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Two Cooks in the Kitchen

Confession:  I am one of those cooks who is a bit territorial in the kitchen.  Some of it stems from the fact that my kitchens have always been quite small and therefore difficult spaces in which to operate with more than one person.  But I’ll admit it, I also have a bit of a control issue in the kitchen.  I am an oldest child, and true to my birth order, do tend to believe that if  I want something done properly, it’s generally best to do it myself. (My sister would say “yes, you’re a know-it-all.”)   A number of recent events, however, have begun to move me in a new and surprising direction.

First was the “dinner is served” experience, though I believe things began to brew at the cheese counter on the evening of that salad and cheese dinner.   Next, the joint effort that resulted in the (largely) successful recreation of Effie Ophelia’s roasted carrot and fennel salad.  And then there was the double play of Christmas Eve.

I had decided to make spaghetti with Littleneck clams for our Christmas Eve lunch.  Dr. S was joining us, as my daughters had made an expressed request to spend some time with him, having had only a brief introduction to him one Saturday evening.

While he and the girls wrapped presents in the living room, I went about my business in the kitchen.  All was going well until I dug my spoon under the pile of Littlenecks, into the bottom of the pot to ladle out some broth.  To my horror, the broth was a deep and troubling gray, almost black.  I looked at the clams I had just spooned onto a dish of spaghetti and saw that one of them was filled with black mud, which had now spilled onto the spaghetti.  My cries of distress brought Dr. S to the kitchen.  After a peek in the pot, and a moment of thought, he asked if I had a gravy separator.  I did. While he poured the broth into the separator, I began to heat some oil and garlic, adding white wine and bottled clam juice, as a substitute sauce.  My level-headed friend suggested we stick the clams in a low oven to keep them warm in the meantime.

While the broth never did clear, it was an excellent idea and may well have worked if we had had more time.  Though not exactly the meal I had planned, the lunch was a success in the more important ways.

After the Christmas Eve Mass, my children left to spend the rest of the evening with their father and his family, and Dr. S and I headed to the home of good friends for a pre-dinner glass of wine.

Our menu for the evening was the same as my friend, Julie, had planned for her family –  Ina Garten’s Seafood Gratin.  While having our drink, Julie shared her frustration about how much prep time had been required.

“What?  I read that it takes only 20 minutes!”

“Ha!  It took forEVER to reduce that sauce!  And have you julienned the vegetables yet?  If you haven’t, you can forget about eating before 10.”

Well, as it happens, my physician had actually exercised his knife skills while the girls and I were at Mass.  But Julie is an experienced and good cook, so if this recipe had given her grief, there was reason to be concerned.

Once back in my apartment, we headed immediately for the kitchen. I began to clean the shrimp and prepare the scallops while Dr. S sautéed the leeks and carrots, started the sauce and picked through the lobster meat.  I chopped herbs then moved onto blanching the seafood while Dr. S melted butter and prepared the herbed breadcrumb topping.  While I reduced the sauce, the doctor sliced endive and whipped up a salad dressing.  Within 35 minutes we were sliding the casserole dish into the oven.  We sent Julie a text message 25 minutes later to let her know we were sitting down to dinner!

In my tiny railroad-style kitchen we had gracefully made this Christmas Eve dinner together.  And I had felt neither the need nor desire to provide my new kitchen companion with any instruction other than the next step in the recipe.

I think I could kinda love sharing my kitchen.

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The Sincerest Form of Flattery

At my physician’s suggestion (and invitation), I recently spent a weekend exploring Lancaster County, PA.  While this little trip did nothing to improve my aforementioned chronic condition, it resulted in a number of delightful eating experiences.

After booking our room (the Duchess) at King’s Cottage Bed and Breakfast, Dr. S received from the owners a comprehensive list of nearby restaurants.  Aided by this list and the recommendations of the ever-helpful Chowhound message boards, we had pretty much decided on Effie Ophelia in downtown Lancaster for dinner the first night.  But when we learned that the restaurant was scheduled to close in just two weeks time, due to a job-related relocation for the chef’s spouse, the decision was sealed.  Of course we must eat there!  If not now, when?!  And upon strolling by and peeking in the windows on the afternoon of our arrival in town, we were gleeful in our choice. (OK, perhaps “gleeful” better describes my reaction, but Dr. S certainly agreed that it looked like a great spot.)  We saw an intimate space, seating only 30, made cozier by the dark wood of the interior, the cushioned benches, and the red velvet drape protecting diners from the opening and closing of the front door.   Anticipation for dinner now beginning to build, and having skipped lunch after having eaten a rather late breakfast, we rushed off for the sustaining distraction of a hot chocolate with whipped cream.

A few hours later we were seated in that candle-lit room, sharing our two first courses, and making mental notes as to how we could recreate one of them at home.  While the sea scallops served over a mound of whipped parsnip and pear puree were perfectly seared and comforting on what was a chilly night, it was the roasted carrot and chickpea salad that captured our full attention.

We had not expected that the salad would be served warm, but it was.  It arrived at the table in a perfectly round form, a low cylinder, about 2 1/2 inches high.  Jutting out from the compressed form of chickpeas, spinach and roasted fennel, were roasted carrot batons, and a spiral of honey curry vinegar circled the plate.  After a few bites, it was quite clear that this was an example of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts.   Nothing fussy was going on here, just simple roasted vegetables with this interesting honey curry dressing.  As much as we enjoyed the sugar barbecued pork loin and striped bass that came next, the carrot and fennel salad remained on our minds.

And so it was that two nights later we decided to try to recreate it as part of our Sunday night dinner.

Clearly the carrots and fennel had been roasted, but we weren’t sure what the treatment had been for the chickpeas.  Because we they were somewhat flattened and blackened on one side, we surmised that they, along with the roasted vegetables, had perhaps been seared on a flat griddle beneath a heavy spatula, and then everything spooned into a cylindrical mold.  Not having a griddle, I decided to just toss the chickpeas in to roast along with the carrots and fennel.  (This would turn out to be a bad move.)  Determining that the spinach would need only a quick wilting, we turned to the honey curry vinegar.

With the discovery that his cupboard was bare of curry, Dr. S made a “kitchen emergency” call to his neighbor, and returned bearing a restaurant kitchen-sized container of Madras curry, but also somewhat soggier due to the torrents of rain he had to brave in the process.  We mixed, we tested, we added, and we learned a few things:

Number one:  it’s helpful to heat the curry in a little bit of oil in order to best bring out the flavor

Number two:  it’s helpful to heat the honey a wee bit, as well.

Number three: mix the curry and honey first and add the vinegar (we used rice vinegar) drop by drop.  You want the consistency to remain honey-like.  The object is a sauce with a sweet, hot taste, zinged up with a bit of vinegar.

The vegetables done, we were ready to compose!  Foregoing any attempt at a mold, we served the dish as a traditional salad, with a drizzle of honey vinegar.  The result . . .

Success – almost!!!

As I alluded to above, the chickpeas had not been properly handled.  They were crunchy.  And though I understand that some folks like crunchy, roasted chickpeas as a snack, they were out of place here.  After discussion, Dr. S and I agreed that the next time they should be thrown in for only the last few minutes of roasting, or perhaps even just heated in a bit of (curried?) oil.  But other than that, we were pretty pleased with our experiment.  It was the first time either of us had tried to recreate something we’d eaten in a restaurant and it was great fun!  I do believe we may do it again.

Thanks, Effie Ophelia!

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Clam Sauce

I grew up eating linguine with clam sauce with regularity.  My mom’s version originated in one of those Junior League-type cookbooks, but over the years it became more her own.  When I had my first apartment, the recipe came with me to Boston’s North End, where I prepared it often for my roommate and friends.  It was budget-friendly and made for a great left-over lunch.  Later, it was one of my (now former) husband’s favorite dinners, and I could whip it up in a flash on a work night.   But here’s the thing.  This clam sauce is made with canned clams.

Now, I grew up outside of Boston and shellfish are not difficult to come by.   But the clam sauce we made at home never, ever involved live clams, and I never thought one whit about it.  Sure, I’d eaten linguine with real clams in restaurants, but, in my mind, clam sauce made at home was made with canned clams, end of story.   However, I’ve shared this recipe with acquaintances on several occasions, and I observed a certain reaction when I mentioned the canned clams.  It wasn’t much – perhaps just a “canned clams?” sort of thing – but after a few of these reactions, I began to wonder if it might be worth rethinking the whole canned clam idea.  And so I found myself buying a bag of New Jersey little necks at Whole Foods, in advance of my parents’ visit one recent evening.

If my mom’s recipe was quick, this one is like a lightning flash.  After scrubbing the clams, there just isn’t much else to do.  Mash a few garlic cloves, chop some parsley, cook the pasta.   The experience of eating this version is also more pleasing – nudging the clams out of their shells, the satisfying clinking the empty shells make when you drop them in another bowl, the ocean-like taste that is simply missing from the canned version.

My mom’s recipe, however, will remain in my repertoire.  It’s economical ($2.60 for two cans of clams vs. $20 for the Whole Food bag) and the ingredients are easily at the ready in the pantry.  But perhaps most important, it reminds me of home, my mom, and some of my first cooking experiences.

Mom’s Linguine with Clam Sauce

2 cloves of garlic (or much more)
1/4 c. olive oil
4 Tbsp. butter
2 cans of clams (minced or chopped)
1/2 c. white wine
1/4 c. chopped parsley
1/4 tsp. rosemary, chopped
1/4 tsp. oregano
1/4 – 1/2 c. clam juice (optional)

Saute garlic in oil and butter.  Drain clams (reserving liquid) and add reserved liquid, wine, and herbs to pan. (You may add additional clam juice to increase amount of sauce.)  Bring to a boil, reduce heat to a simmer and cover.  Simmer approximately 5 minutes or so.  Add clams and cook until heated through – do not overcook or clams will be tough.  Pepper to taste.  Serve over linguine.  Serves 4 to 6.

Spaghetti with Little Necks

50 little neck clams, scrubbed
2 Tbs. olive oil
2 large cloves of garlic, mashed
1 c. white wine
Pepper
1/4 c. chopped parsley
Juice of half a lemon

While spaghetti is cooking, heat oil in bottom of a large pot, add garlic and sweat until soft.  Add clams, wine, and few grindings of pepper and bring to a boil.  Reduce to a simmer and cover.  Stir occasionally and cook until clams have opened, approximately 8-10 minutes.  Add parsley and lemon juice.  Discard any unopened clams.  Spoon sauce over spaghetti.

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Half-day Lunch

The town we live in, and I believe most of the state as well, has a delightful tradition of scheduling 3 half-days followed by two days off from school in the first week of November.  Both working and non-working moms can appreciate the small bit of chaos this can wreak in an otherwise orderly schedule.  But as my Nana liked to say, it’s an ill wind that blows no good, and this particular wind means a break from school lunch preparation, which I must admit is not among my favorite activities.  Though my children have fairly experimental palates in general, when it comes to school lunch, we’re in a bit of rut, from which, try as I may, we seem unable to break free.

And so it is that these 3 half days provide an opportunity to prepare a hot lunch!  Yes, I know some of you are saying, “this girl needs to get a life if this is what excites her,” but I do love having a morning free of peanut butter sandwich-making, and a lunchtime seated at the table with my daughters.

Yesterday my fridge contained the last-of-the-season green beans from the farmers’ market, and my head contained a vague recollection of a recipe I had recently encountered that called for green beans, bread crumbs and garlic.  Here’s the result:

Roughly chop a clove or two of garlic and two handfuls of green beans.  Warm two slugs of olive oil in the bottom of a skillet.  Add garlic and saute over medium-low heat until soft, raise heat to medium-high and add green beans.  Sprinkle with juice of half a lemon and cook about two minutes, stirring frequently.  Stir in a handful of breadcrumbs, salt and pepper to taste.  When beans are cooked to your liking, add pasta (which you should have been cooking during the preceding process) and toss to coat, adding a little more olive oil, if necessary.   Serve with parmesan.
Your children will eat their green beans today.
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