My wife Amy and I had the pleasure of eating a multi-course vegetarian meal a few years back. The dinner came with many drink options, wine, cocktails, and homemade sodas/mocktails. For no reason other then curiosity, we chose to drink the mocktails and we were glad we did. It was an amazing dinner all the way around. Continue reading
I don’t know why I haven’t made this lately. I developed this recipe for a fish and seafood class I used to teach at the local culinary school. It might seem bell-less and whistle-less but don’t let it fool you. It is a workhorse soup that is deeply satisfying in a working class bar sorta way. It can easily be whipped up right out of the pantry. Take note not to get carried away with the horseradish. It is subtle in the amount given, just enough to be a mysterious secret ingredient, but if you add more it takes over.
Makes 8 six ounce servings
2 eight oz. bottles Bar Harbor clam juice
2 six oz. cans Bar Harbor clams, drained, chopped and juice reserved
4 ounces bacon, diced
1 1/2 cup yellow onion, peeled and small dice
1/2 cup leek, white part only, small dice
1 cup celery, rinsed and small dice
2 teaspoons garlic, minced
1/8 heaping teaspoon celery seed
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 cups yukon gold potatoes, peeled and 1/2 inch dice
28 ounces Pomi brand chopped tomatoes
1/2 to 3/4 teaspoon prepared horseradish
1. Place a 3 1/2 quart heavy bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the bacon and render the fat until it is crisp tender, not crunchy.
2. Add the onion, celery and leek. Saute the vegetables until they are tender but not browned.
3. Add the garlic, celery seed, oregano, thyme and red pepper flakes. Saute until they become fragrant. A minute or so.
4. Add the clam juice and reserved juice. While you are waiting for the broth to come to a boil taste it and, depending on how salty the clam juice is, season it with salt and fresh ground black pepper.
5. Once the broth is boiling add the potatoes, bring back to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer. Simmer for about 15 minutes then add the tomatoes and clams, bring to a boil again then reduce the heat, taste and adjust the seasoning, then simmer until the potatoes are done, about 20 minutes.
6. Just before serving add the horseradish making sure to thoroughly stir it in.
Good soup is hard to come by but it isn’t hard to make good soup. It’s only as difficult as you want to make it.
While I know there are all kinds of prepared soups on the shelves of every supermarket I just can’t bring myself to do anything other than make it from scratch. I beg of you to do the same. You will be all the better for it and your health will be too.
If you are new to the kitchen it might take you a while to get the prep down. There is cutting and chopping but as you practice and as your skill level increases your time in the kitchen drops. Trust me. I like to spend time in the kitchen some days but not all days. I want to do things with my kids more than I want to make some three-day dish out of Modern Cuisine but that doesn’t mean I don’t eat flavorful good food.
The one thing for which I am grateful is I worked in a from scratch restaurant where not only did you work the line but you did all of your own prep. I became efficient because the Bob-Knight-of-Chefs boss I had demanded it. I am eternally grateful to him for his persistence and for making me a better cook.
Makes 6 servings
For the broth:
1 yellow onion, trimmed, peeled and chopped
1 carrot, peeled and sliced
1 celery stalk, washed, trimmed and chopped
4 leg/thigh chicken quarter, skin removed
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns
6 cups water
For the soup:
1/2 cup yellow onion, peeled, trimmed 1/4 inch dice
1 cup carrots, sliced
1/4 cup celery, 1.4 inch dice
1 cup brown basmati rice, cooked
1 tablespoon Italian or curly leaf parsley
1 heafty pinch of saffron
1. Place all the broth ingredients into a three quart heavy bottomed pot and place it over medium high heat. Bring it to a boil and then reduce the heat to a simmer. Simmer the broth until the chicken is very tender, the meat should have pulled away from the leg joint bone on its own. Remove the chicken quarters to a plate and let them cool. Once they are cool pick the meat from the bones and break it up into spoon size pieces.
2. Strain the both. You should have anywhere from 4 to 5 cups. If it is less add some water.
3. Discard the vegetables from the stock. Clean the pot and pour the strained stock back into the pot. Add the soup vegetables, saffron a heavy pinch of salt and some pepper to the pot. Bring the soup to a boil. Reduce the heat and cook until the vegetables are tender.
4. Once the vegetables are tender add the chicken, cooked rice and parsley. Make sure everything is good and hot. Serve.
Denny Baum knows exactly where he’s going when he lets the door to his fifth-floor walk-up slam behind him. He uses the back of his cigarette hand to wipe the tears out of his eyes before he goes down the stairs, crosses the foyer, and pushes out onto the street.
He walks a gauntlet of Hispanic dope dealers who never fail to ask him to buy, even though, in the ten months since he moved into his studio apartment, he never has. As he nears Second Avenue, he passes the girl whose name he still doesn’t know and who, when she caught his eye eight months ago, was youthful and beautiful. He used to talk to her when she sat on the stoop next-door. Now she’s a bony, toothless crack whore, always anxious, like a little kid who has to pee.
Denny turns left on Second towards Chinatown. He walks fast. He’s mad at himself for being an idiot. He knew Kim would turn him down when he asked her out.
He steps off the curb and wipes his eyes again. People are looking. He knows his eyes are red and puffy, but he doesn’t give a fuck; for all they know, his mom got hit by a bus. His thoughts are focused on his self-pity and shame. It’s the usual routine: build up the courage to ask a girl for a date, get turned down, then sulk about it.
He’s going to the Chinatown restaurant that his friend Lim first took him to, where the ducks with crispy brown skin and a thin layer of fat hang in the window next to the suckling pigs. The servers cut the duck into small pieces at the table. He eats the lacquered, shiny skin by itself, dipping it into a sugary garlic sauce between each bite. Once the skin is gone, he folds the juicy meat into tender scallion pancakes smeared with hoisin sauce. The succulent fat is what Denny likes. He likes how it renders in his mouth and keeps the tender, dark meat moist.
But Peking Duck is just Denny’s gateway dish into dim sum–Sunday dim sum in particular. He sits by himself at a four-top in the back and savors red cooked chicken feet, sucks the bones of steamed pork ribs in black bean sauce, and breathes in the sharp aroma of cuttlefish salad before taking a bite. He gobbles up steamed dumplings stuffed with pork, leeks, and Chinese celery, and digs into a platter of scallion noodles.
He sips tea. His hunger is finally satisfied.
Denny’s frame has a certain bulk. He’s one of those young men who’s supposed to be large; even if he wasn’t fat, he couldn’t physically be small. But he isn’t jiggly-fat, he’s farm-boy fat–solid. If you punched him in the gut, your fist wouldn’t sink in so much as ricochet.
Now he sits like a white Buddha and reads the Sunday Times. When he’s done, he folds the paper neatly and sets it beside his dirty plates. His large, fat fingers reach out for the silver teapot, making it look like a little girl’s toy. He tops off his tea and doesn’t add any sugar; he likes its tannic bite.
Finally, the server brings the dessert cart over to his table, full of sweet dishes. He points to three. He can’t resist the custards.