foodie nyc

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.

The Many Lives of Focaccia

I have always been a fan of focaccia.    I think my first memories of eating it were with my Uncle Beef, who also taught me and many others how to make it from scratch.

Out of nowhere,  I've had a few different encounters with  focaccia that really opened my mind to the variations in which it's served.   

Wood Oven Roasted Focaccia

You may recall that I spent a week cooking with a chef in his restaurant outside of Florence.    I had a few completely revolutionary focaccia experiences with him that started this focaccia awakening.    On the first night I arrived to work with Chef Claudio,  I helped him prepare for an outdoor party at his bed and breakfast.    I watched him make the dough for the focaccia, pretty much in the typical way I was used to making it (more on that below).    However, he had an outdoor wood oven.   After watching him make a few, I took over and made the focaccia in the wood oven for the rest of the afternoon.     Rolled the dough.   Dimpled it with my thumbs.   Salt, olive oil, then added it to the piping hot wood oven.   Obviously, the wood flavor made this a focaccia experience that I could never forget.    At the same time, there wasn't that soft, spongy interior that I was used to tasting.   Not bad, just different.

Fried Focaccia

The next day in his restaurant kitchen, Chef Claudio made the same focaccia dough, but this time fried it in olive oil in free form pieces.   He served them warm with salt and sometimes rosemary as bread to start the meal.   Fried Focaccia.    Brilliant.

Three Toppings

Around the holidays last year, Uncle Beef made focaccia for us at home, but somehow I was able to weasel my way into making the toppings.   After laying out the focaccia dough onto a sheet pan and dimpling with thumbs, I then applied three different toppings.    The first was a truffle salt (which you may recall I broke up with a few months ago) and rosemary, but my favorite was whole red grapes gently cooked in balsamic.   A bit sweet, a bit tart and a sprinkle of pine nuts for texture.  The third topping was a mojo - a few varieties of herbs ground with olive oil and garlic in a mortar and pestle.

Crispy, Chewy Pizza

My local pizza place, Muzzarella, has a very crispy, thin focaccia crust that is my go to late night neighborhood slice these days.      The copious amounts of olive oil and the super hot oven make the focaccia pizza crust crunchy and chewy at the same time.  Right on.   

Light and Airy

And finally, on the airy section of the focaccia spectrum, I recently bought a slice of Whole Foods focaccia I saw in their bakery.    No joke, the airy interior was something like two inches thick.    Sliced down the middle and layered with salami, goat cheese and truffle oil, it was an airy, soft sandwich that once again made me rethink the focaccia I had in Italy.   

I'm sure someone will write me a passionate email telling me that there's one right way to make focaccia.  But somehow, I'm concluding the best way is every way.

The base recipe for focaccia is below.

Dreaming of a Tuscan Zucchini Sformatino

Around this time last year, I was wandering Tuscany and Umbria on the culinary tour of a lifetime.  I feel guilty that you haven't seen much of it - from the olive oil tastings, local cheese makers, and fantastic wine producers I visited - there's almost too much to post on this site.

But as I long for those extraordinary experiences in Tuscany, I'll start to sprinkle in a few Italian inspired posts here and there over the rest of the summer.

One of the restaurants we visited for lunch was Osteria Volpaia in the town of Volpaia, near Chianti.   It was a scorching hot day, so we needed to eat light.   A primi that we ordered was a Sformatino al Zucchini, which is essentially a steamed/baked custard made with a puree of zucchini.  The kicker was the beautiful zucchini blossom that encased the custard.   While the dish was rich, the fresh garden flavor of the zucchini made the sformatino a perfect dish for a warm summer afternoon.

I'll never forget our experience meeting the chef after the meal.   Chef Francesco Sabbadini was leaving the restaurant at the same time we were, as he was heading home for the afternoon.   We stopped him and told him how much we loved our meal, especially the zucchini sformatino.  Not only did he talk to us for about twenty minutes, but he took us back to the restaurant, gave us a tour of the kitchen, then wrote the zucchini sformatino recipe down for me to take home. 

After we both got into our cars and drove off, we saw him a few miles later at a stop sign.  He waved back to us with a genuine sincere happiness, as if we'd just bonded over an appreciation of food and his efforts.  Doesn't sound much like the over-hyped, chef driven world we live in today, does it? 

In tribute to this little moment I shared with Chef Sabbadini, I'm passing on Osteria Volpaia's recipe for sformatino al zucchini, which you'll find below.

I would recommending making this sformantino with some toasted country bread, a side salad, and possibly a shaving of parmigiano reggiano to garnish the custard.

The Irresistable Cinta Senese

My idea of good eating somehow involves a piece of pork.   I have generally learned to appreciate virtually all cuts and preparations, with the exception of pigs feet.  While in Tuscany and Umbria this summer, I decided I would attempt to O.D. on salumi.  But not just any salumi - I would specifically attempt to O.D. on wild boar salumi and the famed Cinta Senese breed.  I just can't find wild boar salumi that tastes as magnificent as it does in Italy and have never had a piece of Cinta Senese in the U.S.  I'm too lazy to investigate whether the Cinta Senese is allowed for import to the U.S., but considering I've seen it on zero menus or in any markets, I'd bet it's not.

What the hell am I talking about, you ask? The Cinta Senese is a breed of pork from the Siena/Chianti region that had been on its way to extinction, but recently raised back to sustainable levels.  They are known for their characteristic black hair with a white band around the belly. 

While in Montalcino, I ordered a tasting of different salumi preparations from the Cinta Senese.   The prosciutto was pink, slightly orange and very delicate...almost supple (oh, shut it).  Thin slices of lardo were off the charts - velvety, a hint of herbs and exploding with porkiness.  It was an unforgettable experience - one that I wished I could take back home.

A few days later, Bernie and Cristina from Shopping Safaris Tuscany took me to the grandaddy of all salumi shops in Chianti - Macelleria Falorni in Greve.  If this shop were in the U.S., I would quit my job and stand in the store all day, drooling on myself and other customers, quivering for my next dose of Cinta salumi.  The salumi at Falorni is packed in a brilliant manner - about five thin slices are sealed in a small airless envelope, with about five envelopes per package.  This allows unhealthy and undisciplined people like myself the option to enjoy a few pieces of the salumi on-the-go without exposing the rest of the salumi to air.

After purchasing enough salumi to make my arteries hate me, I went about my days saving my salumi stash in the hopes of smuggling the treasures back to NYC.  In fact, I forgot about them until I was on a three hour train heading from Florence to Rome.  I had rushed out of the hotel the morning of my departure, so I didn't have a breakfast before the train ride.  After a few hours watching the beautiful country pass me by, I was attack dog starving. The next thing I knew, as if being guided by the salumi gods, my trembling hand was unzipping my bag and excitedly fumbling around for the Cinta salumi.  I held the pack in my hand, thrilled with my newfound snacking options. 

I tried to open one of the sealed envelopes, but it was impossible.  I looked around the train - there was a young woman sitting across the aisle but she was gazing out the window and seemed unaware of my existence.  So I did what any desperate food obsessed loser with minimal amounts of self respect would do...I tore into the pack and opened it with my teeth.  Desperate times call for desperate measures. I peeled off a slice of the Cinta Senese and stuffed it into my mouth.

I think I may have temporarily blacked out or something, because after a minute or so I came to and found that all of the salumi had disappeared and my mouth was full with what appeared to be the final piece.  My hands were very oily as I did not have a napkin of any sort, and I may very well have been having some sort of foodgasm.  I turned my head to notice the woman across the aisle staring at me, appalled and sympathetic all at the same time.

I would do anything to be back on that train with a pack of Cinta Sienese in my hand.  The stuff is worth embarrassing yourself over, that's for sure. 

It's All About the Brodo

  I went to the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy a few years ago.  One of the best dishes I had was in a small town outside of Modena - a traditional dish of sausage tortellini floating in a clear chicken broth known as brodo.  The simple, clear broth was made with capon and exploded with chicken flavor.  It was invigorating - I must of had bowls and bowls of it during the trip.  The brodo made me feel amazing - full of life and energy. 

I have been making this style of brodo frequently at home - it's easy and makes everyone feel better on a cold day.  While having a beer together after a long night of work in his Tuscan restaurant, I told Chef Claudio that this brodo from Emilia-Romagna was the best I ever had.  He snapped to life with excitement.  He believed the Tuscan brodo was even better.  He promised to make it for me the next day.

He had some stiff competition.  While in Umbria a few days earlier, Uncle Beef and I made a chicken broth from the local chickens.  As you can see by the photo of the chicken, the chickens all over Tuscany and Umbria were yellow and skinny, not pale and full of hormones. The taste of the local chicken exploded with flavor - it became clear to me why the brodo in Italy is so great.  We made a big pot of it in Umbria, which was phenominal.

As the Tuscan chef made his brodo for me, I was surpised when he took me through the ingredients he'd be using.  He not only used chicken bones, but also beef bones from the shoulder cut, as well as a whole tongue.  Yow.  The chef simmered his brodo for about 1.5 hours then strained it carefully.  The combination of meats created a rich brodo that had deep, meaty qualities -very nice indeed.   But what I tend to enjoy about brodo is the burst of a dominant flavor that comes through from the broth.  What can I say - I guess I prefer the pure expression of chicken rather than a mix of meats.

So what did I do when the first chill hit NYC? You guessed it.  But I decided to make the Emilia-style brodo as I think it's flawless.  I usually make a huge pot of brodo and use it in any dish that would call for stock, but I especially like it as part of a simple meal after work or as a homey treat for football Sundays. 

My favorite preparation features pastina - small pasta like grains - and little meatballs.  I hope I can entice you to make brodo with this shot of a juicy meatball swimming in the brodo.  If that doesn't work, I can tempt you with my recipe, which follows the jump....

A Tale of Tegamaccio

I'm going to be doing a few posts about some of the dishes that have inspired me while touring Umbria and Tuscany this summer.  I had always meant to write about these dishes before my tasting event celebrating these flavors, but oh well....better late than never.

Our villa in Umbria was right on Lake Trasimeno, which is the second largest fresh water lake in Italy.  The cuisine around the lake area is, naturally, fresh water fish focused.  But drive thirty minutes either direction and the cuisine of Lake Trasimeno is nothing but an anomoly in the Tuscany and Umbria area. I mentioned this to the chef I cooked with in Tuscany.  His eyes lit up when I mentioned this cuisine.  He was familiar with this area and also marveled at the fact that Lake Trasimeno has its own distinct cuisine within Umbria and the entire region on the whole.

We were in search of a local, high quality freshwater fish restaurant one night and after deciding to avoid a pizza place that served salt water fish on a fresh water lake (?), we were guided to the local standard for high quality fresh water specialties, Restaurant Da Settimio. Being the subpar, untrendy blogger that I am, I will not post photos of the dishes I took at the restaurant.  Instead, I will reminisce and recreate a special dish that my Uncle Beef and Renee marveled over.  It was a dish called tegamaccio - a fish stew made from local carp, eel, and possibly other fish that I cannot remember.  The fish was lightly simmered in a rich, stewy tomato sauce that had a nice punch of vinegar and a spike of chili flavor.  The tomato fish stew was given substance with a slice of bread that was placed at the bottom of the stew to absorb the liquid.   

The only point of contention for me was the consistency of the tomato stew.  In the restaurant, we had it a bit on the soupier side.  However, Renee order the tegamaccio on a separate excursion and reported back that it was a bit chunkier and less soupy.  I could only make sense of this by thinking of tegamaccio as ribollita in concept - some of these bread stews are runnier or chunky than others.  I chose chunky vs. soupy, but to each their own.

I searched the internets for tegamaccio recipes but came up with very little, other than a recipe from Mary Ann Esposito from her cookbook Caio Italia.  I remember watching some of Mary Ann's cooking shows on PBS a while back.  While not riveting TV, she cooked authentic Italian food that I remember appreciating.  Anyway, her recipe confirmed the method upon which I made this dish.  I did not follow her directions (I don't follow directions well) but followed her method.  I used all the ingredients (did not pay attention to proportions), as I agreed with virtually all of the ingredients she lists in the tegamaccio.  She did not provide the vinegar-like punchiness that I recall, so if you decide to make this dish, I recommend adding a few tablespoons of white wine vinegar a few minutes before serving. 

As far as the fish is concerned, do as the Italians do - get whatever is best and freshest at the market, provided the fish is thick enough to keep its integrity while simmering in the stew.  I chose large shrimp and cod for this dish.  The above picture is from a shot I took of my version of tegamaccio.  I decided to choose this picture because I wanted you to notice the layers upon layers of flavor in this dish. 

As you can see, I liked tegamaccio so much that I made it for our Tuscany/Umbria tasting event last October 15.

How Fresh Porcini Leads to Ginger Hazelnut Oil

By now you may know that I spent a week cooking with a chef in Tuscany in his restaurant kitchen.  I'll slowly start to integrate what I've learned and how I've applied it to my own cooking now that I'm back in my kitchen.

I spent a week cooking with Chef Claudio Piantini in his restaurant Torre Guelfa in the little town of Figline Valdarno, about twenty minutes south of Florence.

As you'll be reading here, I've learned a lot from Chef Claudio - including composure, patience, and dedication.  But I'm sure I'll get into the details later.

For now, I'll tell you about watching Claudio make pasta at his restaurant.  It was porcini mushroom season while I was in Tuscany, and very similar to the way I cook, Claudio gets entranced in the seasonal abundance that is all around him.   He was pretty much obsessed with porcini while I was there, which I was obviously thrilled to experience.   I tasted and cooked the most beautiful fresh porcini I have ever seen.  I buy fresh porcini when I can, but I've never had it in the condition I experienced in Tuscany during porcini season.  I've included a picture of the porcini in their raw beauty from Torre Guelfa restaurant.

Claudio roasted a whole porcini cap that crowned a fillet of the famous Tuscan Chianina steak. He sliced raw porcini and served them with shavings of pecorino, the cheese of Tuscany (I went to see a pecorino producer, much more on that sometime down the road). Claudio made an intense porcini soup that was also spectacular.  But my favorite dish was the simple porcini tagliatelle that he made virtually ever night while I was at the restaurant.  I can make it in my sleep at this point. 

When he made the porcini pasta, he flavored the olive oil with whole cloves of garlic, then removed the garlic from the oil when just colored.  He'd then add the porcinis and cook them in the oil until soft.  In went the pasta to finish cooking in the garlic infused oil and chopped porcini, and the dish was done.   No herbs.  No cheese.  I asked Claudio why no herbs.  "Porcini" was his answer, with a big, passionate smile.  I asked why no pecorino? "Porcini" he smiled again.  I tasted and he was right.  Porcini.  Fresh and perfect for only a few months of the year, not to be compromised with competing flavors.  That was the beauty of the dish and the perfect example of his cooking style.   He would tell me later that night - "Not taste cheese.  Not  taste herbs. I want to taste porcini." 

I was recently looking to garnish a dish I made that had nothing to do with the trip to Tuscany.  I was doing what I love most on Sundays - experimenting and creating dishes in my kitchen that I've never made before.  I needed a flavored oil, light yet bold in taste to garnish a salad.  I thought of Claudio and the whole garlic simmering in olive oil, infusing its flavor into the oil but then removed to avoid competing with the main flavors of a dish.

I thought about infusing fresh ginger into oil, as I had some on hand.   I would have liked a neutral oil, like a safflower or peanut oil, but I only had a hazelnut oil on hand.  I chopped plenty of ginger and simmered it under a very low heat with the hazelnut oil until it turned just brown.   I removed the ginger and let the oil cool.   The ginger hazelnut oil had a remarkable, balanced flavor that I recommend trying for salads or finishing oils for summer dishes.

Claudio would probably stare at this post in confusion. Have I missed the whole point?  No, I have not missed the point about keeping flavors simple.  In fact, I will post many of the dishes I learned with him that I have since made on my own, don't you worry.  But what can I say, I'm generally known as someone who marches to the beat of his own drummer.  I watch.  I learn.  Then I'm inspired to do my own thing. 

So for now, hazelnut ginger oil is on the menu. 

Lost in Montalcino

We decided to take a day trip from our villa in Umbria to Montalcino, home of Brunello.  I was very excited about this trip, mainly because I knew it would be as beautiful as the wine would be fantastic.  I was also hoping to taste a few Brunellos that I hadn't tried before.

After enjoying a long lunch and wine tasting, we began to make plans to visit a vineyard.  We quickly realized that most required advanced reservations, including a few that I was very excited about visiting.  It was looking like the only option was going to the massed produced, American owned Banfi vineyards.  Gah.  Oh well, would be fun anyway.

As we drove out of town, we quickly move from paved roads to twisting, winding dirt roads surrounded by lush vineyards.  We were following Cousin Michael, who somehow beat us from Umbria to Montalcino despite leaving well later than us.  So he had earned the navigation stripes (not a hard task with our crew, me being the absolute worst) and he was leading us with a vineyard map in hand.  But after a while of dirt-filled, I-can-barely-see-the-road-in-front-of-me driving, we stopped at a random house to regroup and look at the map. 

We were parked in the driveway of the house featured to the right, wondering where to go next.  Out of the house comes a young woman and an older man.  My NYC instincts sent me running back to my car, but the woman spoke English and began speaking with Cousin Michael. She was savvy enough to understand that we were clueless tourists looking for vino and said they had a winery and could taste some of their wines.  Michael turns around for approval and we give him a big thumbs up.   At this point, we don't even know the name of the winery we are visiting.  I personally found this thrilling but I had rather low expectations. I rarely have good luck in these types of situations.

We drive a bit further down to their winery.  When we get there, we realize the English speaking girl is the daughter of the family.  We are joined by her mother, who doesn't speak English but is very accommodating and looking to get us some glasses.  She clearly had been out in the vineyards most of the day.  We begin to hear about their winery as we walk back to the barrels in which they were aging their wines. 

They were a family producer of Brunello and had opened the facility we were in only a few years ago.  Angelo Sassetti, her father, was the winemaker and the namesake of the wines they produced.  His father had been making wine from the same estate, but you could tell that this new winery was a big deal for the family.  It was modest but modern and well kept.  As we began to taste the wine from the barrels, Angelo joined us. 

This is a corny thing to say, but all of us agreed Angelo was adorable.  You can't tell from the picture at the right, but he has the biggest cheeks, almost like a child.  Yet he had clearly been working in the vineyard all day, day after day, and his work clothes were filled with dust and his cheeks were burnt red with sunburn.  By simply looking at him, I could see the amount of hard work he and his family put into their craft.  Funny how I can be inspired by someone without even speaking the same language.

We tasted their Brunellos from the barrel while Angelo's daughter translated back and forth between our group and Angelo.  He explained to us how bad the 2002 vintage was for him and all of Montalcino and how he couldn't make wines for that year.  We couldn't help but think how such a  bad year can heavily impact a small, family run vineyard like theirs.  Angelo explained they would release their earlier vintages more strategically to make up for the difference, but even without speaking English, you could read the disappointment on his face.

We tasted every single wine they seemed to have in the winery.  The best wine we tasted was the Angelo Sassetti 2000 Brunello di Montalcino, which was only selling for 16 Euros.   This brunello wasn't a classic brunello to me.  It was not a huge, tannic wine that needed to age for the rest of my lifetime.  It was fruity and lush, yet it had nice firm tannins, nice oakiness and a long finish.  We bought a lot of it to drink during our stay at the villa.  I recommend it to you, biased by the welcoming, charming and personal experience the Sassetti family provided for us. 

In trying to track down more information and a link where you can buy a bottle here in the U.S., I found out here (scroll down) that Angelo and his brother seemed to have a difference in wine making styles.  Apparently his brother produces another Sassetti wine from their Pertimali estate in a more traditional Brunello style.

Read more about Angelo Sassetti here.  And if you are interesting in buying a few bottles, I tracked down the wines at Mario Batali owned Italian Wine Merchants. 

Cooking in Umbria: Tomato Water

                              

I'll be recounting the culinary highlights of my trip to Umbria and Tuscany over the course of the upcoming weeks (maybe months.  Hey, what can I tell you.  I ate, drank and cooked the entire time!).  I begin today by recapping a few of the interesting dishes we made while staying at our Umbrian villa.

Our family and friends rented a villa right near Lake Trasimeno, just south of Perugia.  The shot from above is a view from the villa.  More villa shots to come later, I'm sure.

But for now, the topic is tomato water.  During our stay at the villa, my uncle, our friend Joe and a host of other family and friends helped us cook each night for the other 18 friends and family staying in the villa.   The night we made tomato water was the last night of our stay. Since it was our last night, we need to use everything we had procured from the markets over the previous days. 

Part of the fun of staying in the villa was stumbling upon the amazing fruits and vegetables at the markets in Umbria and being able to cook with them.  In this case, we picked up beautiful, bursting-at-the-seams tomatoes.  We had an abundance of tomatoes, so with the need to use them all before we left, my uncle and I made tomato water.  We simply salted the roughly chopped tomatoes and placed them into a colander above a bowl.  After 20 or so minutes, you'll get the natural juices of the tomato that the salt helped release from the fruit.  We reserved the roughly chopped tomatoes for a tomato salad. 

The result was a cold tomato juice that had a burst of fresh tomato flavor, but with a clean, fluid texture. It lacked the thickness of tomato juice, which was the key difference that I enjoyed most.  We intended to poach freshwater shrimp in the tomato water, than chill both the shrimp and tomato water and serve them cold as a refreshing, light main course.  But since the fish stores had closed by the time we made it to them, we had a dinner of amazing flavorful local sausages.  Boo hoo.  But we served the tomato water, very cold, in shot glasses as a refreshing start to the meal.  I just added some ground black pepper and a squeeze of lemon juice to the tomato water shot.

When I got home, one of the first things I made was the shrimp poached in tomato water.  It was  very successful and refreshing for a hot night.  Just make the tomato water as above.  Clean the shrimp and season them, then bring the tomato water to a simmer.  Add the shrimp until just cooked.   Take them out and shock them for a minute in cold ice water, just to stop the cooking.  Keep them in the fridge.   Bring the tomato water to room temp, then place in the fridge to chill.  To serve, just ladle some of the cold tomato water into a bowl, garnished with a few shrimp. A little lemon juice and pepper rounded out the dish.  You could add herbs (I used parsley), but the first time you make this, I would just concentrate on enjoying the flavor of the tomato water. 

Vacation of My Dreams

Dear Blog,

I am finally off for the vacation of my dreams today.  I never really told you about it, but I will now.  I am going with my family (about 20) to a rented villa in Umbria, near Lake Tresimino (20 minutes south of Perugia).  This is a picture of the villa - isn't it amazing? The most satisfying part of this trip is that I'll be with a big group of family and friends, enjoying Umbria and Tuscany with people I never thought I would be able to travel with.  But we are also able to cook in a full bad-ass kitchen and grill.  Imagine going to the local markets and cooking up a feast in Italy? Well, to many that would be hell but of course to me it's a dream. 

That's not it! Equally important and even more phenomenal is that I'm doing 5 days of cooking in Tuscany with a chef at his restaurant.   I will be his personal assistant as we cook and prep for dinner each night at the restaurant.  I am staying in the hotel within their restaurant, so after we cook I'll have a tasting from the restaurant menu.  We'll also be doing tours of salumi makers, Pecorino producers, wine tours around Chianti, as well as olive oil pressings and tasting.

I don't know how much I'm going to be able to post while I'm gone, dearest blog.  But be assured that I'll be documenting this amazing experience for you when I return.  I'll also plan on doing a tasting menu for foodie based on this experience, which will be a blast.

Just so you don't feel lonely, I'll be re-posting some of my favorite recipes of the past.  I even wrote some new stuff in advance, just to make you feel like I care.  Back on July 8!

Later,

Joe