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Lake Tahoe
Bob and I were drawn to Lake Tahoe strictly as an opportunity to get out of the city and into the cool air. After driving east on Hwy 80, in a quick half hour we were climbing in the Sierra Nevadas and eventually reached Echo Summit at 7,300 feet.
When we first drove through Lake Tahoe in the 80s, the South Lake area was quiet and rural—not so much this time. Log cabin Jack-in-the Boxes, Kentucky Fried Chickens and Holiday Inns have replaced the funky motels and drive-ins that used to line the streets. Another element added since the 80s is the multitude of wedding chapels, wedding consultants, photographers, and catering companies. Take your choice: get married on the water, on snow skis, or on a mountaintop, in a hot air balloon, in a boat, or in a casino. Go splashy at the Blue Waters Resort, sporty at Squaw Valley's Pump Jack Inn, rustic at the Valhalla, or over the top at the Four Seasons. Bob and I did not get married again but we did find a little leftover rust and a spot for lunch near the lake's beach.
Aside from Puget Sound, Lake Tahoe is one of the few places I can think of where the mountains touch the water.
Apparently, I have given up all hope of ever appearing stylish. These hats remind me of those decorative banners that are attached to houses: any house/person looks better if you take off that banner/hat.
We had a mediocre lunch (felafel and a gyro), a bad espresso, packed up and headed back to Sacramento to face the week.
Chez Panisse: Halibut tartar a la Nicoise
Both Alice Waters and I were born in the early 40s and started our careers as food icons in the early 70s. She opened Chez Panisse in Berkeley, I started working at the Burton Elementary School kitchen on Vashon. She found sources for locally-grown fingerling potatoes, I baked Tater Tots for the lunch bunch. She came to her obsession with food by way of the Berkeley Free Speech movement and a semester abroad in France, I got my first food-related job (if you don't count that summer as an A&W carhop) based on my experience as a housewife in Sioux City. She lunched at City Restaurant as a VIP friend of Milliken/Feniger, I plated her food in the kitchen.
Here we are forty years later: she is the "mother of the Slow Food Movement", I am currently developing Packet Cuisine that shines the spotlight on salt and pepper, vinegar, mustard, and ketchup. (You can eat in your hotel room, avoiding Jack in the Box, Chilies, and Applebee's, if you've a mind to.)
Anyways, after years of trying, Bob and I finally ate at Chez Panisse. It was everything we hoped it would be. I imagined a bucolic rural location, with some grandeur, surrounded by herb gardens and roses, so was surprised to find it in an urban North Berkeley neighborhood (across the street from an obviously popular pizza place with a long line snaking down the block), inconspicuously squeezed between a bakery and an acupressure clinic.
The flowers are, of course, grown in the neighborhood.
We ate at the downstairs restaurant, with a prixe fix menu that featured halibut tartar and squab.
We both thought, "Phooey, squab—why tonight?"
We loved every bite: savory salmon rillettes, moan-inducing halibut tartare, risotto the very essence of spring, and delicious squab—who knew? The service was warm and friendly, photo-taking was encouraged, with ingredient/recipe information graciously given when requested.
"Squab Girl"
Famous Acme Bakery bread.
Ours are the ones on the bottom right. And we know exactly where they were raised.
The dining room "art."
In spite of, or maybe because of, her reputation as the world 's culinary conscience, Alice Waters is verbally pummeled in food blogs and is often labeled, "Head of the Food Police." When Leslie Stahl did a bit on 60 Minutes about Ms. Water, she said, "Say frozen and Alice Waters shudders." Alice aggressively pursues her mission to get locally grown, organic food on everyone's plate regardless of cost. Her Slow Food Movement posted an on-line challenge for its members to come up with dinners for a week that cost $5 per person per day. Now I don't know much about the earning power of that particular constituency, but I'll bet there are many five-member families who don't have $175 a week to spend on seven meals.
But restaurant food has never been about serving the disadvantaged. Ms. Waters was the first high-end restaurateur to bring quality ingredients to the table for customers who weren't necessarily rich and glamorous. Founders of movements that change the way we live seldom think in the trenches. From her vantage point she can ignore the realities of ordinary life to accommodate her ideas. Without the limitation of a minimum wage paycheck, she can believe that organic, locally grown strawberries or Paine Farm squab are the most practical way to spend your money.
And yes, I have considered the notion that spending a week of Bob's per diem on one night's dinner is excessive. But what can I say, We enjoyed every minute.
However, the combination of our recent delight with the locally-grown, quality ingredients served at Chez Panisse and my new minimalist Packet Cuisine makes me re-consider the need for a pantry full of items from Korea, Japan, India, Greece, the Middle East and that luscious, ripe mango from Mexico.
Anyways, here is our rendition of the halibut tartare we had that night. I find the descriptive, "a la Nicoise", a bit misleading. I expect Nicoise-style food to feature anchovies, black olives, tomatoes, capers, etc., but this preparation includes none of those. Instead, the halibut dominates, supported gently by creme fraiche and Meyer lemon. This dish typifies the soul of the food served at Chez Panisse: excellent quality ingredients, prepared with minimal intrusion.
Chez Panisse halibut tartare, per serving
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2 oz. very fresh halibut
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1/2 Meyer lemon—for zest, juice and rind
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1/4 cup creme fraiche
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1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
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salt and fresh ground pepper to taste
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4 leaves of Belgian endive or butter lettuce
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Chopped parsley or chervil
Gently dice the halibut into small bite sized pieces, then place into a glass mixing bowl. Sprinkle lightly with salt.
Zest about 1/4 tsp. of the Meyer lemon and add it to the bowl along with 2 Tbsp. of the lemon juice.
Combine creme fraiche and olive oil. Add mixture to the fish and turn gently with a spoon until well mixed, marinate for ten minutes.
Mince a small piece of lemon rind for garnish.
Spoon the halibut onto lettuce leaves. Season with freshly grated pepper and salt. Garnish with parsley and minced rind. Best paired with a crisp Riesling.
Delta Drive: Strawberry shortcake
It's time again for the annual strawberry post. In previous posts, we've baked a pie with Shuksan berries from Vashon, topped a shortcake with Oregon's Bentons, and made jam with Picha Farm's Totems. This year Bob and I are in the Sacramento Valley for berry season. Sunday we drove South looking for the Delta, the levees, the ferries, and the birds. We found all those, plus roadside berries still warm from the field.
Strawberry negotiations
In 1848, the California Delta was languid and sleepy when the discovery of gold northeast of Sacramento brought in thousands of so-called "argonauts" (the name given during the California gold rush to pioneer adventurers sailing around the Horn to California in their quest for gold), railroad lines, and riverboats. By 1871, most of California's swamplands were in private hands. Chinese laborers built hundreds of miles of levees which held back the rivers and created peat-rich soil and abundant harvests. Eventually, steam-powered dredges replaced horse-drawn labor and by 1944, more than 130 years of levee building transformed a large tidal marsh into a maze of interconnected waterways, improved channels and leveed islands.
From Sacramento's Delta History: "The Delta covers 738,000 acres interlaced with hundreds of miles of waterways. Much of the land is below sea level and relies on more than 1,000 miles of levees for protection against flooding. Its land and waterways support communities, agriculture, and recreation, and provide essential habitat for fish and wildlife. Today, it is still an important habitat for migratory waterfowl and more than a hundred species of fish. It is also farmland, a popular recreation area, and a source of drinking water for two-thirds of California's population."
California never fails to amaze.
Twenty minutes after leaving the hotel on our way to the Delta, we were in the county—complete with windmills, old barns, waving acres of grass, cuddles of sheep, contented cows and beautiful old farmhouses.
Both of these energy sources are operational.
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Garmin did her best to lead us astray, but we were firm and stood our ground—next stop Bird's Landing. Should have listened to her. Although Bird's Landing sounded Delta-like, it was dusty and isolated with no water, no birds, and no levees. We recalculated and drove along River Road, followed the signs to the Ryer's Island ferry, and pulled up just as it was leaving the dock. (Ferry luck never changes.) |
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No worries there...just a quick turnaround and we're back on track, driving along the Steamboat Slough, headed to Isleton, home to Isleton Joe's and the Crawdad Festival. |
Paintersville Bridge
There won't be any Nancy Silverton strawberry shortcake for us until we get home, but here's the recipe from her book "Desserts."
Strawberry Shortcake
Makes 8 servings
Biscuits:
2 ¾ cups flour
2 tablespoons + 1 teaspoon sugar
1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
7 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, diced
1 cup heavy cream + 1 tablespoon for brushing the dough
Filling:
3-4 cups strawberries, sliced/diced mixed with 2 teaspoons sugar
1 cup heavy cream, crème fraiche or sour cream whipped with 1-2 tablespoons sugar
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Adjust oven rack in the middle of oven. Line baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.
Sift flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt into a bowl of a standing mixer or food processor. Add butter and mix on low speed, using the paddle attachment, for 5-10 minutes, until the mixture is the consistency of a fine meal, and pale yellow in color. Pour in the cream and mix until the mixture just comes together in one mass.
Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead gently 3-4 times until it forms a smooth ball. Divide the dough into 8 equal parts and shape them to small rounds.
Refrigerate for at least one hour before baking. Brush the biscuits tops lightly with heavy cream and sprinkle with sugar. Bake for 25-30 minutes, until they are golden brown.
Family meal: Sopa de guajillo
Employee benefits for corporations and small businesses often include a pension or a 401 K contribution, health insurance, an occasional company car or phone, and even company-funded programs that encourage healthy life styles. Restaurants, on the other hand, offer Family Meal: sometimes outstanding, sometimes inedible, but always with an eye on food cost.
Family meal shows up late afternoon in large stainless bowls, with utensils being an afterthought. The chef sets the tone for family meal—he/she decides who makes the meal, who eats the meal, where the meal is eaten, when the meal starts, and when the meal is over. Line cooks or prep cooks prepare family meal, with the burden usually resting on the cook of least status. In some kitchens, cooks throw something together—using unpopular specials, leftovers from the walk-in, ingredients past their prime—and serve the result with attitude. And in some kitchens, the staff takes great pride in the meal and sees it as a chance to display personal cooking chops. Again, it depends on the chef.
As many restaurant workers come from Mexico or South America, tacos, tamales, pupusas, house-made chicarones, empanadas, and chilaquiles show up on the table. A Tumblr blog, "This family meals sucks", posts pictures and descriptions of the good, the bad, and the ugly. I've seen the spectrum in family meals from the dreadful to the divine. Pasta figures prominently in both. In the dreadful, zucchini and tomato guts (the seedy part that is cored out), Parmesan rinds, fried potatoes, broccoli quiche—stir it all up, plop in some day-old ragu and call it good. Grind every scrap of meat/fish/poultry you can dredge up, bread from yesterday, eggs leftover from the breakfast scramble, a healthy dose of ketchup and viola, a tasty meat loaf. Mystery meat is a regular ingredient, in fact sometimes family meal doesn't resemble anything previously known. However, using food taken from returning plates is frowned upon.
Then there is the divine. Tom Douglas' family meals ranked right up there. He was under the strange notion that workers need a break and mandated a stop around 3:30 for a group meal. Waiters, bussers, managers, line cooks, vendors, lingering regulars, the postman all sat down in the dining room for thirty minutes. If Tom had been out and about, there might be barbequed pork from Lucky Noodle, pizza from the Market, zipping hot wings from Red Hook, pot stickers, steamed buns, or if the stars were just right—burgers and fries from Dick's.
Trump's in LA was renowned for its stellar family meal. So much so that it was once added to the menu as a daily special—bad idea. Once the golden group from Hollywood had access, it was no longer acceptable to just cook for the herd. Not only did the entree have to be tasty, it had to be quirky, original, authentic, interesting and creative—the chef's job. That didn't last long.
At the original Stratton's in Westwood, Raul (the #1 prep/butcher/pastry/salad man) or Pam (the ever-so quick but measured Thai night chef) prepared family meal. The line cooks ate whatever they wanted to make for themselves, the managers ordered off the menu (under Dennis's eagle eye), and Raul or Pam feed the rest of the staff. Under the kitchen passthrough you could find Thai noodles, chicken wings stuffed with sticky rice, tom yum soup, carnitas burritos, a heavenly, eggy, custardy quiche of the day, or Raul's mother's sopa de guajillo. The following recipe is based only on a vague memory, but I think the essence is there.
Sopa de Guajillo
1 (2-3 lb) whole chicken, a chicken cut into pieces, or the chicken removed from one roasted or poached whole chicken
1 medium onion, diced
2 cloves garlic
Water to cover
1 cup water
3 guajillo chiles, deveined and deseeded (these chiles are not so hot)
2-3 arbol chiles, deveined and deseeded (be careful, these are very hot)
2 roma tomatoes, peeled and diced
3 tomatillos, husks peeled off and chopped
1/2 cup diced onion
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1½ tsp salt (or to taste)
1/2 cup chicken stock
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 zucchini, diced
1 cup green beans, cut in 1/2" pieces
2 cups chicken stock
lime wedges
queso fresco, crumbled
chopped cilantro
Place whole chicken or chicken pieces, onions, and garlic in a large pot or Dutch oven. Cover with water or chicken stock and bring to a boil, turn down to a slow simmer and cook until chicken is done—30 to 45 minutes. Remove chicken from pot, cool, and take chicken from bones. Strain stock.
In a small sauce pan, bring water to a boil and drop in chiles. Remove from heat and let sit to soften. When softened, drain off cooking liquid from chiles and add chiles along with tomatillos, tomatoes, onion, garlic, cumin seed and salt to blender with 1/2 cup chicken stock and blend well. Set aside.
In Dutch oven, add 1 Tbs. oil and heat to medium high. Pour in blended salsa and fry briefly. Add chicken stock. Reduce to medium heat and add vegetables. Simmer for 15-20 minutes.
Add cooked chicken pieces, simmer for 10 minutes. Add more chicken broth if necessary. Taste for seasoning and garnish with chopped cilantro, squeezed lime wedges, Mexican crema or sour cream and queso fresco. Serve with warm tortillas and a side of beans. Yield: 6-8 portions.
I'm my own grandmaw: German-style green beans
When did the obsession with a youthful body image begin? “Back in the day” aging began
at thirty and sped along unimpeded until death. No one ran—unless someone was chasing them, mothers had grey hair with the exception of a few black-haired, beauty shop holdouts, and adults slid unpressured into their golden years. Hard work, the lack of snacks (other
than Fritos), small blurry black & white TVs with three channels, and the absence of good
bread made it easier to keep the pounds off.
As a teenager in the 50s, I remember standing in front of a full-length mirror, moaning about thick thighs, chubby arms, and round face. As I grew older, attention to my daily food intake, forbidding the consumption of candy bars, and long hours in a restaurant kitchen, tempered
my soft side. For most of those years, Bob and I lived away from our families and didn't own a camera so I seldom saw pictures of my physical self. Then, Bob lunged into buy mode and we became digital camera users. I could not believe what I saw in the crisp, unflinching review mode of the camera’s eye. I was no longer a thirty-something brunette with a good neck
and a less than zaftig body.
To put a name on it—I suffer from reverse anorexia syndrome. As long as I stay away from dressing room mirrors and don’t allow Bob to snap away unhindered, my self image stays in the positive zone. In my mind, I am a much younger, much thinner, forty year old woman
with a full head of thick, brown hair.
Both of my grandmothers were wiry, spry (Why is that word reserved only for older people?), reserved women with a low tolerance for misbehavior. Lottie, my mother’s mother, had a
quick wit, an unusual knack for numbers and could knit the scarf off a dog. She lived with us
for three months a year, had her own bedroom, and would entertain us when it pleased her. I don’t recall much cookie baking, story telling, or recreational rocking.
Emma, my dad’s mother, was prune-faced and severe. She didn’t care for my mother—said she “put on airs”, smoked cigarettes, and read magazines. Harsh words in those days. Needless to say, we didn’t spend long idyllic stretches of time at her house.
When I was a girl, as the traditionally ignored middle child, I knew just what kind of Grandma I wanted—my own Auntie Em—a soft bodied, grey-haired sixty year old with a warm smile and slightly disheveled white hair, dressed in a flowered house dress, holding a plate of warm cookies. Now take away the housedress and the constant supply of cookies and who do you have?—me. I have become my own grandmaw.
Both Bob and I remember our Grandmas making green beans with bacon fat and vinegar. There’s just something about bacon fat….
German-style green beans
- 1 pound fresh green beans
- 4 to 6 slices bacon
- 1 onion, chopped
- 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
- 1/4 cup cider vinegar
- salt and pepper to taste
Cook fresh beans in a little salted water until tender. Drain beans; reserve about 3/4 cup of the cooking liquid. Cut up bacon and sauté with onion until bacon is cooked and onion has lightly browned.
Add bean liquid and cook until liquid has reduced to 1/4 cup. Add next 4 ingredients and the cooked beans. Heat through and season with salt and pepper to taste. Serves 4.
Madeleine moments: Chilaquiles, Roasted red tomato salsa
One night long ago after a long, wet, January bus commute from Seattle to Vashon, I dripped in the house to a table promisingly set with a bowl and a spoon. After a hot shower I sat down to tender lamb stew with perfectly cooked carrot batons, green beans, a slight hint of orange and the suggestion of rosemary. We've tried many times to replicate Bob's recipe, but the soul is never quite there.
One day in the late 70s after a particularly trying late night/early morning marathon at the newly opened La Petite Maison, owner-chef Rick O'Reilly called a staff meeting. We rolled our collective eyes and assembled in the "break room"—an outdoor porch behind the restaurant by the dumpster. Chris and Scott, the waiters, brought out silver trays, linen napkins, and tulip-shaped flutes. We all sat on the cement steps in the diluted February sun, as Rick shucked dozens of thumbnail-sized Olympia oysters and Terry opened bottles of champagne. We slurped those tiny, brinies and sipped glasses of sparkling wine until the oysters were gone, the bottles were empty, and the sun disappeared behind a cloud. Only then did we gather our knives and head back into the kitchen.
One Sunday afternoon in the 80s on Melrose Avenue in LA, Mary Sue Milliken and I neared the end of a long line of brunch tickets. The Border Grill had been open for a few weeks and we'd been working non-stop for a month. "Mar, looks like we're nearly done. Go sit in the patio and I'll send out some breakfast." The "patio" at the original Border Grill was a scarred, wobbly picnic table in the alley behind the restaurant, next to the grease drum and the illegal prep area. Soon Jaime, the busser, brought out a basket of warm corn tortillas, a red bowl of chilaquiles, two fried eggs, refried beans, and a cold Mexican beer. I couldn't remember the last time I'd sat down to eat. The golden LA light warmed my back; I heard the familiar sounds of our back-alley neighbor revving his car; I smelled the aroma of the grill, the sugar caramelizing on the hot top, and a bitter, chocolatey whiff of espressos. The moment was perfect and I can't remember, before or since, food tasting any better.
Here is a Feniger/Milliken recipe from their book, Mexican Cooking For Dummies. I'm not sure that chilaquiles with chicken is better than chilaquiles without chicken, but that's just me.
Chicken Chilaquiles
Yield: 6 to 8 servings
2 whole chicken breasts, split
Salt and pepper to taste
2 cups chicken stock
3 cups Red Roasted Tomato Salsa (see recipe)
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 medium yellow onion, sliced paper-thin
12 large tomatillos, husked, cored, and thinly sliced
1/2 cup vegetable oil
12 day-old 6-inch corn tortillas, 18 if individual casseroles are being made
Butter for greasing casserole
1 cup (4 ounces) grated Mexican manchego cheese
1 cup (4 ounces) grated panela cheese
1/2 cup (2 ounces) grated añejo cheese
Season the chicken all over with salt and pepper. Bring the chicken stock to a boil in a large saucepan. Place the breasts in the stock, reduce the heat to low, cover, and cook until the meat is tender, about 15 minutes. Set aside to cool in the stock. When cool, remove and discard the skin and bones and shred the meat into bite-sized pieces. Strain and reserve the stock for another use.
In a large mixing bowl, combine the salsa, cream, salt, pepper, onion, tomatillos, and shredded chicken pieces.
Heat the vegetable oil in a medium skillet over medium-low heat. Cook the tortillas just about 5 seconds per side to soften, and then transfer to a large colander to drain.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a 4-quart casserole or 6 to 8 individual casseroles (at our restaurants, we use small soup bowls).
Combine the manchego, panela, and añejo cheeses in a mixing bowl.
To assemble the chilaquiles, spread a thin layer of the cheese mixture over the bottom of the baking dish. Push the solids in the bowl of chicken and salsa to the side so that the liquids form in a pool on one side. Dip all the softened tortillas in the pool to moisten. Layer one third of the moist tortillas over the cheese and top with half of the chicken mixture with its sauce. Sprinkle half of the remaining cheese over the chicken. Repeat the layers, ending with a layer of tortillas on top. Cover tightly with aluminum foil.
Bake for 30 minutes or until the edges are slightly brown. Let sit for 10 minutes before slicing or unmolding from individual casseroles.
Red Roasted Tomato Salsa
Yield: 1 quart
1 pound Roma tomatoes, cored
6 garlic cloves, peeled
2 serrano chiles, stemmed and seeded
1 medium onion, cut into 1/2-inch slices
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup tomato juice
1 teaspoon salt
Pepper to taste
Preheat the broiler.
Place the tomatoes, garlic, chiles, and onion on a foil-lined baking tray. Drizzle with the olive oil. Broil 6 to 8 inches from the flame for about 12 minutes, turning frequently with tongs, until evenly charred.
Transfer the vegetables and any accumulated juices to the blender or food processor. Add the tomato juice, salt, and pepper. Puree, in batches if necessary, until smooth.
Pour into a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook, uncovered, for about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Cool to room temperature for table salsa, or use warm as an ingredient in rice or chilaquiles.
Rubio's Redo: Baja-style fish tacos, fresh tomato salsa
Back in the 60s, my sister Nikki drove from San Diego to Iowa for Christmas and every year she'd bring ingredients for taco night. There was no Mexican food to be found at the Sioux City Piggly Wiggly: no taco shells, no refried beans (that's how we rolled then), no salsa, and no avocados. The Pig did have hamburger. Today at any corner grocery store you can buy canned chipotles in adobado sauce, fresh cactus leaves, ancho chiles, masa, tomatillo salsa, queso fresco, and a multitude of choices from the tortilla aisle.
In the early 90s, I had my first fish taco with the Fostermiglias at the original Rubio's on San Diego's Mission Bay Drive—a funky walk-up stand with tables set under a large, attached palapa. It was love at first bite. Since then we've eaten fish tacos at Rubio's all over the Southwest with mixed results. There was one dreadful episode in Pasadena and a couple one star events but over-all, Rubio's deserves its "best fast food" awards. Per their website, Rubio's restaurants are company-owned with "currently, no franchise opportunities available."
There is a Rubio's within walking distance of our current hotel in Sacramento, so my first foray outside included an original fish taco for lunch. It was as good as that first time: crispy beer-battered fish, and shredded cabbage, served with a slightly spicy white sauce and an extensive "salsa bar."
Fish tacos are not impossible to serve for a crowdish sized group. Get your mis en place lined up and stand there over a hot pan of oil until there is no longer a line—just like at Rubio's.
Palapa at original Rubio's
Baja-style fish tacos
Sauce:
1/4 cup sour cream, Mexican crema, or plain yogurt
1/4 cup mayonnaise
Juice from one or two limes
Couple dashes hot sauce (Tabasco, Tapatio, Frank's, or ketchup for those of the wimpy nature)
Salt
Beer Batter:
3/4 cup flour
1 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. (or to taste) black pepper
3/4 cup beer
Combine the flour with the garlic powder, salt, and black pepper. Stir together until smooth.
In a large bowl, mix the flour mixture with the beer and let it sit for at least an hour. Whisk the batter before dipping the fish to make the batter lighter and crispier. Batter will have the consistency of thickish pancake batter.
Heat the vegetable oil to 375 degrees.
Dip the fish into the batter, let the excess drip off, then slide it into the hot oil. Cook until golden brown, 3-6 minutes. Remove from oil and drain on a paper towel. Sprinkle with sea salt.
Fill a warm corn tortilla with a piece of fish, shredded cabbage, spicy sauce, fresh tomato salsa, and a squirt of lime.
Pico de gallo (fresh tomato salsa)
2 medium tomato, diced
1/2 red onion, finely chopped
1/2 fresh jalapeno pepper, seeded and chopped
1/2 bunch chopped cilantro
Juice of two limes or lemons
Salt
In a medium bowl, combine tomato, onion, jalapeno (to taste,) and cilantro. Add lime juice and salt. Taste for balance.
Marcella Hazan's famous Buttered onion tomato sauce
Restaurant servers are celebrity hounds—they love a good star story. They would scurry into the kitchen, eyes aglow, hair on fire, when a famous person sat in their section. To the kitchen staff, it meant nothing but trouble. Stars expect to be treated differently—they want special food, special treatment, and special attention. They were usually good tippers, which goaded the wait staff to obtain even more extreme pleasures from the already harassed line cooks. Could you poach her chicken instead of sauteing it, could you trim his toast, heat his sandwich, cut his steak into baby-size bites, make a serving for her dog??? The orderly stampede of a normal lunch service slowed to a crawl as the pampering commenced.
Anyways, Marcella Hazan was not like that and never asked for special treatment. Feniger/Milliken, however, wouldn't hear of it and would stop everything on the spot to create a special lunch for her. When she was finished, Marcella (I think I can call her by her first name after all that work) would come back and thank each line cook.
So here's that famous buttery tomato sauce recipe. It is indeed a gem—easy as can be, so tasty, and well under a 30 minute meal. But then, you all probably have been making it for years.
Buttered Onion Tomato Sauce
- 5 tablespoons butter
- 1 medium onion, peeled, cut in half along the equator
- 1 28 ounce can San Marzano tomatoes with juice or 3 ½ cups peeled, chopped Romas
- 1 pound dried pasta
- Salt, to taste
In a medium saucepan, melt the butter over medium low heat and add the onion halves, cut-side down. Let onion simmer in butter for 5 minutes.
Crush canned tomatoes by hand in a mixing bowl or drain and chop. Scatter the crushed or chopped tomatoes around the onion, and pour in the tomato juice.
Turn the heat up, bringing the liquid up to simmer, then turn it down so that it cooks slowly, uncovered, with gentle bubbles. Season lightly with salt and simmer 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.
As the sauce cooks, the butter will emulsify in, turning the red into more of a deep pink. After 45 minutes, the sauce should have reduced by about half, the butter will be visible on top. The flavor will round out and deepen; and it should be sweet, tart, and buttery.
Remove onion and reserve for another time. If you prefer a smoother sauce, you can either process it in a blender or blend in place, using a wand blender.
Toss the cooked pasta in the sauce and feel free to garnish with shredded basil, parmesan, black pepper, etc.
Ft. Lauderdale, the "Venice of America"
Once again I spent the first day waiting for the "Sun Trolley" at the wrong spot—merely a practice run for getting to the Las Olas Riverfront for my cruise the next day. Billed as a "hop on hop off" mode of transport, I hopped on the Sun Trolley by the hotel but later I watched on the curb as two trolleys whizzed by before one slowed down enough for me to hop back on.
The elusive Sun Trolley
My cruise-day hop off spot was the Las Olas Riverfront that appears to be in economic decline. My footsteps echoed in the open spaces between empty buildings as I looked for my cruise's departure point. The waterway was busy—Theodore Tugboat, commercial tugs, and paddle-wheeled riverboats were tied up along the dock—but the buildings along the riverfront were vacant, with "For lease" signs in every window.
Las Olas Riverfront fountain surrounded by empty buildings
Theodore Too, a large-scale imitation tugboat based on the fictional tugboat from the television show, Theodore Tugboat.
Even the mighty can use a tow in.
We cruisers lined up, shuffled on board, and chose seats on the open deck. We motored by million-dollar summer homes owned by the billionaires, luxurious yachts as big as Navy ships, and ten-story tall oceanic cruise ships. Before long, all those on the open deck were shivering and damp from the light rain but we cowboyed on for the majority of the trip. Hot dogs, beer and wine, and cocktails were available below deck—what we needed were blankets and hot cocoa.
Wayne Huizenga's (owner of Waste Mgmt. Inc, Blockbuster, a football team, a baseball team, hotels, auto dealerships, etc.) summer home. According to our narrator the Captain, as the building of the house progressed, wings were added willy-nilly eventually leaving no place suitable for the tykes and their trikes. No prob, Mr. Huizenga just bought the $3 million-dollar house next door, leveled it, turfed it, and voila, plenty of play space.
Ft. Lauderdale's 150 miles of navigable intercostal waterways support a huge boating industry. Each year the Ft. Lauderdale International Boat Show attracts thousands of boats and boaters to the area and brings in about a half billion (that's with a b) dollars of revenue.
The private and corporate yachts tied up to the docks along the cruise route are truly jaw-droppers.
We're home again, back to our own view of ships, sailboats, and barges. My suction-cup window thermometer reads 44 degrees at 1:00 pm, so summer feels like it's years away. But for now, we turn up the heat, turn on the TV, and get ready for March Madness.
I recently created a PDF file for each year's worth of blog posts, including recipes and pictures. So if you're interested in downloading them, here are the files. I'm in uncharted waters here, so if it doesn't work, let me know.
Marla in the kitchen 2011
Marlas in the kitchen 2010
Marlas in the kitchen 2009
Marlas in the kitchen 2008
GulfStream Park, Ft. Lauderdale: Cuban-style garlic chicken
Open since 1939, GulfStream Park features graded stake races and hosted three runnings of the Breeder's Cup. The track changed hands several times during the last 25 years and in 1999, MI Developments, Inc., North American's largest thoroughbred racing company, took over operation. MI also owns Santa Anita, Golden Gate Fields, Portland Meadows, Pimlico, and Laurel Park.
A 2004, a $130 million renovation installed slot machines, poker tables, a full-fledged casino, and the "Village at GulfStream" a high-end mall where bettors could loose even more money at Crate & Barrel, Williams Sonoma, and fashion stores I've never heard of. Grandstand seating was lost to indoor simulcast areas where bets can be placed at ten tracks instead of just the one. This move prompted howls of outrage from racegoers and commentators who felt that the new "racino" destroyed GulfStream's elegant architecture and authentic racetrack atmosphere. Tracks all over the country are loosing market share and can no longer count on thousands to pass through the turnstiles. Traditional large crowds come only on big race days and the much sought after young demographic seems reluctant to spent money at the track.
When I go to the track, I wander around with my camera and look for food stands. GulfStream included a real winner—a Cuban kiosk serving cortadito—tiny cups of strong, sweet, coffee—and arepas, stuffed corn pancakes, similar to Salvadorean pupusas. Compared to Westcoast tracks, GulfStream railbirds are more focused, more aggressive, and less likely to chat. Also not quite so many beautiful blondes with spikey shoes and sunglasses.
Do not stand in his line of sight.
Is the guy in sunglasses the bodyguard?
The line separating the "racino" and the mall is blurred.
The paddock area at GulfStream
Un arepas con cortadito.
Cuban-style garlic chicken
- One 4 lb. chicken, cut into parts
- ½ cup orange juice
- ¼ cup lime juice
- 1 Tbs. rice wine vinegar
- 12 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
- 2 Tbs. salt
- 1 tsp. ground black pepper
- 1 tsp. oregano
- 1 tsp. ground cumin
Place chicken pieces in large container. Combine citrus juices, vinegar, garlic and spices. Pour mixture over chicken. Cover with plastic wrap and marinate for at least 1 hour or preferably, 4 hours.
Remove chicken 1 hour before cooking. Preheat oven to 450°. Lay chicken pieces in roasting pan in one layer. Pour marinade evenly over top. Roast in the oven for 45 minutes. Stir chicken and shake pan during the last 10 minutes to avoid scorching. Serve with rice and black beans.