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SUB! Serrano Ham, Manchego, Grated Tomato
About five years ago, I discovered the perfect sub. Sandwich, that is, not the submersible propeller kind. At White House Sub Shop in Atlantic City, it was equivalent to Supper’s caci e pepe being your inaugural bowl of pasta. White House is one of the last legitimate eateries left in Atlantic City, and it’s worth the trip, but bring your track shoes-you may need to dodge bullets on the way in and the way out.
As Caroline Russock at Serious Eats noted, the key to the White House sandwich is the hot chile pepper condiment spooned over the meat. The bread is also superb: fresh, slightly crusty, and not too dense. I also like the sheer size: a full sub is a two foot-long torpedo wrapped in butcher paper. All day people stream out, balancing sacks of them as they sprint to the car. (Bring the shoes.)
While the White House makes a fantastic sandwich, it is summer after all, and with high quality ingredients you can put together a lighter, equally delicious sub. Rather than the papery, bland shrink-wrapped prosciutto from the supermarket, we used a delicious, salty, porky, dry Serrano ham from D’Espana. While there we snatched up some manchego; on the way home we grabbed a few good rolls and tomatoes from a Little Italy market.
The condiment here is a take on tomato bread, a tapas staple (to stay with the Spanish theme of the day) in which a tomato is halved and grated onto crostini. Since we were composing a sandwich, a heartier, more liquid version was called for, so we grated the flesh into a bowl and spooned it over the bread.
As with anything in life, this sandwich is a trade-off: unless you live conveniently near a bunch of great specialty stores, finding first-rate ingredients may be a bit of a hunt. On the other hand, you won’t have to trek to A.C. and risk your life. If you’re within say, 50 miles of the shore, however, I do recommend the White House Sub.
(NOTE: the nectarine adds sweetness (obviously), though you can omit if you don’t want that gourmet stuff. It is nectarine season, though, so might as well go for it now when you can.)
Serrano Ham and Manchego Sub w/ Grated Tomato
Makes 4
1 beefsteak tomato
6 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
10 oz sliced Serrano ham
10 oz sliced manchego
1 nectarine (optional)
4 ciabatta rolls
salt and pepper
- Halve the tomato. Cut side facing the grater, grate the flesh of both halves into a medium bowl. Season with salt and pepper, two tablespoons of the olive oil and the vinegar. Set aside.
- Split the rolls and toast very lightly, until barely colored. Remove and spoon several tablespoons of grated tomato on one side. Top with the ham, cheese and optional nectarines. Serve.
Shrimp Salad w/ Green Peppercorns
We spend August in Truro. Truro is way out on the Cape, nearly as far as you can go, just before Provincetown, the tip of the curl, a place you’d think remote, yet jammed with schlocky shops and summer beachgoers strolling its narrow streets day and night.
No matter. The farther out on the Cape, the more you realize it’s truly a fishing zone. Markets sell giant, thick hunks of swordfish, tuna, and bass, as well as crab and buckets of steamers ready to be cleaned and dunked in clarified butter.
The long drive to this seafood mecca necessitates a roadside diner stop. Last year, either we chose the wrong place, or pureed chicken salad is a tradition among these joints. Needless to say, my mushy scoop went untouched.
“Protein salad”, for lack of a better term, shouldn’t be mushy. (By “protein” I mean chicken, tuna, egg, etc. It must be a remnant of my days working at the cooking school receiving dock where every morning the “protein” guy unloaded the truck, handing over the meat and fish for us to label and cart up to the classes where students would destroy the helpless aforementioned “protein”.)
While I like my “protein” salad at least semi-chunky, it’s tricky to achieve success. Chunks of chicken or, in this case, shrimp, don’t bind well with mayo, a failing perfect for a salad, less perfect for a sandwich. Sandwiches, you see, shouldn’t collapse with one bite. The filling has to remain inside the bread, otherwise you’re left with soggy bread and a handful of whatever.
A handful of bite-sized shrimp tossed with a few herbs makes for a great salad as well as a tasty sandwich.if matched with the right bread. It should be a soft bread (see mayo-less lobster roll): the violent wrestling motion inspired by a crusty roll or baguette causes spillage. Go light on the mayo to prevent soaking, but if need be, use a few leaves of protective romaine.
If you make it to the Cape, you may as well soldier on to the end and taste the purest seafood on the East Coast. Alternatively, a good shrimp salad is a good simulation.
(NOTE: We made an hors d’oeuvre, which works well. You can even use crusty bread, as it’s only a one or two biter. Adjust the seasonings to taste.)
Shrimp Salad Canape
Makes 8
1/2 pound peeled, deveined shrimp (or do it yourself, it’s cheaper)
¼ cup mayo
1 tablespoon dijon
1 teaspoon green peppercorns
2 tablespoons capers
1 tablespoon tarragon, minced
1/3 cup celery, small dice
3 tablespoons scallions, thinly sliced
1 baguette, ½ inch slice
salt and pepper
1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the shrimp and blanch 5 minutes. Drain, cool under running cold water or an ice bath. Dry well.
2. Chop shrimp into ½ inch pieces and reserve.
3. In a medium bowl whisk together the mayo and Dijon. Fold in the shrimp then the rest of the ingredients. Refrigerate.
4. Spoon salad on bread and serve. Alternatively, serve in a nice bowl alongside the bread and dig in
Chicken Liver Mousse w/ Plum Compote
Sweet and savory is a kitchen mantra of which no other food is a better example than peanut butter: peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter and apple, peanut butter and chocolate, peanut butter and ice cream, peanut butter and honey, peanut butter and marshmallows, etc. Salty, earthy, and gamy, chicken livers (like duck and other rustic meats) are the peanut butter of the offal and game world, existing to be matched with something sweet.
I love chicken livers, especially turned into a pate, poured into a crock and set on the table before me with a large spoon and the newspaper. Maybe some bread. If I don’t make it myself I’ll hop on the bike and head down East Houston to Russ & Daughters for a pint of their semi-smooth chopped liver studded with bits of caramelized onion.
The browned onion is partly what makes the traditional deli version so rewarding: the sweet factor folded in with the livers, making for a perfect sweet-savory unit. It’s the Jewish version of a Reese’s cup. The traditional French mousse also has onions or shallots but is less sweet, which is why we came up with an accompanying fruit compote.
For obvious reasons, summer is a great time to fiddle with compotes. We chose black plums and strawberries for their acid/sweet balance, but other summer fruits would work. Set out a container of each with some country bread and enjoy.
(NOTE: If you’re not eating all at once, pouring enough olive oil to cover will prevent the surface from oxidizing. You’ll have extra compote, which is great with toast or ice cream or…peanut butter.)
Chicken Liver Mousse with Black Plum Compote
Serves 2
2 tablespoons olive oil plus more for covering (see note)
¼ pound chicken livers, cleaned
1 cup onion, thinly sliced
2 teaspoons chopped thyme
1/3 cup balsamic vinegar
1/3 cup heavy cream
salt and pepper
1 baguette, sliced or other crusty bread
Black Plum Compote
- Season livers with salt and pepper.
- Heat a medium pan with 2 tablespoons of the oil over high heat. When very hot, add the livers and cook 1 to 1 ½ minutes per side. Don’t overcook, which turns the flavor. They should be pink. Remove to a blender or food processor.
- Add the onions and cook 3 -4 minutes until browned then add the thyme, toss and add the balsamic. Scrape the pan until nearly dry then add to the blender.
- With the blender running, slowly pour in the cream until smooth. Season well with salt and pepper. Pour into a ramekin or similar vessel and refrigerate.
- If using later, cover with olive oil (see note). Refrigerate until cold. Serve w/ the bread and Black Plum Compote.
Black Plum Compote (see below)
Makes 2 cups
5 black plums
½ pound strawberries, stems removed, quartered
1/3 cup sugar
½ cup water
- Peel the plums: Make a small cross in the bottom of the plums and place the fruit in a bowl and pour boiling water to cover. Drain after ½-1 minute and peel. Run under cool water if necessary. If the skin won’t come off, carefully peel with a sharp paring knife. Remove pit and cut into chunks.
- Combine the fruit with the water and sugar in a small saucepan, cover, and place over medium heat.
- When the fruit simmers, remove the cover and lower the heat to a gentle simmer, cooking until thickened, about 30 minutes. Transfer to a ramekin and refrigerate until cold.
Seared Tuna Sandwich w/ Tzatziki
Most people seem to like tuna salad sandwiches. I don’t, but I have a few theories.
One: it’s purely a vehicle for mayo. Two: it’s pretty cheap. Three: it’s easy to make. Four: it’s a social mandate. Five: people like canned tuna.
As to these points:
-Any vehicle for mayo is okay by me. Caesar’s salad comes to mind. However, the underlying ingredient has to have at least a modicum of merit, which, to my mind, tuna does not have. (see #5)
-Tuna is relatively cheap, and thus makes for a pretty reasonable lunch. But so is peanut butter and jelly. Or cheese. Or soup. Or water, which I’d eat/drink before I’d have a tuna sandwich.
-It is easy to make. Can’t deny that.
-Tuna salad does seem genetically inbred from the time we first pack a lunchbox and head to school.
-Canned tuna is a real problem. For one, fish was never meant to be packed into a tiny can. Also, the rule on fresh tuna is it dries out easily if overcooked. And yet, canned tuna is dry as a desert, a violation of the above standard. Hence the NEED for mayo, without which you’ve got a desiccated hockey puck unfit for consumption. (Again, in my view.) A vehicle for mayo is no problem. A NEED for mayo is a different issue. What’s that you say? Romaine needs dressing too? Yeah, but I’d rather eat a bowl of plain romaine. Finally, tuna smells awfully fishy, the not too surprising result of trapping fish in a tiny can.
A chicken salad sandwich is a different story. Chicken is neither fishy nor stringy, and it can be shredded, sliced, cubed, etc. and turned into a great, clean, toothsome, unstringy product.
Now fresh tuna makes a fantastic sandwich. It’s rare, silky interior ensures easy eating; it’s lean, healthy, and a great way to increase your fish intake, and it’s flavorful yet also sort of a blank slate able to pair with any number of condiments and other sandwich accoutrements.
The downside of course, is the expense. To that I have no snappy answer except to say splurge if you can. If you can’t, please, please eat chicken salad.
Seared Tuna Sandwich
Makes 4 sandwiches
2 cups strained Greek yogurt
1 large cucumber, grated
1 clove garlic, minced
1 ¼ pounds fresh tuna
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 head romaine
I baguette
salt and pepper
- Add the yogurt to a medium bowl and fold in the cucumber and garlic. Season with salt and pepper. Refrigerate.
- Season the tuna on both sides. Heat the oil in a medium pan over medium high heat until nearly smoking. Gently slip in the tuna and sear until browned, about 1 ½ minutes. Flip and cook the second side. About 3 minutes total. Remove to a cutting board.
- Slice the baguette lengthwise. (Or first cut in 4 even pieces then slice if too awkward.)
- Slice the tuna thinly, about ¼ inch. Spread the baguette with the yogurt, lay over the romaine, shingle the tuna evenly over the lettuce, slice and serve.
Makin’ Bacon
I smoked my first bacon this weekend. It was at my parents’ place outside the city.
Two Wednesdays ago I bought a giant slab of pork belly, smothered it in salt, sugar, and pink salt, and let it sit in a few ziplock bags. We drove up there, me in the passenger seat clutching my pork like an old lady grips her purse on the subway.
Already it was early afternoon, and I needed to get this thing on the fire. First to Wal-Mart for the chips then shoot down the curving country roads to the house.
A partially used weekend house isn’t like other homes you pass by on suburban roads. No one’s standing in the kitchen stirring tomato sauce dodging a pack of little kids. There’s no “mud room”: I learned what that was about a month ago. The garage isn’t full of toys and bikes. Life inside the weekend place doesn’t evolve. Neither the contents nor their placement have changed in decades. Books, magazines, photographs, light switches, television: everything is decades old, but tidy as the day it came.
Having hacked away at the rust-coated grill grates and shoveled out half a foot of ash, I started the pork and eased into the pool with our little kid. He loves to swim but started screaming inconsolably when we uncovered a frog caught in the skimmer.
Like the rest of us, he’s pure city, through and through.
Meanwhile, the bacon came out great: salty and smoky, dark and a tad sugary from the molasses.
(Note #1: If you don’t have a butcher, get the supermarket guy to remove the bones from a slab of spare ribs. However, supermarket spare ribs are skinned, so your bacon will lack that critical smoked pork skin. The first step, namely, drying it over a very gentle heat, is absolutely not my invention. I copied it from bbq expert on the web, who claims pork and other meats have to be fully dried before they can “accept” smoke. I assume he’s right, but I don’t even own a grill. I did rub the pork with a touch of nitrites, probably not necessary, as I’ve seen a bunch of recipes which don’t use them. I’m going to slice it up and freeze in batches.)
(Note #2: As amateurs, we wanted to confirm meat safety, hence the final low-oven roasting-it’s easier than dealing with more coals. I recommend this stage, but who knows. All I know is we made a mean bacon.)
Makin’ Bacon
2 ½ pounds pork belly, skin-on
½ cup kosher salt
¼ cup sugar
½ cup molasses
pinch nitrites (pink salt-optional)
- Mix the spices in a bowl. Spread half on the bottom of a baking sheet and lay the belly on top. Spread the rest over the belly. Massage the cure all over the belly. It should really be worked into the meat. Cover and refrigerate. We sliced it in half so it fit in ziplock bags, which work well.
- Cure the belly for about a week, flipping it every day. Ziplock bags make this easier.
- When ready to smoke, soak several handfuls of wood chips (I used hickory) in a pan of water for 1 hour then drain. Meanwhile, remove the belly and rinse under running cold water. Dry well.
- Heat about 12 coals and use a grill rake or some other utensil to divide the coals to opposite sides, leaving the center bare.
- Lay the belly over the center of the grate skin up. Close the grill and roast for ½ hour. Make sure the temperature doesn’t exceed 150. If so, remove a few coals.
- After the ½ hour, add the same number of coals to the fire and divide a small handful of chips over each mound of coals, close and keep the temp at 150 or so. Do this every ½ hour. We did it for 2 ½ hours.
(See note #2 for this step.) Preheat oven to 150, lay the pork on a rack over a sheet pan and roast 2 hours. Remove, rest, slice, freeze, or whatever you like. We immediately roasted delicious, crispy lardons
Meatloaf Sandwich-the best meatloaf
With a few exceptions-spicy waffle fries, chickwiches, tater tots, come to mind-I have a rule never to eat or cook anything served in my high school/college cafeteria.
As to the exceptions: frozen, then fried food are often pretty good. Or maybe it was the sheer luxury of being offered tater tots and cereal all in the same place. Enter the kitchen, load up on tots and make your way to the cereal barrels where you confront a marvelous array of options.
Cafeteria food is problematic in a few ways. Large, steam-heated pans of food are off-putting, suggestive of sweaty guys stirring cauldrons and prying open industrial steel cans.
The presentation is nearly as troublesome. Most often, the art of disguise is the driving strategy, the true test of a skilled cafeteria chef. Which explains the prevalence of Shepherd’s Pie, a truly deceitful dish: a few inches of firm mashed potatoes draped over a pile of meat. I’ll take a hot plate of short ribs sinking into silken potato puree over even the most skilled Shepherd’s Pie, if only because I like to see what I’m about to eat.
Drenched in gluey, off-brown gravy (see any Asian offering), meatloaf is sadly, also disguised. I say sadly, because meatloaf is the ultimate naked creation. You can’t, and shouldn’t have to, hide what it is, namely a meat football. As such, it’s a challenging dish to make correctly, but the right recipe yields a slice of well-seasoned, moist, meat whose flavor deepens the following day.
From bread to filling, sandwiches depend on quality ingredients, which is why great meatloaf makes for a great sandwich. Because meatloaf requires a sensitive balance of meat and spice, I’d recommend finding a quality recipe and sticking to it.
The Silver Palate version is as good as it gets: sausage and half and half contribute moisture as well as fat. We cheated a bit, tossing in a dry-aged, fatty burger from Pino the butcher.
I’d mass mail this recipe to my old schools, but only through years of dry, gloppy meatloaf will the kids seek out a better option, and that’s what learning’s all about.
(Note: I couldn’t find a pan large enough to accommodate a loaf the size called for, and of course, neither could I dig up one large enough to accommodate the meatloaf pan. Hence, I made a thicker football –about 12-14 inches long-which naturally takes longer to cook-about 1 or more hours. Use a meat thermometer. For a sandwich, follow step 8.)
Meatloaf (from The New Basics Cookbook)
Serves 8-10
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
¾ cup onions, minced
¾ cup scallions, minced
½ cup carrots, minced
¼ cup celery, minced
¼ cup red pepper, minced
¼ cup green pepper, minced
2 teaspoons minced garlic
¼ teaspoon cayenne
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon freshly greated nutmeg
3 eggs, beaten
½ cup ketchup
½ cup half and half
2 pounds ground beef (chuck or sirloin)
12 ounces sausage meat (no fennel)
¾ cup fresh bread crumbs, toasted
salt and pepper
- Preheat oven to 375.
- Melt butter in large skillet, add veggies, stirring till soft, about 10 minutes. Sesason with salt and pepper and refrigerate.
- Combine spices, eggs, ketchup, half and half in a large bowl and beat well.
- Add the meats and bread crumbs then the chilled veggies. Use your hands to knead well, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.
- With damp hands, form the mixture into an oval, about 17 by 4 by 1 inches (SEE NOTE).
- Place in a baking dish inside of a larger baking dish. Pour boiling water into the larger pan till halfway up the sides of the smaller one.
- Bake 35-40 minutes. Remove from water bath, let rest 20 minutes before slicing.
- For sandwiches, split open a roll, spread mayo and/or ketchup. Toss in lettuce, tomato, meatloaf and eat.
Tuesday Sandwich: Oyster and Fried Egg Po’ Boy
I experienced a soul crushing phone call the other day. Our favorite diner is narrow and mostly counter-seating. The three of us sit on wobbly stools by the window and look out on the lazy Saturday morning Lower East Side streets, eating eggs over medium, bacon, and toast with jelly. I get the corned beef hash side, crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, salty and tasty, clearly canned. They give our son a free donut, which both makes his day and coats his face and jacket with a beard of confectioner sugar.
It’s easy to identify canned prepared foods. They have the viscous mouth feel of something soft bonded by spoonfuls of starch. The vegetables are tiny, uniform, and mushy. Above all, the contents don’t taste fresh. Get an onion, a handful of dried split peas and a big hambone, simmer for hours and test against a bowl of Campbell’s split pea soup and you’ll see what I mean.
Corned beef hash in a can shares these traits. The most confusing, though, is that while canned lentil soup kind of tastes like lentils, the corned beef doesn’t remotely resemble true corned beef, or even beef of any kind. The pulverized meat is indescribable in flavor, but certainly nothing like corned beef, as one might eat a few blocks away at Katz’s.
But I’m such a sucker for hash that, for a long time, I was blinded by denial. I grasped desperately to the hope that our guys came up with some special method, some unique recipe, transforming fresh meat into something that merely resembles the canned junk. Perhaps someone gets up at dawn and, with tired but devoted hands, chops up fresh corned beef and potatoes and crafts a delicious hash that just happens to look and taste like the stuff you get in the supermarket.
And then we went to LA for my failed sushi course (see previous post) and while there I had a superb corned beef hash at Mel’s Diner on Sunset. The meat was fresh, corned beefy, shredded to tiny bits, tossed with potatoes and herbs and crisped on the flattop. Back home, I phoned our diner and was delivered the dreadful truth:
“We open a can.”
I have no problem with restaurants opening cans, but not when the dish is the sum total of the can. Or the can is the sum total of the dish. Whatever. Not when, with a tiny bit of thought, it can serve a superior product. I imagine it’s how a teacher feels reading a thoroughly plagiarized paper: depressed at the lack of care and consideration.
Like hash, a sandwich isn’t generally thought of as a complex thing. But crafting a good sandwich is a brainy endeavour. Not only must the filling be tasty, but so must the bread. On top of that, everything should work together-a luscious symphony of flavors in each bite. Too much? Too Charlie Sheen?
A good sandwich can take a lot or a little effort. There’s no harm in sweating out a good sandwich. As with a lot of things, most of the work is in the musing, and I do a lot of sandwich musing. This one began on the subway as a classic oyster po’ boy and evolved on my bike, in cabs, at home on the couch, into something better, or different.
I added a fried egg but was hung up on the dressing. I settled in simple slices of grilled tomatoes, well seasoned, but other condiments make sense also, such as mayo and tomato jam, lemon aioli or just plain melted butter.
Either way, thanks to a little deliberation, it works. If only the guys at our diner would stop and think before they pop open a can of hash. It would really make my morning.
(This sandwich would be just as delicious with calamari. It’s also challenging, but so is getting up in the morning.)
Fried Oysters and Eggs
Makes 4 sandwiches
12 to 16 oysters, shucked (see above note)
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 beefsteak tomato, sliced ½ inch and then cut into half-moons
8 eggs
4 egg whites
2 cups flour
6 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon coriander seeds, crushed
1 teaspoon mustard seeds, crushed
4 small sub rolls sliced nearly in half, some insides removed.
salt and pepper
canola for frying
- Heat the oil in a large pot to 350. Have a paper-towel lined tray ready. Preheat the broiler.
- Lightly oil a tray with half the olive oil and lay out the tomatoes in a single layer. Shake to make sure they don’t stick. If you need more oil, go ahead. Drizzle with remaining oil. Season with salt and pepper. Reserve.
- Crack the 8 eggs into a large bowl and reserve. In a small pot, melt half the butter and reserve. Now you’re ready to roll.
- Place the egg whites and flour in two separate large bowls or medium baking dishes. Whisk the whites until foamy. Toss the oysters in the egg whites, coating well then transfer to the flour, coating equally well.
- Shake off excess flour and fry until golden. Transfer to prepared tray and season with salt. Reserve.
- Place tomatoes under the broiler. Brown on both sides, remove, season with the coriander and mustard seeds and cover loosely with foil to keep warm. Brush the rolls with the melted butter and toast lightly.
- Place a single large or two medium pans with butter over medium high heat. When the butter is foamy add the eggs to the two pans or into the single pan. Do this carefully so as not to disturb the yolks. Season the eggs with salt and pepper. Fry the eggs for a few minutes until the white is about set, then carefully flip and cook for over-easy or over medium depending on your preference.
- Layer the sandwiches in this order: egg, tomato, oysters. Serve hot.
The Best Tacos (wok envy)
I remember the article that crushed my hopes of ever cooking decent Chinese food. The foundation of the Chinese restaurant, I learned, is the stove, a dragon-like box whose belly barely shackles a roaring flame. Unlike us with our namby-pamby Viking dial, the Chinese chef wrenches a steel lever akin to that on a rocket ship, unleashing enough fire to launch a cruise missile. Or obliterate Chinatown.
One of the great restaurant seductions is not the gorgeous food, but the confidence that what’s on your plate is easily transferred to your kitchen. Not only is it a breeze, but it’s cost-effective. I can beat these guys at their own game: recreate kung pao chicken, the smoky, yeasty crust of a Pulino pizza, or the unmatched crispiness of the bird at Peking Duck House.
But anyone who’s attempted to transfer such magic to the home kitchen has most likely spent the evening tearing his hair out, glumly staring at a wokful of dry meat, a soggy crust, or peeling off a sad layer of limp duck skin. Forget sushi. Having read two books on the subject, and the requisite three-year training in rice cookery, I’m happy to put myself in the capable hands of the local sushi guy.
Having once read that the duck chefs blow air into the ducks prior to hanging and roasting, in a fit of desperate inadequacy and self-loathing, I purchased an electric air pump the size of a large shoebox, and stuffed the nozzle underneath the skin. Unfortunately, like a beach ball pierced with a pinprick hole, air started hissing out of the sides. Shamed, I stored the thing in the closet, where it remained after we moved, for the next tenant who ever felt a similar urge to inflate a duck.
These days, every chef publishes a recipe for pizza dough. Some let it rise in a warm place for a few hours. Others prefer to retard the rising process and leave it in the refrigerator for a few days after which they knead or don’t knead (a heated debate among kneading purists), portion and let it rest a final time. Others prefer to let the yeast develop for days outside the fridge.
I’ve tested them all, and it seems a wash. Frankly, I’d be happy letting our cats make the dough if only the true test-the cooking-would work. This may be risking sacrilege, but in the end, the dough isn’t the issue. It’s the oven. Yes, we have a couple of great ovens guarded by a massive steel hood which shoots the fumes through a maze and out somewhere below the neighbors’ windows.
But we don’t stock wood or coal or enough gas to fill a Mobil. Yes, we heat the stones for hours in a 500 oven, and the product is crispy (if oblong), but it wouldn’t exactly draw customers. Neither would, I suspect, the whole hog barbecued by Brooklyn hipsters in their backyards. I’ve been all over the South, and…well, I doubt it.
I can make a decent Asian roast duck, letting it hang for days, but it ain’t the same. I could roast a naan or a spear-like skewer of roast tandoori lamb but I don’t own a tandoori oven, which is sort of an issue.
There is, however, one thing, which levels the playing field, a source frequented available to chef and cook alike: the grocery store. In New York, we have Kalustyan’s that marvelous market which stocks every spice, oil, paste, flavor concentrate, flour, scent, bean, leaf, powder, nut, dried fruit and pepper known to man. A dangerous place, you’ll enter in search of chickpea flour and perhaps a handful of spicy cashews and exit with sacks of star anise and mango powder.
Your pantry is your friend and your great equalizer. Great food begins with great dry goods: turmeric, mustard seeds, smoked paprika, cardamom, Chinese bean paste, sriracha, miso, and so on.
Dried chiles are among our favorites. They feel and smell authentic. They have a good shelf life, and when you toast them, the rich smoky flavor might make your house smell like a Mexican restaurant. Sort of.
We use the recipe from Mark Miller’s Tacos simply because it turns out the tastiest tacos we’ve ever tried. Since we have bags of chiles, we use a mixture of cascabel, guajillo, and pasilla, but any would work.
Skirt Steak Tacos (adapted from Mark Miller’s Tacos)
Makes 8 tacos
1 pound skirt steak
8-10 cloves roasted garlic chopped
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon chile powder
salt and pepper
1 teaspoon cumin seed, toasted and ground to a powder
2 teaspoons onion powder
1 tablespoon fresh cilantro leaves, chopped
¼ cup corn or vegetable oil
2 tablespoons Red Chile Sauce (see below)
8 (5 ½ inch) soft yellow corn tortillas (flour work as well)
shredded lettuce
fresh salsa (a few chopped tomatoes, cilantro, red onion, salt and pepper, a bit of
lime juice all assembled at the last minute)
- In a large bowl combine all the ingredients except for the steak, lettuce, salsa, and sour cream. Add the meat, coat well, refrigerate overnight.
- Preheat your oven to 200, wrap the tortillas in foil and warm for half an hour. Remove and preheat the broiler. (If you have two ovens, obviously, you’re luckier.) Line a tray with foil, cover with a rack, and lay out the skirt steak on the rack. Preheat the broiler. Place the tray on the rack nearest the heat and sear for 3-4 minutes, until browned. Flip and repeat. Remove, tent loosely with foil to rest 5-10 minutes. (To grill, cook over a high flame about 6 minutes and rest.)
- Get your condiments ready. Slice the steak thinly (1/8 inch). Serve in tortillas with condiments and eat hot.
Red Chile Sauce
Makes 2 cups ( you only need a few tablespoons for this recipe, but the sauce keeps and is a great marinade and freezes well.)
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
½ white onion, chopped
½ pound tomatoes
10 dried chiles soaked
2 cloves roasted garlic chopped
½ teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 tablespoon dried oregano
salt and pepper
- In a pan, heat two tablespoons of the oil over medium heat and sauté until caramelized. Reserve.
- Stem and seed the chiles. Add to a large pan over medium-low heat and toast until fragrant, about 8 minutes. Place in a large bowl and pour boiling water over. To ensure the chiles are submerged we like to set a bowl over them. Let soak at least 20 minutes. Drain, reserving the soaking liquid.
- In a blender, add the onion, tomatoes, chiles, garlic, cumin, oregano, and salt. Puree with enough of the soaking liquid to get a smooth paste.
- In a large pan, heat the remaining oil over high heat. When hot, pour in the chile paste and refry for 3-4 minutes, stirring constantly to prevent scorching. Don’t let it become too thick. Take off heat and let cool.
Sandwich Wednesday: Fried Fish (the right way)
Are there dishes we can make at home that are actually superior to those you might order while dining out?
Anthony Bourdain posits the appeal of “food porn” is due to our desire to spy on something beautiful which we’ll never be able to create. Content to observe, we accept our bystander role.
(A reasonable theory, though not, I think, when it comes to sports, where it’s perfectly fine to accept one’s genetic inferiority: I’ll never be 6’6”, 250 and throw a ball 60 yards on one knee, but I like watching those who can.)
Sometimes, chefs con us into thinking our efforts are in vain. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the absurd fancy hamburger trend. First it was the stuffed burger, (foie gras) and now it’s the proprietary blend of ground beef sections known only to chef and butcher. The former goes for $50, the latter $30, both are cooked in pure fat and would probably come to rest in my bowels like a greasy softball.
I’ll take a burger made at home with good meat laced with 20-25% fat, cooked to medium rare in a hot pan, and settled on a bun with ketchup (no fancy sauce), lettuce, tomato, and thinly sliced red onions. In short, a food we can cook at home on par with that of the pros.
One dish I know is better homemade is fish and chips, or, for the purpose of this post, a sandwich of fried fish minus the chips, between two pieces of bread.
Americans have never gotten the hang of fried fish. Before we consider the reasons, let’s examine the perfect filet of fried fish. It should be slightly more than golden, perhaps 6 inches by 3 inches, and salted. The crust should be crisp and puff out from the flesh but still stay with it when broken apart. The flesh should be flaky and not at all dry.
In other words, unlike the version I don’t enjoy on Cape Cod in the summer. You’d think they could fry fish on the Cape, but universally what you get is a tasteless, off-white lump of cod, half-heartedly floured and fried, most likely in a pan with too warm oil. The other American version goes in the opposite direction: heavy fried breading encasing a meager, crummy fish filet of curious origin. Tilapia from Thailand? Tigerfish from Madagascar?
Now, the Brits, of course, have mastered this stuff, which got me wondering why we haven’t. I mean, their food is notoriously lousy, so why can’t we best them on the simple fish and chip? Or rather, the fish-I don’t care for those chips.
To generalize, based on zero research, the Brits seem to love anything baked in a pie crust: fish pie, mincemeat pie, shepherd’s pie, bakewell pudding (dessert), Cornish pasties (mincemeat), Cheshire fidget pie (bacon and apples), Lemon Chess pie, leek and mushroom pie, potato pie. If I could bake my kid into a pie they probably eat that too.
The common denominator is, in my view, texture. Across the pond, they love soft food. Mince it, fold it into a thick sauce, overcook it, bake it in a soft crust, and you’ve got a winner. They even have something called “mushy peas”, which we do too, I guess. I think it means pureed, or at least crushed, peas, which is fine, but I’m not sure we’d term them “mushy”.
Fish, too, is inherently soft, hence the deft British touch, and, fried, it is by nature, encased in a crust. For once, though, that crust is delightfully crispy. (Maybe I shouldn’t generalize.)
In addition, because Americans don’t eat enough fish, we treat it poorly in the kitchen. We make a mean fried chicken but a lousy fried fish. (Chicken, it should be noted, isn’t soft.) American chefs-who of course, cater to our tastes-do a lousy fried fish (another generalization, there’s a fish place a block away which is supposed to *be pretty good). It’s a shame, but not really, as it means you can beat the pros with this dish and feel comfortable in your foodie skin.
Because lean fish isn’t as assertive as, say, a chicken thigh, it has to be cut thick, about half an inch. Cod, which is dense and mild, works well, though it’s said that turbot is an excellent frying fish.
As a final note, we turned this into a sandwich using white bread. The bread does break down, which makes a tasty, messy handful. If you prefer a sturdier sandwich, burger buns hold up better. We recommend the bottom slice of bread or bun be spread generously with simple mayo or a mayo-based sauce. As anyone who’s ever had a BLT knows, mayo adds an even richness to the sandwich. The other condiment is more of a dressing, which should be drizzled over, adding a bit of acid without drowning the fish, much like the classic malt vinegar you might get in a chip shop.
Fried Fish Sandwich
Makes 2 sandwiches
3 cups all purpose flour
1 bottle stout beer (such as Guinness)
2 teaspoons instant yeast
1 pound cod filet, skin off
canola oil for frying
salt
4 slices white bread or 2 sesame seed burger buns
romaine lettuce
tomato vinaigrette (see below)
roast pineapple salsa (see below)
tartar sauce (see below)
spicy raisin mayo (see below)
spicy remoulade (see below)
- Trim the fish and slice in two even portions about ½ inch thick. You may have to slice lengthwise.
- Add 2 cups of the flour and the yeast to a large bowl. Whisk in the beer to form a pancake batter consistency. Let sit for at least 20 minutes.
- Meanwhile, heat 3 inches of the oil in a large pot to 350 and add the remaining 1 cup of flour to another bowl. Line a tray with paper towels and have a cooling rack ready.
- Dredge the fish pieces in the flour until completely coated, patting off any excess, then dredge in the batter. Slip into the oil and fry until deep gold. It should take about 6-8 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to turn in the oil occasionally.
- Remove with the spoon to the prepared tray to remove the grease, then place the cooling rack over the baking sheet. Season with salt and pepper
- To serve, spread bottom slice of bread or bun generously with either plain mayonnaise, tartar sauce, or raisin mayonnaise. Layer with romaine. Top with a hot fish filet. Dress with one of the remaining condiments (tomato vinaigrette, remoulade, or salsa), close and serve.
Tomato Vinaigrette
1 beefsteak tomato, chopped
2 tablespoons white vinegar
¼ cup olive oil
salt and pepper
- Add the tomato and vinegar to a blender. Adding the oil in a thin stream, puree to get an emulsified vinaigrette. Season with salt and pepper.
Roast Pineapple Salsa
4 dried ancho chiles
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup pineapple, ¼ inch dice
small handful cilantro, chopped
2 scallions, chopped
salt and pepper
- In a medium sauté pan over medium low heat, toast the chiles until aromatic, 5-10 minutes. Meanwhile, bring several cups of water to boil.
- Seed and stem chiles, place in a medium bowl and cover with boiling water. Let sit at least 20 minutes then strain, reserving water in a bowl.
- Place chiles on cutting board and halve with a sharp knife. Using the back of knife, scrape the soft pulp from the insides of the skins. It should look like a soft paste. Reserve.
- Add the olive oil to a medium pan over medium high heat. When hot, add pineapple and cook until lightly browned. Stir in chile paste and let the mixture simmer for a few minutes, adding some of the reserved chile water as necessary if it dries out too much. You’re looking for a chutney consistency.
- Stir in the cilantro and scallions and season.
Tartar Sauce
1 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup finely chopped dill pickle
3 tablespoons chopped green onion
1 tablespoon drained capers
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon dried tarragon
1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/4 teaspoon hot pepper sauce
- Whisk all ingredients together and let sit, refrigerated, for at least half an hour.
Spicy Remoulade
¼ cup cider vinegar
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
¾ cup canola oil
¼ cup olive oil
¼ cup scallions, chopped finely
¼ cup parsley, chopped finely
¼ cup parsley, chopped finely
1 tablespoon cayenne
salt and pepper
- Add the vinegar and mustard to a blender or food processor. In a slow stream, add the oils until emulsified. Turn into a bowl and stir in remaining ingredients. Season with salt and pepper.
Spicy Raisin Mayonnaise
1 cup red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon crushed chiles
1 tablespoon sugar
½ cup golden raisins
1 cup mayonnaise
salt and pepper
- In a small pot over medium heat, add the first three ingredients. Whisk until the sugar is thoroughly dissolved. Remove from heat. While still warm but not hot, add raisins and let steep 10 minutes. Strain, reserving the liquid.
- To a small bowl, add the cold mayonnaise, whisk in the raisins and a few tablespoons of the spicy liquid to taste. Season and chill.
Sandwich Wednesdays – Tofu Banh Mi – What’s For Dinner?
As far as I’m concerned, the essential daily dilemma is what to eat for dinner. It’s actually comforting to think that the nation is united by this very question. At some point in the day we need to buck up and face the issue. As with many decisions, the critical factor to consider is repetition. To clarify:
- We can’t get her a sweater, we did that last year.
- We can’t paint the house green, the guy across the street has a green house.
- I simply can’t watch Toy Story again.
- I can’t dress the kid up as a pirate, we did that last year.
- I can’t have chicken for dinner again, I ate chicken all last week
(I used to know someone who didn’t eat too much simply because he had eaten recently, but he was kind of an odd guy.)
To have the same thing two nights in a row is, to me, unacceptable. If you hired the guys from Freakonomics to do a regression chart on evening habits, probably you’d find that most people are on a rotation: Mon. Chinese, Tues. pasta, Wed. chicken, Th. meat, Fri. whatever, and so on back to Monday. Which is why most cookbooks are organized by main ingredient: fish, pasta, meat, etc.
Now, chicken on consecutive nights is fine, though it would have to be in a different guise, i.e. roast chicken Tues. followed by General Tso’s chicken on Wed. While the contrast between these dishes may be obvious, as with most food, it’s not so simple. A chicken is not a chicken is not a chicken.
I’d argue texture is the name of the game. Roast chicken done right is a delicious, homey bird, crispy and salty on the outside, moist on the inside, a surprisingly complex combination of firm, shreddable breast meat descending gracefully to the unctuous, full-flavored thigh, and finally what I call the chicken “finger good”, crispy drumsticks. Retrace your journey to the top of the bird and snap off the extraordinary, crisp wings, a mere delivery system for chicken skin.
General Tso’s is not so fancy, though quite delicious as only fried stuff can be: crackly chicken nuggets glazed with a sticky orange sauce and, if done as I enjoy it, surrounded with a few dried peppers.
Roasted vs. fried, texture is the name of the game. The same applies for, say, apples. For our apple cookbook, The Comfort of Apples, we tasted over 100 varieties, and, we found that while apples vary in flavor, they are set apart most by texture: thin exterior, tough interior; starchy interior; fine grained flesh; bright, crisp skin, etc.
So too the sandwich. The most interesting sandwich places are the ones which offer multi-textured items. A flaccid roll bisected by equally flaccid Boar’s Head turkey (a product I enjoy) should be countered with something on a crusty baguette.
Vegetarian cooking, though hardly my specialty, is, I imagine, the supreme case of textural supremacy. Aside from salads, my one instance with deliberately consumed vegetarian food is the veggie burger at Lucky Strike. I order it only when I feel my system has been unhealthily glutted with meat, and while it rolls around in the mouth like a patty of molded glue, the accompanying excellent fries are quite delightful, as is the fountain of ketchup I apply to the bun.
As with a lot of vegetarian options, veggie burgers consist of something bound by something sturdy and starchy, the idea being to replicate the texture of what the rest of the modern world eats i.e. meat. An oft-heard complaint of vegetarians is that chefs don’t put much thought into the “vegetarian option”. The kitchen resorts to the classic vegetarian fall back of nature’s meat-like food namely Portobello mushrooms and eggplant. The grilled Portobello tastes smoky and offers a pleasing resistance to the choppers, as does the grilled eggplant, though I favor that option, which is more interesting. Yet this effort is a cop out. Meat is meat. Veggies are veggies. Respect the veggies rather than twist them into a meat-like product.
The banh mi, one of our favorite sandwiches, depends on and is defined by meat. The beef or pork is delectably charred and juicy with its brown sugar/soy marinade. The pickled vegetables are nice, but only because they offer a bright counterpoint to the rich protein.
Hence, to construct a vegetarian banh mi is no small feat. As with the veggie burger, you desperately want to shun textural meat replication. Happily, the website Battle of the Banh Mi saved us an afternoon of experimentation. Sauteed firm tofu-while an oft-used vegetarian substitute-feels and tastes of itself. Within its crisp exterior lies a unique, tofuey feel. Besides which, it absorbs beautifully a subtle lemongrass marinade. Slap it between bread with the traditional banh mi condiments and you have a banh mi that’s not a banh mi, and that’s the beauty of this dish, it obeys the essence of good cooking: texture first, all else follows.
Tofu Banh Mi
(Taken From http://battleofthebanhmi.com)
1 pkg of firm tofu.
1/2 cup peanut or vegetable oil
2 cloves garlic
5 table spoons soy sauce
2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons fresh ground black pepper
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 -2 stalks of fresh lemongrass. When chopped should be about 1/4 cup.
- To remove excess moisture, drain tofu and pat dry. Slice into about 1/4 ” pieces.
- Wash lemongrass and chop bulbs and remaining of stalk that is tender. Place chopped lemongrass in mortar & pestle and continue to crush pieces till they are small and pulverized. Add 2 cloves of garlic in mortar and crush garlic together with lemongrass.
- In large plastic freezer bag, combine crushed lemongrass, garlic, vegetable oil, soy sauce, salt, pepper and sesame oil. Mix the marinade well, then add slices of tofu in bag. Lay tofu slices in gently on top of each other so that they don’t break. Make sure all marinate coats each slice of tofu.
- Let marinade for at least 1 hour or until all tofu slices soak up the marinade.
- Do not add oil to the pan because the tofu is well oiled. Fry slices of tofu until both sides are golden brown with a nice firm crust.
- Let cool and assemble banh mi.
Use your choice of Banh Mi condiments from the Condiment List:
Condiment List:
- Paté -Chicken or Duck Liver Paté. (okay, forget this one.)
- Homemade Mayo- Sometimes made from an egg yolk & vegetable oil combination, or other shops will even have a store bought mayo or miracle whip. Most shops will have some type of rich, white spread.
- Fresh herbs. In the U.S., we usually see fresh cilantro sprigs. However other herbs were popular in different regions of Vietnam.
- Daikon and pickled carrots. Usually finely shredded or julienned, these sour, vinegared accompaniments provide the salty, sour layer of flavor.
- Jalapeño slices or other Chilies. Warning for the lighthearted: Pepper spice potency level will vary heavily. Nibble on a slice from your sandwich first before you bite The jalapeño slice that tasted like a mild cucumber last week, just might pop back and kick you in the ass this time.
- Cucumber Slices.
- Light Sprinkle of Soy Sauce.
