foodie nyc

When the Eve is the Main Event

There are a few events I look forward to each year, and there's no doubt that Christmas Eve is at the top of the list.   It's probably no surprise to you that I'd describe it as a food and wine extravaganza.   Add the family and traditions that have seemingly been a part of our Christmas Eve since Italians starting simmering garlic in olive oil, it's such a fantastic night for me that it makes Christmas Day seem like a bit of an afterthought.   (I did not feel this way while I was growing up and waiting for Santa to come the next morning, of course.)

Here are some of this year's highlights.   

Before we get too far into this, you need to know that we follow the Italian tradition of eating only fish on Christmas Eve.  We are not hard core seven fish traditionalists, though I would bet that we do have seven varieties over the course of the night each year.   We are pretty consistent about sticking to the fish tradition, which I've come to enjoy, as it's a challenge to keep the main courses interesting each year.  Well, there was the time that Uncle Beef decided to randomly serve braised beef as a main course, in a controversial maneuver that shocked and appalled everyone over the age of forty.   We don't talk about that often.  (OK, we do.  It was pretty funny).   

The other element that never changes is the pasta course, which is the classic Alio Olio recipe that I've discussed on this site before - simply olive oil, garlic, peperoncino, parsley, parmiginano reggiano and a thin cappellini-like pasta (thicker than angel hair, thinner than spaghetti).   It's a classic dish that I end up craving from time to time, mainly because it reminds me of being a kid on Christmas Eve.    Uncle Beef, in the midst of a few " cool down beers" one year,  added diced pancetta to the pasta that led to raised eyebrows and hidden sighs of pleasure.    While I have been fending off such renegade behavior over the years (such as an unfortunate capers episode and the threat of a sardines), I was greeted this year with a plethora of pancetta and a craving for a return to the renegade pancetta behavior of the past.   I don't fight pork fat - I only crisp it with serve it with a smile on my face.   

Before the pasta course, we had a fantastic mussel soup - possibly my most satisfying bites of this year's dinner.    Judy made a great crab stock, which was added to a base of garlic, ginger, onion, peperoncino and fire roasted canned tomatoes.   After the soup simmers for a while, the mussels and a nugget of butter is added right before serving.   The mussels add their juices to the broth, while the nugget of butter balances out the acidic qualities of the tomato.  A last minute handful of tarragon brought it all together.  (Note:  I was too busy to take a picture of this dish, so the photo is from Judy's mussels from '06.  The version I discuss above was soupier than the picture.  That's for those family members keeping  track of such detail...all two of you.)

The other enduring tradition for our Christmas Eve is wine.    Only recently did the wine quality take off to another level, though I believe the quantity consumed has maintained a fairly consistent level best described as...hmmm....generously foolish.   This year's highlight for me was the 1998 Chateau Angelus Grand Cru Bordeaux from St. Emilion.    I had been holding onto this wine for a while and was happy I brought it, but I had meant to bring a Chateauneuf but grabbed the wrong bottle while rushing out the door.   I didn't realize until we got there that I had brought the Bordeaux, thus embarrassing myself continuously by mentioning Chateauneuf throughout the evening.    Good thing I can cook, eh? Well, at least I could appreciate the amazing, herbacious nose of the Bordeux and the long earthy finish.   

Finally, the main course this year happened to be outrageous.   Judy made a whole salmon stuffed with kashi which was moist and delicious.   The other main was based on a post I had written a long time ago - essentially a recreation of an unbelievable cod dish I had a few years ago at a restaurant called BLT FISH.    The cod is marinated in soy, white vinegar and acacia honey, then broiled and roasted.   The exterior crust is a caramel colored golden brown, while the sauce is salty, sweet and rich.  It's so good that I had to fight off this random Jewish dude who keeps showing up to Christmas Eve dinner, or I think he may have chugged it straight from the pot.

Since I take pride in not following recipes and find the  Food Network only vaguely satisfying, a few people found the fact that this dish came from a recipe and from foodnetwork.com a bit humorous.     Chef Laurent Tourandel, the genius who created this recipe, must have made this dish on a Food Network episode, as googled the dish up popped his recipe on the Food Network.  So, in a nod to my duplicitous actions, I offer you the Chef Tourandel's recipe, courtesy of the Food Network - and take zero credit for the idea.   Make this cod - it's a show stopper.

(NOTE:  Missing from the list of Christmas Eve traditions are the fried smelts.  I would describe them for you, but writing about them makes my stomach turn.  Nothing like gagging on little bones and fishy meat...mmmm.)

Primi, Served as Secondi

There are so many little stories and thoughts about my Italian travels that I've been storing in my mind, but found difficult to turn into individual posts.   Instead, I've prepared a few random little primi and serve them up to you as a more substantial secondi.   

The 1984 Ridge

During my time cooking for the Italian chef at his restaurant during the summer of '06,  he'd always serve me a proper dinner at the tables in the piazza before service.  He'd make me the best dishes on the menu, and I'd sip wine and read under the protection of shade from the summer heat.    On one particular evening, he told me to take anything from his wine cellar.   Thrilled, I spotted a 1984 Ridge Petite Syrah.   Surely I couldn't choose a Cali wine while in Florence, could I? But I loved Petite Syrah, and when would be the next chance for me to have one from the 80s?  So I went for the Petite Syrah.

As the chef  brought out a Chianina steak with porcini for my secondi,   an Italian woman my age sitting close by in the  piazza came up to me and said something in Italian.   I smiled and held up the book I was reading, Heat, which was obviously in English.   She smiled and said in English "Are you a chef?".   I told her about the book and how I was essentially doing the same thing as the author at the restaurant we were sitting in front of.  She pulled up a chair and we chatted for a while.   She was impressed with my knowledge of Italian food and wine.   Well, until she saw the Ridge sitting on the table.   When she heard it was Californian, she became oddly skeptical of me.   Why not drink something Italian...in Italy?  Damn.   Busted.   So I grasped at the last straw.    I offered her a glass, hoping this would speak for itself and somehow justify why I wasn't drinking a Brunello.   She smelled, swirled, sipped....and hated it.   Ciaos and air kisses  followed shortly after.   Damn Americans.

Goat Cheese Ricotta

Pecorino, made from sheep's milk,  is the undisputed king of Tuscany.    The idea of  eating something like goat cheese is so foreign to Tuscans, that my guides thought I'd appreciate a meeting with the most novel cheese maker they knew - a goat cheese producer.   He told me of his struggles to survive - how his friends and the locals thought he was crazy and were not very open to trying new cheeses, and the resulting plight to barely make ends meet.   But his goat cheeses were pristine and phenomenal, while his passion was somehow unaffected by his lack of acceptance.   The cheese was more tangy than grassy, but overall, his story was inspiring.   He showed me how to make a goat cheese ricotta that was amazing...haven't had anything like it since.   I wish I knew where to get my hands on some....

Pasta, Unboiled

One day, the Italian chef asks me if I've ever made dried pasta without boiling it in water.   I didn't respond, just sort of laughed.  I have read about cooking dried pasta in red wine, which infuses the flavor and turns the pasta a haunting purple.   But this Chef was very traditional and took a lot of pride in that, so I thought he was joking.    Without really speaking, he throws whole garlic in olive oil on low heat and removes it a few minutes later.   He puts sliced onions in the oil, sweating them without caramelizing.   In the pan goes fresh tomatoes for a simmer, then some red wine followed by a boil.    He throws in dried penne, covers the lid, and serves the pasta al dente, cooked in the sauce, ten minutes later.   Absolutely delicious.  I need to experiment with this approach more often.

Spoiled with Porcini  

I have always loved porcini.   But my experiences with fresh porcini had been spotty.    I had impeccable raw porcini in a salad at Babbo when I first graduated from college that sent me on a huge porcini obsession.   But then, I'd find fresh porcini in the markets that were old, wet, soggy or dried out and past their prime.  After dish upon dish, crate upon crate of fresh porcini  inspection in the Chef's kitchen in Tuscany,  it hurts me to the core to realize that those perfect, impeccably fresh porcini moments are going to be few and far between for me.    Insert pouting face here.

Five Things That Make Me A Better Cook

On my way to work today, I came to the realization that I'd been feeling uninspired in the kitchen and somehow needed to get myself going again.  It led me to begin thinking about some of the key motivations that inspire me.    While not a comprehensive list and certainly more EMO than practical, writing this actually did lead to a new source of inspiration which you'll read about in the upcoming weeks, I presume.

The Reaction

I'd say one of the most motivating and satisfying parts of cooking are those few moments of unprompted joy and satisfaction I see from someone eating a dish I've made for them.     I can sometimes see surprise in their expressions, sometimes a hint of questioning and thought, sometimes a hint of revelation, sometimes the makings of a smile.   There is the rare occasion in which a dish can turn someone from grumpy to upbeat, and those moments are slightly unforgettable for me.  Don't be confused - I'm not talking about accolades or gracious thank yous.  While those are certainly great,  the unscripted and often subtle moments of appreciation are immensely satisfying to me.

Embracing The Potential to Fail

The first thing I started to feel when I began cooking for people was the pressure of serving a dish that didn't seem to be working out accordingly to plan.    At one point, I stopped worrying about the potential of making mistakes.   As you'd expect, the sense of liberation was refreshing.    Cooking for someone is like giving them a gift.    When *most* people are given a gift, they appreciate it for what it is - an expression of thoughtfulness and generosity.    This attitude allowed me to become bolder and riskier in the flavors combinations and dishes I'd serve.    If I gave them something unexpected that wasn't absolutely perfect, they'd appreciate it just as much (if not more).    This attitude change didn't relax my standards at all, but gave me the confidence to focus on seeing the end dish at the end of the tunnel, rather than all of the roadbumps in between. 

Keeping Myself Uncomfortable

I wrote about this when writing about the raw dinner I made recently.   I never aim to settle for being the master of my own domain.   Every few months, I become obsessed with a new ingredient, a new technique, a new cuisine, a new culture, a new cookbook.   And I immerse myself in it.     My next foray will be into Japanese cuisine and ingredients.   I am currently reading Morimoto's new book, which is about to launch me into a new set of dishes to add to the repertoire.    New challenges, new ingredients, new cooking gadgets, new techniques, new restaurants....they all keep cooking fresh and fun for me.

Market Moments

Something magical happens to me when I shop for ingredients.    I begin to envision a dish in my head, then begin to fill in the gaps by choosing ingredients that will balance flavors, textures and create an interesting presentation.    This process is one of those precious times in which I enjoy being alone.   I love cranking music and wandering the market with my cell phone off for a half an hour.   It's a bit of a creative escape for me. 

The Post Dinner Buzz

No matter how I feel before or while I'm cooking, there's one thing that I can always revel in - the post cooking buzz.    The more people I serve, the bigger the buzz.   After doing my events for 50 people, it generally takes me hours to come down.  I need to go out, I need to have a few drinks, I need to talk about the food and the event in detail.    I'm just a huge bundle of energy.    I can't imagine what a rock star feels like after a performance, but I suspect it's similar (and better!).   Rarely do I ever cook and want to hang out on the couch afterward.    And now that I know this about myself, I look forward to the buzz and energy I know will be waiting for me at the end of the meal.   It's a bit thrilling to know that when the last dish is served, I'm going to be an energetic ball of enthusiasm.