MQ and a tangent to Knedliki

That [pop] you heard was my head imploding during today’s visit to the MUMOK, Vienna’s modern art museum in the MuseumsQuartier. The lower floors were outside of my “envelope of comfort” in a way more extreme than even the Kunsthalle’s “Tram and Trama” (Dream and Trauma”) exhibit. There were just too many deformed babies and naked people in mud for one afternoon.

On my way out, I stopped by the designform, which had an exhibit on the “stuff” people use in every day around the world. It was quite progressive (it emphasized similarities rather than differences) and had a little section on cooking. (Yes, you knew I’d get to food somehow). I think I spent a good fifteen minutes marveling at the different spoons of Japan and watching a video of ladies making dumplings (“Xina – Ravioli”).

Speaking of dumplings, it dawned on me the other day that Austria, the land of meat and potatoes, is actually the perfect place for making gnocchi. I don’t love them, but Georgia does, so I dug up my notes from Italy and went to the kitchen.

Gnocchi – Put whole potatoes in cold water and bring to a boil. Cook until they are fork mashable, drain, and put into an ice-water bath. Peel potatoes and mash until smooth. Add flour (Marco used Type 00, I used Type W480, you should use All-Purpose), a little at a time, and knead. You’ll have added enough flour once the dough stops sticking to your hands. Cut off a bit of dough and roll into a snake on a floured surface. Cut into nickel or quarter-sized pieces. Add grooves by pressing the sticky end of the gnocchi (i.e. the interior of the snake) onto the tines of a fork. Let gnocchi rest on a plate of flour. To cook, add to boiling salted water until they float.
Fresh gnocchi don’t keep long, so I think it’s better to shape them right before you plan to boil them. If you decide to keep extra dough in the fridge, you’ll have to add more flour before shaping them again.

Gnocchi are good in rich sauces and small quantities. Kind of like post-modern art.

P.P.P.P.P.P.

I love food, but what I love more is feeding people. It's more fun to cook for others than for myself, and more satisfying to cook for friends than for strangers. Therefore, in exchange for a bed, visitors to my humble village must eat my food. (And, to keep the gender roles blurred, clean the dishes.) (See Exhibit A: "Captive house guest." Don't worry, Barry. I set him free eventually.)

Usually I recreate dishes from work. One day after a night at the restaurant during the Toscana Nights street festival, I tried to replicate Marco's gnocchi with cream and pears. The dish was doomed to poor imitation from the start due to a lack of gnocchi and cream. With no gnocchi, I changed the consistency of the sauce to better suit the long pasta I had. With no cream, I changed the flavor profile to fit a lighter sauce.

In other words, it came out completely different. Crepes rather than pancakes. Cake rather than brownies. Gumbo rather than jambalaya. This dish, which I call 6Ps (porri, parpadelle, pecorino, prosciutto, pera, pepe), has been declared a favorite by all (three) guests who visited after it's creation. And only one was related to me. God's smiting thumb! I'll have to hang on to this one for when I'm a yuppie.

6Ps - Add olive oil in a pan with chopped prosciutto and chopped leek. Add cubed, skinned pear and let cook for a few minutes. Add dry white wine (Vernaccia di San Gimignano) and let cook until alcohol evaporates. Add pepper and butter to taste. Add cubed pecorino and let cook until pecorino starts to melt. Add almost-cooked parpadelle to pan, mix, and let cook excess liquid in pan has been absorbed by the noodles.

* To make the pear flavor more subtle, crush cooked pear pieces with the tines of a fork before adding pasta.
* Salt levels in this dish will vary based on the prosciutto you use. (di Parma = dolce; di San Daniele = semi-dolce; di Toscana = salato). Add salt as necessary.

One k.g. of Tomatoes per d.a.y.

Last week, I released 2 kilograms of tomatoes into my kitchen. Within 48 hours they were nearly extinct. There were two of us here at the time, so we had a kilo each. Mmmmmm.

This week, they are disappearing at the same rate, but there is only me here now. Lycopenodermia has not yet set in, though having recovered from an episode of carotenodermia a few years ago, I’m not afraid.

The good news is that I’m chock full of Vitamins C, A, and K; of molybdenum, potassium, and magnese; and of chromium, B1, and B6. If I had a prostate, it would be happy.

Today, I popped them into my mouth like grapes while reading Orhan Pamuk out on the porch. Another delicious way to eat them is in tomato sauce. Pasta optional.

I learned how to make this sauce from watching Monica’s mother, Giuletta. Add a bit of olive oil to pan a with quartered pomodorini (cherry tomatoes? These are not cherry tomatoes. They’re little jewels!). Let them cook over medium flame for no more than 18 minutes. While tomatoes are cooking, add salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes and squash the tomatoes with a fork. After cooking is finished, mix in fresh chopped basil and run it through a food mill.

I omit the food mill part because I like the texture, and I do not like washing dishes.

Try this. It's good.

A friend and I once had a debate over whether "Italian" food--like that served at V&T and Olive Garden--in the United States should be considered Italian or American at heart. He argued that since the basic ingredients (pasta) and ideas (tomato sauce) were inspired by Italian cuisine, it should be the former. I disagreed--pouring tomato sauce into a pot of drained spaghetti is a distinctly American idea. In any case, if the basis of our food taxonomy is whatever culture "inspired" it, then Italian cuisine would also have to include bologna, which is about as Italian as it is wholesome.

JAF, I doubt you read this blog, but one day you will see that you're wrong. About everything. Always.

Anyway, making pasta really delicious requires a different technique than simply dumping sauce on steaming noodles. In general: While cooking pasta in salted boiling water, add either butter or olive oil to a pan over medium heat. Add aromatics, and, if using, meat. Let cook. Add vegetables, salt, and pepper. When vegetables are almost cooked, add cooked pasta with a little bit of pasta water. Mix contents of pan (two goals here: spread flavors and emulsify starchy pasta water with butter/EVOO to make a sauce). Add chopped herbs. Sprinkle with cheese. Gloat.

As you can see, there's a lot of flexibility with the ingredients, but in general you always use some type of fat, salt, and pepper. Good combos:
Butter, sage, pancetta, and peas.
Butter, pecorino cheese, pepper.
Olive oil, garlic, tomato, basil.
Olive oil, shallots, and pecorino.
Olive oil, sausage, broccoli rabe, spinach.

Also: How to eat pasta

BREAD :-)

Hurrah for food reincarnation! Just as each culture has it's own version of life after death, each culture also has it's own way of using old carbs. The American kitchen makes stuffing and french toast; the Chinese kitchen fried rice and juk; and the Tuscan kitchen pappa di pomodoro and panzanella.

I find these dishes' English translations hilarious, because pappa di pomodoro will be soup and panzanella salad only when stuffing--their culinary second cousin--falls into either category. All three foods have similar textures, which means the "Tuscan bread soup" lacks broth and the "Tuscan summer bread salad" is scant on vegetables. I prefer the latter to the former, but will sadly be unable to genuinely replicate either once I get home. Unsalted bread is difficult to find outside of Tuscany, and--more problematic--carb populations, no matter how large, often go extinct within 24 hours of entering my kitchen. Anyway, both dishes are delicious, Tuscan ways to recycle old bread.

The other delicious, Tuscan way to recycle old bread is to feed it to the chickens out back.
And then eat their eggs.
And then eat them.

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Pappa di Pomodoro - Saute chopped onions in olive oil. Add chopped basil. Add 1 part pureed tomatoes and 1 part water. Cook over medium heat for 18 minutes. Add pieces of stale bread slowly until bread absorbs all liquid. Mix until pieces of bread are smaller, but do not make into a paste. Add salt and pepper. Serve drizzled with olive oil.

Panzanella - Soak stale bread in water until fully saturated. Squeeze water out and rip bread into small pieces. Add chopped onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers. Mix. Add salt, pepper, and olive oil liberally. (Carb:Veggie ratio should be similar to that of fried rice).

Siena, and more white meat

Part I: Siena - Although Ambra is near many well-known Italian areas (Florence, Arezzo, Chianti), it's really a culinary satellite of Siena.

Here in the countryside, Siena seems to be regarded with a mix of reverence ("bella, bella, bella!") and indignation ("They think they're the center of the universe. That's just how they are."). A few thoughts on my visit:

* The view from the top of the Facciatone is, unlike most towers, not just a way for locals to chuckle at tourists waddling up the staircase. Tuscany's strict building codes have served the city well in preserving a gorgeous landscape.
* Siena has historic quarters that, like cubicle clusters at Bain, have their own colors and mascots. Mascots ranged from eagles and dragons to snails and scallops. Go bivalves!
* The Lord of the Rings movies misrepresented lambdas bread in making it look like a flat empanada. A cake only in shape, Panforte di Siena is the real thing. Eating a piece feels like eating three power bars. Or getting punched in the stomach.
* The bus system in Italy is a pain (we missed our bus and had to wait 4 hours), but fortunately there is no stigma attached to ordering prosecco at 4:00 in the afternoon. (There may be one attached to ordering two in quick succession, but oh well. It had been a long day.)

Part II: Dinner - After returning from Siena, we went to the butcher shop to buy meat for dinner. We selected a package of chicken drumsticks with the intention of sautéing them with pasta.

Hindsight: If the shop sells whole chickens with feet still attached, it's unlikely that they also sell packages of drumsticks.

Each drumstick was in fact a bird about the size of two fists, the species of which is still unclear. It was most likely pigeon though another contender is woodcock.

"See? This is maturity. I'm looking at this and laughing... Haaaaah." Since I was unsure of how to cook hearts and other organs, we removed the meat from the bodies. We dipped the poker-chip sized breasts in egg, dusted them with flour, and sauteed them with shallots and olive oil. They were a tasty entree, though I'm sure there's a better way to enjoy them. Whatever they are.

Bedtime stories for dinner

Adam Gopnik's discussion of food in literature* and one of this week's new dishes made me think of my sister's favorite bedtime story:

ONCE upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter. They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big fir tree.

"Now, my dears,'' said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, "you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden: your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor.''

A fan of neither savory pies nor Potter-era English cooking, I maintain that had Peter been Pietro, he would've lost his brass buttons to avoid becoming a much tastier dish:

Braised bunny
Ingredients: rabbit, olive oil, leeks, celeriac, garlic, flour, salt, pepper, white wine.
Heat olive oil in a pan. Add chopped leeks (green part), celeriac, and garlic. Add quartered rabbit, dredged in flour. Let brown. Add salt and pepper. Add white wine (until almost covered) and let it simmer on the stove for about an hour and a half.

By the way, to all you poultry-eating vegetarians out there, rabbit is white meat.

* Thanks, Elise!
Photo credit: Mark Bridge
Original caption: "Cute enough to eat (but not quite large enough)"
http://flickr.com/photos/markbridge/147757763/

Walter Mitty needs to grow a pair (pasta fresca)

Ubaldo Artini is the relative of a fellow who works with me at the restaurant. He smokes Marlboro cigarettes, drinks Becks beer, and likes to run. A past marathon winner, he has also run four ultra-marathons. In the past few years lower back pain has made him shift his focus to half marathons, the upside of which is that he has more time to spend with his three-year-old grandson, Marco

Marco's dad works with me at the restaurant, which is how I met his father in law. Right now, Ubaldo is in Antartica (running a half marathon), but when he gets back he has promised to help me join the local Italian running club and to take me with him to races on Sundays. He always rests on Saturdays and trains in the evening after work.

Ubaldo works in a warehouse.
...
Anyway, in preparation for next fall, I've been spending my afternoons making fresh pasta (and running a bit). The ingredients are simple (flour + egg) but the proportions must be flexible. Because the humidity affects the moisture retention of the flour, it's better to allow the flour to be drawn into the dough, rather than forcing it to incorporate. Thus the "bowl of flour" method.

If you decide to buy pasta at the store, you'll come across three types: teflon, aluminum, and bronze-pressed. The metal refers to the material used in making the pasta machine, which affects the texture of the pasta. For optimal sauce retention, go for bronze (most texture), but aluminum is fine. Avoid teflon. Pasta made without egg (i.e. barilla) yields a lighter noodle and less-starchy cooking water.

Pasta shape is also key to transporting the sauce from plate to mouth. In general:
- Thinner, lighter noodles will allow you to taste the subtleties of the sauce (good for truffles)
- Shaped pasta should be paired with sauces that complement their size. (i.e. sausage and broccoli rabe go well with orecchiette)
- Taglitelle goes with anything

Finally, don't break or cut your pasta into pieces. Eating broken pasta is like drinking melted ice cream.

Farmers Market, Every Tuesday

The Food Network has never made me want “to crawl up to the[] television set and lick the screen,” but the veggies here are so fresh that I will savor pictures of them for years to come.

To the right: Vine-ripened tomatoes, cut into slices, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil, and sprinkled with salt and pepper. (For caprese—layer in fresh mozzarella and basil; For crostini pomodori—place chopped tomatoes on toasted bread, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and drizzle with olive oil.)

Dessert first.

Signora Regoli left a little treat for me in my fridge. Sandwiched between two layers of whipped cream was sponge cake soaked in strawberry liqueur.

Italian hospitality is delicious!

Ethicurious - Sformatino di vedure

A few months ago, there was an article in Salon about raising and killing your own food (cool!). Novella Carpenter on how bad cooking is an ethical issue:

"As I prepared him, I thought about how much higher the stakes are when you raise and kill your own animal. Not only had I spent in excess of $100 for Harold, but if he had tasted bad, I would have wasted his life. The burden was on me. But, while hard to shoulder, that burden was exactly what I had hoped to cultivate. Meat had became sacrifice, precious, not a casual dalliance."

So it was with more care than usual that I rubbed Harold with olive oil and salt, touched every surface of his body like a mom bathing her baby. It wasn't until I put him into a 450 degree oven that the evening was transformed from a funeral into a dinner party."

General Rule: It's a sin to mess up meat.
Implication: Fledgling cooks should play with fruits, grains, and veggies only.

The first dish Marco taught me to make was Sformatino di vedure - Vegetable Flan.

Ingredients: 1 kilo vegetables (we used eggplant); 8 eggs; 1/2 liter of bechamel sauce; Parmigiana cheese; salt, pepper, hot pepper; leeks
Saute leeks in olive oil. Add salt, pepper, and hot peppers. Add basil. After a few minutes, add veggies. When eggplant is starting to cook, add a little bit of water. Let mixture simmer. Remove from heat and mix with hand mixer until chunky. Add eggs and cheese (Do not put back over heat. Otherwise the eggs will cook!). Mix in roux (béchamel). Ladle into greased molds. Put molds into pan filled 1 cm with water.

Bake for 40 minutes at 200 deg C

Bechamel Sauce: Heat 1 liter milk with salt, pepper, and nutmeg. In a separate pan, add 70 g flour to 70 g melted butter and mix into a paste. Warm paste over stove and add to boiling milk. Stir with wooden spoon (metal is too cold). Cook over med-low heat for 8 - 10 minutes.

A Linguistic Point (Cannelloni with salt and pepper)

Italian has two words for boiled—knowing this came in handy when opened my door to find Signora Regoli holding a little treat. She brought it into the kitchen, said something quickly about “…lessati con sale e pepe”, and—after she was sure I was molto contenta—went back down the stairs to feed her family. After she left, I peered into the pot to see cannelloni beans. These I ate while leafing through my dictionary to find out which cooking technique lessato implied.

Bollito – boiled (added to boiling water)
Lessato – boiled (added to cold water, brought to a boil)

For reference: pasta is bollito, potatoes are lessato.

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Cannelloni con sale e pepe:
Ingredients: cannelloni beans, sage, olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic
Soak beans overnight. Discard soaking water. Add olive oil to pan and sauté garlic and sage lightly. Add fresh water until water level is about two inches above beans. Slowly bring water to a boil and simmer until beans are fork-mash-able. Drizzle with extra virgin olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and toss to coat.