The Background Check

…just a little additional info to give you an idea where I’m coming from

Obsessed with travel and on the hunt for the next great flavor, I got into food at a very early age. While most kids loved PBS for Sesame Street, I was sitting too close to the television for The Frugal Gourmet. Around the age of twelve I got into the kitchen alone and began to torment my family with bullet proof meatloaves and soggy pastas. Had it not been for some basic fire safety learned at Holbrook Jr. Sr. High School , I would have certainly burned down my parents house with a nasty little bacon grease fire I started on a “sick day” home from school. Upon entering The George Washington University in 1998, I realized that these early mishaps were actually blessings. Of the twenty or so full scale fire evacuations that occurred over that four year period, I can proudly say I was never once to blame.

Four years at that D.C. university provided me with a degree in English and a well equipped kitchen to experiment with. By senior year I was broiling steaks and baking calzones. Damn, I miss those days when reading a book in the sun was considered homework and I could stay up late into the night experimenting in the kitchen. But all good things must come to an end to make room for better things; I had landed a teaching job in Japan which turned out to be a whole new kind of education.

“Devon-sensei.”

“Yes, Mr. Japanese Junior High School Principal”

“You are getting thinner.”

“Thank you, I mean, really?”

“I have noticed you haven’t been eating your school lunch.”

He was right, those teachers that didn’t have classrooms of their own ate lunch together everyday which meant my new boss played witness to my lunch break antics. At the time, tofu scared me, fish still scares me to this day and every time I would ask someone to identify the bumpy purple vegetable on my plate they would say something like, “that is a Japanese pickle”. What? Thanks to my phobia of all that funky new food, I threw myself into learning how to read menus in Japanese, which is one of the very few Japanese language skills I still retain. Once I could identify things on my own, I really got into the food- udon noodles, curries, rice balls the Japanese could even take foreign foods like cream puffs to a new level. This was my first prolonged exposure to a country that treated food with respect, it wasn’t just fuel; it was another opportunity for excellence. After two years I left Japan convinced that tofu is the other white meat, quality kicks quantity’s butt, and pizza with asparagus, bacon and mayonnaise isn't necessarily a bad thing. I returned to the U.S. with plenty of new ideologies to foist onto my friends and family completely unprepared for the reverse culture shock that awaited. After four months I realized I was not ready to repatriate into the land of big cars and big shopping carts; I wanted to go somewhere new. Why not Italy?

Italy’s culinary tradition is so prolific that it’s actually become cliché, but here’s the thing; the food really is that good. I learned quickly that if I wanted to understand Italian food, I had to get out of the restaurants and into the kitchen. Fresh mozzarella for less than a dollar, tomatoes with flavor, wines, lemons and cheeses; it didn’t embarrass me to audibly moan over the flavor of a green bean. I could do all of this tasting on my own, but my real education began when I met Valeria. One day I answered an ad for an au pair job and the next I was sitting in her kitchen still unsure that I was ready to give up my life of freedom to live with a family and become the caretaker of two young children. She wooed me with food. Every night of my “trial” week it was something else. I had hamburgers of stunning quality, pasta al pesto, scamorza cheese, pasta al sugo, fresh ricotta drizzled with honey… she would load me up with leftovers of grilled eggplant parmesan for my roommates. What was freedom compared to this? Her broth did me in. Made with beef fillet, carrots, celery and onions, it was presented in a shallow bowl filled with bits of al dente pasta the size of pearls topped with melting parmigiano reggiano and olive oil; I was in awe. How could something so simple taste like this?

Stricken with food induced dementia I bargained my life away too easily ultimately working with the family for less than three months, in the end choosing freedom over food. In those three months I had the good fortune to visit Valeria’s hometown in Puglia. There I had my first burrata and sausages, yogurts, crepes with nutella, salads with sweet lettuce, gelato… the quality there set the standards I live by today. I learned Valeria’s recipes by loitering in her kitchen. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t find her in front of the stove. Mind you she had a live-in cook and maid which indicates just what kind of Southern Italian woman she was. She taught me how to really clean a house, how to really boil pasta and an appreciation for quality ingredients that changed the way I eat.

Anyone who has lived in Italy knows that at some point you just have to leave. For me it took the theft of all of my valuables from the third story apartment I was sleeping in. I woke up and everything was gone; I had, had enough. I wanted to relocate to a city that was calmer, safer and easier, but fate led me to New York City instead. And that’s where I am today, Brooklyn. I’ve been here for almost three years working unexpectedly in the fashion industry. But my true passion lies in food writing and that’s what this blog is all about. Thanks to Semester at Sea and my years in Japan and Italy I have been fortunate enough to visit over twenty-five countries and I have no plans to stop. In Vietnam it was the thought of pineapple pancakes and thick Vietnamese coffee that got me up in the mornings while the prospect of hot jerk chicken kept me up on Jamaican nights. I love to travel and it is the food that I find along the way that keeps me going.

A Potato Salad with Personality

It was about 10 p.m. on a Wednesday and I was messing around with an Ikea desk lamp in an effort to make my homemade-tasty, but not so pretty potato salad look web presentable. It was one of those hot New York nights that make even the slightest movement frustrating, so after a nine-hour day at my job that pays the bills, I did have the heart to force my salad to be something it wasn’t. This salad has personality -- derived from its reliance on the best ingredients. When I brought this recipe home from Italy a few years ago, I quickly realized that it was no supermarket produce salad. Like most Italian cuisine, this dish has very few ingredients making bad quality really difficult to hide. So if your going do it, you better hit the farmers market or raid your neighbor’s overgrown garden. I like this salad because it allows a potato to taste like a potato and a green bean to taste like a green bean. Like I said, it’s all about keeping it real; it’s about personality.

Ingredients:

1 pound red potatoes
¼ pound green beans
¾ pound tomatoes diced into bite-sized pieces
2 hard-boiled eggs, diced
Olive oil
Balsamic vinegar

Boil potatoes whole in very salty water until fork tender which should take about 25-40 minutes depending on size. Drain potatoes and allow to cool until they can be handled easily, then cut into bite-sized pieces. While cooking potatoes, prepare green beans by removing ends, cutting in half and boiling in their own salty water for about three minutes. The beans should be just under cooked to compensate for residual cooking that occurs after they are drained. Place cooked beans in a large bowl adding tomatoes, eggs and potatoes. Dress generously with olive oil and mix gently. Add additional salt if needed. Serve salad with balsamic vinegar allowing diners to season to taste.

serves 4

GIVE ME GIVE ME CORN

I can’t believe it’s already August. It feels like I’ve only begun to gear up for summer and here we are winding down. Life in New York City has me in such a whirl that I forgot all about corn on the cob. Until two weeks ago this easy, great tasting, quintessential summer vegetable had been gracing tables across America, but remained absent at my own. A quick breeze through Union Square market reminded me that I better get with the program because a fresh vegetable bounty like this comes around only once a year. At the market I bought four ears from a farmer named Jake who literally sang his products praises. Back home I shucked the husks and submerged the tiny kernelled bi-colored cobs into salty, boiling water for about 5 minutes. There is a lot of contention out there about how long corn on the cob should be cooked. A good rule to follow is the younger the corn, the shorter the cooking time. Some need only be cooked long enough to heat through while others may require a good 10-15 minutes. Experiment a little and let a few pricks with a fork be your guide. Regardless of cooking time, I like to drain my ears early, place a lid on the pot and let the corn steam itself for a few minutes. I’m probably breaking some fundamental culinary rule, but I like the deep yellow color and tightly sealed look the corn gets after its steam bath. To finish, I get really generous with the butter and sprinkle on a tad more salt for good measure.
For those of you that haven’t caught up with the season, I urge you to go out, do yourself a favor and buy some fresh corn. It’s great low maintenance eating.

Note: While visiting my parents in a suburb of Boston, I happened to catch a glimpse of corn prices in the local supermarket four ears for $2.59, a whole 59 cents more than my NEW YORK CITY farmer’s market bunch. I have to give Jake the farmer a hand -- his corn was tender, a lot sweeter, and less expensive. Sometimes buying from the local guy is as nice to the wallet as it is to the palate. Fantastic!

Visiting Chef

Recently my chef friend Svante moved to New York to begin a new job working at Jean George. Nice for him, right? Timing would have it that he found a job before he found a home so I offered up a patch of wood flooring and a sleeping bag in my living room, provided he didn’t mind sharing with the twenty-three pound shaggy cat who had also taken up residence in my place for the summer. Despite Svante’s new and intense chef schedule, we managed to squeeze in a few home-cooked meals. We had real Italian-style carbonara – no cream, plenty of bacon and egg yolks. We also had French omelets which are made just like scrambled eggs except at the last minute they are spread flat to finish cooking with a bit of cheese sprinkled in before the final fold. Herb stuffed chicken was a meal that found me butchering my own chicken breast and actually enjoying it. Tostones were the side dish that night, and I have to be honest and say, I never make fried plantains or fried anything else for that matter. I have an intense fear of oil cooking – it’s hot and splatters and I have no idea what to do with the oil once the whole production is over. Not to mention that mushy, grease-soaked food is more depressing than dry chicken or soggy pasta. All in all, Svante’s visit resulted in great strides in my tiny kitchen. Along with some confidence building guidance, great enough to help my boyfriend and I get over our deboning, deep frying fears; he provided us with some simple tips that can easily be applied in any kitchen.

How to Hold A Knife

Take a look at the photo. Instead of gripping the entire handle, like almost everyone does, hold the blade between your index finger and thumb using the rest of your hand for security and control. This really helps make your knife strokes precise and powerful. Doesn’t that just make you feel one tiny step above the rest?

The Power of Salt, Butter and Olive

A few years ago, after returning from Italy, I had this tip down. My pasta water was as briny as the Atlantic. I thought nothing of using a ½ cup of olive oil in a single pasta dish, and I felt completely comfortable swathing anything that crossed my plate in butter. I hadn’t realized I lost my cavalier toward these items until we made that pasta carbonara.

To actually add butter and oil to a pan of bacon grease seemed ridiculous. But in the end the carbonara tasted like real food. It was the antithesis of the spray pump salad dressings and anemic looking low carb rolls I see people forcing down at lunch time. I’m not advocating that we all go out and catch ourselves a heart attack, but consider this, in a world ranking of fattest countries the U.S. is number nine while Italy with all its bread cheese and oil is number 111. Seems we need to get our priorities in order.

Tomato Concassé ( Peeled and Diced Tomato)

Ok this is not a critical skill, but it does add some polish to your presentation and it refines the texture of your tomatoes. Score your tomatoes at the top in an X, being careful to only cut the skin. Place tomatoes in boiling water for 30-60 seconds, depending on how ripe they are, when the skin peels back like a blossoming flower; they’re done. Quickly place them in cold water to “shock” them and prevent further cooking. Once the tomatoes are cool, remove skin, cut in lengthwise quarters. Remove the interior stem and seeds. Once you dice or slice your tomatoes to their desired size you will have created what is typically referred to as tomato concassé.

Boiling Veggies

For me the most important thing when cooking vegetables is speed and minimal clean up. I force my broccoli into the smallest pan with the least amount of water and the lid shut tight which, according to Svante, is why I often end up with cheerless little spears. He says vegetables should be cooked in plenty of water. This allows everything to return to a boil faster ensuring even cooking and breathing room. We should never use a lid, he says, because the natural chemicals being released in cooking get trapped inside the pot robbing the vegetables of their bright colors. Salty water will keep your vegetables bright. This is not true, however, for white vegetables, add an acid like lemon juice or vinegar to their water and save the salt for after cooking.

Bruschetta: Easy, Fast, and Kinda Impressive

While I’m not confident enough to recreate everything we made, one dish that can be added to any beginners repertoire is bruschetta. Bruschetta, pronounced brus’ke’ta, can be roughly translated from Italian to mean grilled. Contrary to popular belief, bruschetta refers to the bread, not its topping. Below is a recipe for a more traditional bruschetta topped with fresh tomatoes.

4 plum tomatoes
1/4 cup of olive oil
3 tablespoons basalmic vinger
Salt
1 French baguette

Dice tomatoes, making an effort to keep cube shape and size consistent. Time permitting use the concassé method mentioned above. Place diced tomatoes in a bowl and add oil, vinegar and salt. Mix and readjust seasoning to taste. Place marinating tomatoes in refrigerator while preparing your bread.

To prepare bread, cut baguette on a diagonal into 1 inch slices. Place slices on a baking sheet, drizzle olive oil over the top and add a very light sprinkle of salt. Place bread into a 375 degree oven baking for about 5-10 minutes or until the edges begin to brown. You want your bread to be crusty on the outside, but still have a pleasing soft center. Top warm bread with tomatoes being sure not to put too much of the tomato liquid on the bread making it soggy.

Makes about 6 slices

Alternatives
- Instead of tomatoes, top brushetta with a soft cheese
- Before adding a topping, rub baked bread with a clove of garlic for additional flavor
- Experiment with alternative toppings like roasted red peppers, fresh mozzarella, or basil spiked tomatoes
- Try this recipe in the toaster oven. In the summer heat I tried this in my counter top oven and it worked great. For some other easy toaster oven recipes, take a look at famed chef Eric Rippert’s website at http://aveceric.com/ the site has both recipes and instructional videos.

Truth Be Told -- My Hummus was Bad

Truth Be Told -- My Hummus was Bad

Truth be told, I was so amped about posting my first blog entry that I didn’t try my hummus recipe until after I had broadcasted it across the world wide web. Needless to say, there were a few glitches, and I currently have a Tupperware container of grainy, week-old chick-pea dip sitting in my fridge. But before being sentenced for my transgressions, I would like to put forth a small and humble defense.

I’m a neophyte cook and a neophyte blogger, but I’ve got passion and chutzpa for days. We’ve all got to start somewhere, and my small space among the millions of blogs on the internet seems to provide just the right amount public of anonymity to help me bumble and scrap my knees onto the food writing scene. For those brave enough to stand by and watch, I thank you. For those of you obligated by friendship and relation to stick around, I say, carry on soldiers.

As for the recipe, my friend Denise sent it to me in Italian, which makes sense because we met in an Italian language school. Reading her instructions, I was lulled into complacency by the relative simplicity of it all. The instructions took up no more than four lines and included statements like “cook the beans until they are soft”. I was so impressed with the idea of swapping recipes with my Israeli friend in the Italian language that I completely overlooked the lack of specifics. Who needs details when making something this simple?

According to the directions on the chick-pea bag I need only boil the beans for ten minutes and then continue to soak for another two hours. Two hours and ten minutes into the process, the beans were only two degrees softer than tooth cracking. No big deal. I put them back on to boil and searched the internet for a few extra hints to supplement my recipe. An hour or so later I found myself shucking hundreds of peas by hand, which I found to be a very cathartic exercise. About half way through I began to question if I had really understood what I read because I kept trying to picture any middle eastern mother, in any one of the middle eastern countries, messing around with a pot of beans for two hours while her kids ran around destroying the house; not practical, not likely. I must have misunderstood.

The real disaster began when I got down to blending the whole thing together. I put my shucked peas, lemon juice, tahini and olive oil in a blender, secured the cover, and hit the power. The motor grinded and whirled, but the contents of the blender did not move. Power off-push-prod-stir. Nada. Hot and frustrated, I dumped a portion into my tiny food processor. This particular model requires the user to hold down a button on the side of the machine with her olive oil slicked hands while the processor screeches back in painful protest.

But I continued to macerate those chick peas in small batches until I got the younger version of what is now collecting social security in my fridge. A pile of dishes and a headache later I could not bring myself to do more than taste for seasoning, which was actually quite nice despite the off putting texture. The result of my hard work looked nothing like the version of perfection I envisioned. Like a sore loser I covered my opponent and threw it into the fridge for a rematch that never came to fruition.

For all of those wishing to punish me for my crimes against blogging, you must acknowledge that I have suffered enough. Mea culpa, Mea culpa, Mea culpa, I will never again post another recipe that I have not tried. I will put forth only those things I know to be successful and delicious.
If there is anyone out there that has a hummus recipe that is fun and easy, and actually works please bring it forth.