like earth and sea coming together as one inside of a cheap plastic bucket, resting in my lap. An ice cold Sapporo beer would have hit the spot, as well as the 2009 Husch Vineyards Chenin Blanc that we chilled and popped to compliment our dashi. Chenin blanc is one of the most versatile white wine grapes that is most commonly grown in the Loire Valley France.

Chenin can produce sweet, dry, and even sparkling wines. In Mendicino County, this vineyard produces an off-dry Chenin Blanc that fresh and vibrant. The honeydew melon and white, stone fruit flavors create a luscious, round mouthfeel followed by a finish full of acidity. The wine has a mysterious spicyness to it that I can’t quite put my finger on but it compliments the rich flavors in the dashi perfectly. Now that it’s getting colder out, treat yourself to a big bowl of comfort dashi and experience what Japan has been doing for centuries. It may not be your American comfort classic and wind up on your Thanksgiving day table, but I guarantee that you will be pleasantly surprised. Slurps up!

Sometimes I just love to torture myself. I’m an absolute sucker for pain especially when it comes to chilies. I spent the weekend in Clevelend, Ohio and upon return, I felt the need to shock my taste buds to make sure that they were still alive. Not to say that I didn’t indulge in amazing food on my mini vacation (one night at Iron Chef Michael Simon’s Lola, and the next night at my new favorite restaurant, The Greenhouse Tavern), but being away from my own kitchen for multiple days at a time leaves me with an empty feeling in my stomach.

The intense heat from the Caspian levels in fresh chili peppers is addictive for those who appreciate it. The sweating, the throbbing, and the burning is maniacally crave-able, similar to the draw of a heroin addict. If I go for days, or God forbid, weeks without something intensely flavored, whether salty, fatty, or in this case, insanely spicy, I make sure that I get my fix. The other night I picked up some simple strip steaks that were heavily marbled and generously thick.

 I shopped for fresh chilies like I was assembling a fruit salad… a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Before I knew it, I had picked up at least five different varietals of chili peppers. Jalepenos, Serranos, Fresnos, Habeneros, and Cherry Peppers, were sliced, not seeded, and tossed into a mixing bowl along with some cherry tomatoes.

 In order to attempt to balance out the fire coming from the salsa, I used two of my favorite antidotes… dairy and cucumbers. I peeled and diced a few “cukes”, which have a great cooling effect and sprinkled in tons of blue cheese crumbles. Milk or anything else that is creamy is the best way to put out a chili fire on your tongue. A handful of sliced green onions to round out the salsa and it was ready to spread atop my strip steaks.

I will blame my lack of propane supply on my trip to Cleveland, even though I have been extremely lazy when it comes to grilling. When it’s forty degrees and dark at 3:45pm, it’s tough to gather energy to make your way outside. I heated up a cast iron pan instead, and seared my strip steaks on both sides before finishing them off in the oven.

I still managed to form a mouth-watering crust on the steak, which was then smeared with the creamy blue cheese and five alarm salsa. I served the steak with some boiled fingerling potatoes that I simply tossed in some butter and sea salt. I know nothing about Greek wine. I will admit it. It is the single wine category that I subconsciously avoid time after time, leaving me clueless. It wasn’t until the 2010 Boston Wine Riot, that I experienced some amazing Greek wines, and realized that they can produce some really serious vino.

 I paired this dish with the 2005 Ktima Voyatzi Red which is a blend of Xinomavro, Cabernet, and Merlot. The wine reminded me of an elegant Bordeaux, with delicate fruit, serious structure, and soft tannins. I chose this wine because I felt as though the salsa was kind of Greek, containing cucumbers, chilies and a crumbled cheese, but after experiencing the match-up, the wine’s body clashed with the heat. In fact, I don’t know many wines that would pair with a big, marbled piece of steak, combined with a salsa that is loaded with mouth-puckering fire.

 If there was a second time around, I’d probably pour myself a big glass of Belgian Ale. The wine was superb on its own; loaded with black currant, vanilla bean, and smoked mesquite flavors, with an elderly, smooth finish. I’m not positive what exactly Caspian does to your palate, but I feel as though it creates a layer of flem that protects your taste buds, as well as forcing your salvatory glands to sweat profusely.

This is clearly a hard ingredient to pair wines with, but sometimes, I just need to get my spicy fix. I inhaled every bite of the tongue-searing salsa, sopping it up with starchy potatoes, and sunk back into my element. Maybe it had just been too long since I’ve tested myself, maybe I needed to rejuvinate my palate, or maybe I was just seeking some form of self punishment after bringing the Patriots  bad luck by visiting Browns stadium. Either way, I got what I deserved… a great meal and a hyperactive metabolism.