Archive for ‘Sides’

April 27th, 2010

Leeks braised in butter

When I first started cooking, “simple” turned me off. It seemed like everyone who was anyone was proclaiming that a simple, straight-forward approach to cooking was best. But, to me, simple felt elitist. Like Alice Waters cooking eggs on an iron spoon in her kitchen hearth. I don’t know about you, but my kitchen hearth takes such an unbearably long time to heat up.

Leeks

I was afraid of simple cooking, so I figured I could prove my prowess in the kitchen with complicated recipes. There were a lot of disasters. I never gave myself a break. The first time I used squid as an ingredient I insisted on cleaning it myself. Squid ink splattered everything in my kitchen. I almost had a heart attack when I found that plasticky skeleton in the squid. I had no clue. And I felt like a failure.

Around the same time I started cooking, Jim and I began spending his book advance (plus a few of my meager paychecks) in New York restaurants, where we ate many simply prepared meals that tasted simply amazing and heightened my fear of simple, because I couldn’t grasp how they did it. So I shook simple off, and tested myself with every multi-ingredient extravaganza I could find. I needed someone to put their hand on my shoulder and tell me to take it easy, but instead I went on for a few years with dogged insistence on fussy things, and finally came around to simple, the hard way.

Man, was I wrong about the whole simple thing. It just isn’t elitist. It’s anyone’s game.

parsley

There are only two things to learn to get simple cooking right. First, I needed to learn how to find good ingredients — to find artisans who create great products, and to learn when produce is at its prime (which is easy enough with all the handy guides out there) — and second, I had to learn how to season well. That last part proved a bit tricky: it takes practice, it meant I had to suffer through a few over-salted meals. But after a while I got it, and then I really understood this whole simple business.

These leeks are simple cooking and there’s nothing to them. Slice them into cute little rounds, wash them really well, and add them to a pan with lots of melted butter. Pour in a bit of water, about halfway up the sides of the leeks, and cover and cook for ten minutes. Then comes the tricky part: Uncover and season the leeks. Start with a little pinch of salt, a grinding of pepper, then add some more, then some more, until the leeks taste super good. If you don’t add the magic amount of salt, they’ll taste good; but at that point, when they are just good, try and add a tiny bit more salt, incrementally, until they go from tasting good to tasting super good, memorable, smile-making. That’s when you’re there. That’s when you’ve conquered simple cooking. You’ll know it when it happens, I promise. And once it does, it’ll change everything. It did for me. I went from cursing the simple cookery coterie to being here, turning this blog into my own personal simple cooking soapbox. Now excuse me, I need to find some logs for that hearth.

Leeks Braised in Butter

serves 3-4

Don’t be alarmed by the amount of butter in these leeks. This recipe is more of a garnish than a side dish, and a spoonful of the leeks is all you need per serving. Butter is what makes the leeks taste so delicious, so don’t skimp.

1 bunch of large leeks (about 4 individual leeks)
4 tablespoons butter
water
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
small handful of fresh parsley and chives, for sprinkling

Cut the root and dark green tops from the leeks and peel the first layer of the leek away. Working with just the white and light green part of the leek, slice into rounds. Wash leek rounds thoroughly under running water, making sure to get rid of any dirt. (This may take a few washings.)

Heat butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add leek rounds to the pan and add water to cover about halfway up the sides of the leek rounds. Cover the pan and cook for about 10-12 minutes, until the leeks are tender.

Uncover and season with salt and pepper, seasoning with a little bit at a time, adding more as you taste until the leeks taste perfectly seasoned. Once all the water has evaporated from the bottom of the pan, transfer leeks to a serving dish. Garnish with chopped parsley and chives, to taste. Serve a small portion of the leeks on the side of just about anything, though pork is especially nice.

April 7th, 2010

Pork belly and cabbage

There are two things in the kitchen that I take too very seriously. First, there’s spaghetti carbonara — made with guanciale, always, copious black pepper, real parmigiano-reggianno cheese, and never, ever a sauce made from cooked eggs. The carbonara is prepared — sans egg — then put in the “carbonara bowl.” You add the eggs and stir them in, without scrambling, just cooking them ever-so-slightly. It won’t resemble a cream sauce. It will be silky beyond measure. There’s just no other way.

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Second, there’s pork belly. I’m not as fanatical about pork belly as I am about carbonara. I don’t subscribe to totalitarian directions. A good pork belly braise, to me, is the opposite of strict. Feeling my way through the recipe, I prepare pork belly in the little of this, little of that method, thinking about the elements of flavor, adding pinches, sniffing, and dipping my finger in the braising liquid to get a good taste.

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I’ve never had great luck following pork belly recipes, probably because the pork belly itself is such an important factor. Too much fat and you better be careful to sear and render it enough. Too little fat and the whole thing may turn dry as a bone. For an Asian-style braise, you’ll need to add a bit more of those “kick” ingredients — vinegar, orange — to work with an overly fatty belly. If there’s not enough fat, you’ll want to save a lot of the dripping in the pan after you’ve seared the belly. Or you could just find a belly with equal amounts fat and meat, and then you’ll be fine, indeed. 

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Usually I serve pork belly over plain white rice, but this time I made a cabbage too. Spicy, of course. I sliced the cabbage thin and put it in a braising pot with some duck fat (my go-to fat for cabbage braising) and brown rice-wine vinegar, adding a few hits of sriracha once it was nice and tender. The result was just as sexy and handsome as that boiled kale I professed love for this winter, but a bit more, ahem, bow-chicka-wowow.

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Which was a good thing, because pork belly usually needs some heat. The belly was seared to hell, then braised with a bunch of scallion tops, shavings from half an orange, star anise, dark soy sauce, and chicken stock. I let it bubble away for a few hours, before slicing it into little squares along the crosshatch. Squares that I served atop the cabbage and covered in scallion slices and cilantro sprigs, and a few dashes of soy sauce. People, they were perfect bites.

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The weather may be too hot this weekend for a pork belly braise now (80 degrees in NJ lately). Unless, of course, you’re too very serious about your pork belly…

pork belly

Pork Belly Braise with Red Cabbage

Printable Recipe

For the pork belly:

1 piece of pork belly, about 1 pound, with about 50 percent fat and 50 perfect meat, scored
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
2 tablespoons dark brown sugar
1 bunch of scallions, green parts only, coarsely chopped (reserve the white part of the scallions for garnish)
2 whole star anise
2-inch piece of ginger, peeled and thickly sliced
peel from 1/2 orange
3 tablespoons dark soy sauce
1/4 cup Shaoxing wine
water to almost cover

For the cabbage:

1 small to medium head of red cabbage
2 teaspoons duck fat
1 cup Shao-Xing rice wine
1 cup water
sriracha
salt, pepper

In a dutch oven that fits the pork belly snugly, melt sugar into oil over medium-high heat for a few minutes, until sugar turns a deep brown color. Put the scored pork belly in the pot, fat side down, and brown on all sides, caramelizing, about 20 minutes. Transfer the pork belly to a plate.

Take some of the drippings out of the pan, or leave it all in, depending on how much has accumulated, and then add the scallion greens, ginger, star anise, and orange into the pot.  Cook for a few minutes and then add the wine and soy sauce.  Fill the pot up with enough water to come up the sides and almost completely cover the pork belly.  Cover the pot and cook over low heat, so that the broth is just simmering, for about 2 hours.  Uncover the pot and cook for another hour or hour and a half.  Remove the pork belly and cut into squares, following the scoring marks.  Strain the broth through a fine-mesh sieve and discard solids.  You can boil the broth if it’s too thin, otherwise serve it as is.

Meanwhile, prepare the cabbage.  Slice cabbage as thinly as you can. Add duck fat to a large pot over medium heat.  Add cabbage and cook for a few minutes.  Add wine and water and cook until the cabbage is completely tender, about 1 hour.  Add sriracha, starting with a few drops, then adding more until it is as hot as you like it (a little hotter, even, since it’s going to be mixed with rice and pork belly.) Season with salt and pepper. Keep warm until the pork belly is ready.

Serve the pork belly in big bowls with white rice and cabbage, pouring some broth into the bowls.  Garnish with scallions and cilantro, and pass around sriracha at the table.

March 26th, 2010

In agrodolce

Have you all read the most recent Saveur? The feature on cooks in Rome, Eternal Pleasures, makes me want to literally bathe in agrodolce.

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And I’ll admit I came pretty close on Monday. Maiale in agrodolce. Cipolline in agrodolce. Together with some garlicky broccoli. It was pure bliss. Worth running out of the office to go home and make right now. Make some excuse. Tell your boss it’s an emergency. Maybe your kitten is stuck up a tree? It would be worth it, really, if you called your neighbor and asked if they would please stick your kitten (any kitten) up a tree so you could go home. Really.

cippolini onions

Worth it, even, if you don’t think you’re a fan of the sweet and savory combination.  I’ve learned that, in culinary terms, there’s nothing I’m not a fan of — if it’s the right recipe, that is. I mean, I really, really, really dislike foie gras if it’s not done right. But, recently, I licked my foie gras plate clean at Town House in Chilhowie. Oysters will make me gag on most occasions, but I’ve twice gobbled up my fair share, in the Outer Banks, and at Town House, too.  I don’t even like sweet and savory combined in most recipes, and yet here I am, raving about two agrodolce preparations, one for onions, one for pork. Remember when I mentioned that I could bathe in agrodolce? Just ask me if I was kidding.

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The “agro” in both is balsamic vinegar. I used a cheap one, so that it wouldn’t be too sweet on its own. For the onions, the “dolce” is regular white sugar and hydrated raisins; for the pork, it’s honey. Despite the similarities, the two agrodolces have their own flavors. Honey, butter, and rosemary create a round flavor, while the olive oil, sugar and raisins have a sweet tartness. The agrodolce sauce is a bit jumpier on the onions. Perfectly so, especially when you mix just a little bit of it into the honey-butter-rosemary agrodolce marinade you’ve made for the pork.

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You certainly don’t have to make the pork and onions for the same meal, but I thought they worked magic together. Add in this broccoli, and I would say it all works symphonically, if that didn’t risk revealing my extreme dorktitude. But I guess I already did that with the whole bathing in agrodolce thing…

Totally worth it.

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Sweet and Sour Glazed Pork Chops

Printable Recipe

from Saveur Magazine, Issue #128

serves 4

4 10-oz. bone-in pork chops
3 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1⁄3 cup balsamic vinegar
2 tbsp. honey
4 tbsp. unsalted butter
1 sprig fresh rosemary, torn into 1″ pieces

Put pork chops on a plate; drizzle with oil; season generously with salt and pepper; let sit for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, build a medium-hot fire in a charcoal grill or heat a gas grill to medium-high heat. Combine vinegar and honey in a 1-qt. saucepan and cook over medium heat until reduced to 1⁄4 cup. Stir in butter and rosemary and set aside.

Put pork chops on grill and cook, occasionally turning and basting with balsamic mixture, until browned and cooked through, 12–14 minutes. Transfer to a platter and let sit for 5 minutes before serving.

Sweet and Sour Onions

Printable Recipe

from Saveur Magazine, Issue #128

serves 4

1⁄2 cup raisins
3 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 1⁄2 lbs. cipolline onions, peeled
1⁄4 cup balsamic vinegar
1 1⁄2 tbsp. sugar
Kosher salt, to taste

Put raisins into a small bowl; cover with hot water and let soften for 30 minutes.

Heat oil in a 12″ skillet over medium-high heat. Add onions and cook until golden brown, 8–10 minutes; pour off oil. Drain raisins. Add raisins, vinegar, and sugar and season with salt. Cook, stirring, until sauce thickens, 2–3 minutes.

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