Here’s a great recipe I created for my upcoming Wine Manifesto (you’ll be hearing about this soon!). I developed it to go with elegant Champagnes that have yeasty-toasty character…but I’ve been making it at a million dinner parties now that I’ve got it! It is easy, elegant…a quick path to modern three-star food coming out of your kitchen! You will need to go to a Japanese grocery to put this one together…and make sure to find a super-elegant smoked salmon, such as a good Scottish one.

Serves 6

2/3 lb. raw yellowtail
6 raw oysters, shucked
dashi powder (see NOTE)
furikake (see NOTE)
wasabi paste
soy sauce
sesame oil
4 stalks lemongrass
2 teaspoons pickled ginger (gari)
3 eggs
1/2 cup hazelnut oil
1/2 cup grapeseed oil (or other neutral vegetable oil)
6 very thin, wide slices of fine smoked salmon
1/3 cup finely minced chive

1. Prepare the filling. Chop together the yellowtail and oysters into a coarse tartare. The flavoring ratios are up to you, but remain subtle: a sprinkle of dashi powder, a small shower of furikake, a smear of wasabi, tiny drizzles of soy sauce and sesame oil. The tastes should enliven the fish but not overwhelm it. Keep cold.

2. Cut away most of each lemongrass stalk, leaving only the thin, tender, chewable central portion. Chop this portion finely (this will yield just a teaspoon or so of useable lemongrass). Place this teaspoon in blender jar or Vita-Prep. Add the pickled ginger.

3. Prepare the mayonnaise. Add one whole egg to the blender jar, along with the yolks of the other two (save the two whites for another use). Turn motor on, and run at medium-high speed until the lemongrass and ginger are pulverized. Begin adding the two oils in a thin stream, until all is added–and the mayo in the jar is thickened and yellow. The consistency should be that of heavy cream. Season to taste.

4. Lay out on the kitchen counter all six slices of smoked salmon. Divide the reserved hamachi mixture among the slices, placing the tartare right in the center of each slice. Fold the bundles so that the tartare is complete enclosed; they should look like smoked salmon packages.

5. Place each bundles at the center of a wide-shallow bowl (like a pasta bowl). Pour the mayo all around the bundles, and top bundles with chopped chive. Serve immediately.

NOTE: Dashi powder is the world’s best powdered “bouillon,” which yields cups of hot broth that really taste like Japanese soup stock. But the powder, as in this case, can also be used as a seasoning. Furikake is shredded nori, available in plastic containers, usually flavored with other Japanese ingredients (sesame seeds, bits of dried fish, etc.). It’s great as a topping for Japanese dishes, but also works perfectly as a seasoning in this tartare.

In the 1970s, the Italian-American restaurant dish that announced “we have moved beyond red-sauce Italian” was Pasta Primavera, a combination of pasta, cream and vegetables. It was when your local Italian restaurant became a “ristorante.” Le Cirque in New York City made the dish famous, but it became a nation-wide menu staple soon after that. Oddly, the dish may have had less to do with real Italian food than the red-sauce stuff did. As the myth of some unified “Northern Italian” food spread, many Americans assumed the cuisine was rich in cream–which it never had been. Nevertheless, Pasta Primavera usually featured not only cream, but lots of cream–for this was still the era when pasta in America carried too much sauce, no matter what the sauce was. The following version certainly has its fair share of cream, to be “authentic” to its Upper East Side roots–but you will find, I hope, a much more up-to-date sensibility in it, which I think makes the dish much better. There should be no excess of cream in the bowl; it should just cling to the pasta. And, the addition of lemon goes a long way towards counteracting the cream’s heaviness. The final result is a green, vernal dish, sprightly, balanced, that really does taste like primavera.

Makes 6 pasta-course servings

8 medium asparagus spears, ends trimmed and sliced on the bias in 1/2″ widths (about 1 cup)
1 bunch of broccoli, bite-sized florets only (about 1 cup)
2 small zucchini, quartered lengthwise and cut into 1/3″ wide pieces (about 1 1/2 cups)
1/2 lb. string beans, trimmed and cut into 1/2″ lengths
1 lb. fresh green peas in the pod, shelled (about 1 cup) or 1 cup frozen peas
6 tablespoons pine nuts
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 lb. small white mushrooms, sliced thinly (about 2 cups)
1 3/4 cups heavy cream
2 medium shallots, minced (about 2 tablespoons)
2 large cloves of garlic, minced
finely grated zest of 1 lemon
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
2 tablepoons lemon juice
1 pound spaghetti
1/2 cup of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
1 firmly packed cup shredded basil leaves, plus 4 sprigs for garnish

1. Bring a large stockpot of very well-salted water to a boil. (Add enough salt to the pot so it tastes almost as salty as seawater.)  Have ready a large bowl of ice water and a medium-sized strainer.  Cook the asparagus, broccoli, zucchini, and green beans one group of vegetables at a time in the boiling water until each group is tender but still a bit crisp, about 3 to 4 minutes for each one.  As each group of vegetables finishes cooking, collect the pieces in the strainer and immediately immerse the strainer in the bowl of ice water to stop the cooking and set the color.  Once the vegetables are cool (about a minute), transfer them to a bowl lined with paper towels (to absorb excess water.)  Cook the peas for about 30 seconds, and cool in the same way.  Combine the cooked vegetables and set aside.  Cover the pot and the water and set it aside for cooking the pasta.

2. In a large sauté pan, over medium heat, add the pine nuts and, shaking the pan occasionally, allow them to toast lightly, taking care not to let them burn.  When they become golden brown in spots, about 3 to 5 minutes, remove them from the pan and set aside.

3. Add the olive oil to the pan. When the oil shimmers and slides easily in the pan, add the mushrooms and stir them to coat with the oil. Cook until the mushrooms are just tender and cooked through, about 5 minutes. Salt mushrooms to taste, remove from the heat and drain on paper towels.  Let cool, then combine with the other vegetables.

4. In a small saucepan over medium-high heat, bring the cream to a boil, reduce to a brisk simmer and cook until reduced by about half and slightly thickened.  Be careful not to let the cream boil over.  Add the shallots, garlic, lemon zest, cayenne and a few grinds of black pepper.  Whisk in the butter until the sauce is well blended and creamy.  It should easily coat the back of a spoon.  Whisk in the lemon juice and add salt to taste. Simmer and whisk for another minute or so to re-thicken slightly.  Remove from the flame and set aside on a warm part of the stove. Check frequently to make sure the sauce is holding; whisk it together if it isn’t.

5. Return the large pot of water to a boil and add the pasta, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking.   When the pasta is tender but still firm (al dente), reserve a cup of the pasta water, drain the pasta and return pasta to the pot.  Add the reserved vegetables, the cream sauce, pine nuts, cheese and basil and toss thoroughly over a low flame.  If the sauce seems a bit thick-each strand of pasta should glisten with a little medium-runny sauce–add some of the reserved cooking water and toss again.  Taste for seasoning. Serve in warmed bowls, garnished with basil sprigs.

Photo courtesy of BigStock

Hoo-hah! Big news! I am getting into bed with Languedoc-Roussillon!

I have long been fascinated by the wines, the red wines in particular, of this vast territory in south-central France (click here for my complete overview of the region, written in 2010).

Languedoc’s most famous icon, the Roman Pont du Gard

And…as you perhaps know…I made the decision a year ago to start working on wine imports (I’ll STILL be wearing my journalist hat at the same time, of course!). I was just gettin’ tired of seeing the kinds of wines I love for food…so little available in the U.S.! So I grouped the hard-to-find, food-lovin’ wines into ten categories.

One of the ten categories I have targeted for import is this one:

#7: THE PARTY
Young, bouncy, juicy reds (other wines of the world in the sappy Beaujolais mode, usually ignored on these shores)

I have been diligently searching in European caves for a great example of rollickin’ red to import.

In January 2013…I found it!!! Languedocien!

I was at an organic wine fair in Montpellier, in the Languedoc region, when one wine started screaming at me:

2012 Opi d’Aqui, Les Cliquets
(from Clermont l’Herault, inland from the sea, forming a small triangle with Montpellier to the southeast, and the great Mediterranean oyster town, Beziers, to the southwest)

My beautiful import, on the left

It is a gorgeous young and lively Grenache (100%), made in the carbonic maceration style: the grapes crush themselves by their weight, which leads to more wildly fruity wine. But in this case, there’s more than just a great party drink, and a fabulously gentle wine for food: the wine has a devastating complexity to it, haunting, with aromas of eaux-de-vie and kirsch, aromas of grilled nuts. I love it!

As I explored the import possibilities, I discovered something intriguing: the winery has a commercial link to Alain Coumont…the brilliant international restaurateur who owns 200 bakery/restaurants world-wide. His place, started in Belgium…is Le Pain Quotidien! You may know it well, since there are approximately 60 of them in the U.S.

Alain is looking to intensify his wine focus at Le Pain Quotidien…and, in support of this, he has allowed me to import into the U.S. 2012 Les Cliquets from the Languedoc, some of which will be available at Le Pain Quotidien!

I’m telling you all of this for two reasons:

1) This great Languedoc wine, Les Cliquets 2012, will soon be available for YOU to taste…I’ll be selling it from this web site!

2) My collaboration with Alain is part of a larger celebration of Languedoc wines that is about to take place in New York City, sponsored by the French government agency called Sud de France. I want you to know about the upcoming Sud de France parties devoted to the region…and my participation in them!

Every year the Maison de la Région Languedoc-Roussillon, a beautiful facility in midtown Manhattan, and an important French government office, stages a Sud De France festival in June. This year, they are going all out with a series of dinners this month that…brilliantly!…is taking place at some of the most exciting restaurants in a crazy-good new crop of informal French restaurants in New York. You must try these perfectly-chosen places!

For the parties, Sud de France is meticulously designing southern French environments…oilcloths for the outside tables, orange trees for the entrances, hammocks, wooden crates filled with Mediterranean-type vegetables, etc.

And at each restaurant the chef will present his or her own version of southern French specialties–keeping in mind the season, and the host city.

The round of parties, which began on June 2, continues on June 11 with a dinner at Calliope–a new East Village restaurant that I have come to know well! And love! In fact, I was going to write a separate piece about Calliope…until the opportunity came up to incorporate it into this Sud de France story.

I find the work of Calliope’s chef, Eric Korsh, a New Yorker who has cooked his way around lots of French kitchens (like Picholine in NYC), to be dazzling! It is so-right-on real French brasserie food with soul…but with just the right adjustment for diners today (which is to say…not too much!)

I first fell in love with Eric’s treatments of charcuterie. Usually, he slices things thinly (like an amazing oxtail terrine, a head-of-pork roll), then showers with sprightly lightening elements. Here’s a look at a cold tongue dish I had just the other night, with tatsoi leaves on top….

Tongue at Calliope

Another Eric charcuterie treat is his torchon of foie gras (the revived French specialty of foie gras poached inside a cheese cloth roll-up, then chilled and sliced). Yeah, yeah, there are torchons everywhere…but this is at the tippy-top of the New York torchon food chain.

Partially eaten torchon of foie gras at Calliope, served with gorgeous gem lettuce

The foie gras has that elusive texture I always seek: bouncy, alive, wet, almost like you’re biting into a raw organ…but it’s cooked. The gem lettuce on the side (there’s that sprightly factor again) is a beautiful example of a newly trendy lettuce variety, kind of like butter lettuce and romaine lettuce combined in a compact, miniature head.

Next thing to love: Eric’s refusal to remove the rich-and-creamy from French food! But his food never feels heavy. I am in lust with his simple boiled eggs with mayonnaise: the wet, orange yolks, and the fearless sea of delicious saffron-yellow mayo (no saffron, just the color) tell all that’s wonderful about France.

But there’s more in this vein: you will find the menu shot through with touches of French excess, in exquisite balancing act after exquisite balancing act. Last week, I had an appetizer that was clearly an homage to the Troisgros brothers, the great chefs who popularized salmon with sorrel in the 1970s.

Just-cooked salmon filet with a sorrel-rich Hollandaise at Calliope

There are two extraordinary things about this dish:

1) The salmon is reminiscent of something from a top-notch sushi bar, with the velvety texture of superior sashimi…though there is a tad of cooking involved

2) The surrounding Hollandaise does not stint on rich egginess…but the inclusion of so much sorrel cuts through the richness, adding its own spring-green acidity to the blend.

The last big Eric thing I noticed is his love for vegetables. One of my favorite recent dishes was a righteous chunk of halibut cooked in milk…to preserve the moist, creaminess of the fish…served on a plate surging with beautiful late-winter/early spring vegetables…including some of the most delicious carrots I’ve ever tasted.

Calliope’s halibut poached in milk, with surrounding vegetables

I have in my possession Eric’s menu for the big Sud de France kick-off party on June 11…for which you can buy tickets. I’ve got mine…I’ll be there!

Here’s the menu:

Anchoïade and tapenade toasts with French breakfast radishes and sweet butter

Caillette, potato purée and little gem lettuces (caillette is a wonderful southern French charcuterie specialty, rounded little påtés, something like flattened meatballs gone French)

Whole Dourade for two with tomatoes and Lucques olives

Stone fruit tart, whipped crème fraîche

And, of course, there’ll be a Languedoc-Roussillon wine for each course…ending with the great Roussillon dessert wine, Muscat de Rivesaltes.

The next Sud de France dinner will be on June 23 at The Pines, the super-buzzy new place in the newly-trendy Gowanus section of Brooklyn, not far from Carroll Street. Marianne Fabre-Lanvin, head of the Sud de France organization in the U.S.–who introduced me to Calliope!–says that this is the most exciting new restaurant in New York for creative food.

There are others too; you can get the full list from: http://sud-de-france-festival.ticketleap.com/

One other I’d like to flag is a pop-up brunch at Donna, the cool bar in Williamsburg–executed by new chef Max Sussman, who soared at the ever-popular Roberta’s. Here’s what the New York Times had to say about the feel of this very special place:

“Last week, the Haslegraves were finishing up their ninth project, a bar called Donna in Williamsburg with a lovely Art Deco-ish bar, a vaulted ceiling and typically intriguing lighting. The building dates to 1850, and was once a flophouse, said Leif Young Huckman, 30, Donna’s owner. ‘An elegant space for dirty kids’ is how Mr. Huckman articulated his vision. ‘Meaning a place for someone like me. Someone who likes nice things but doesn’t have to dress up to get them.’ ”

Obviously a great environment in which to drink wine!

Please check here for upcoming Languedoc-Roussillon events beyond June…some of which will include my new wine, Les Cliquets (it is not arriving until later this summer). There may even be a Pain Quotidien/Rosengarten Import event soon at La Maison de la Région Languedoc-Roussillon in NY!

To those who don’t drink red wine in the summer: man, are you missing out!

Again, the site where you can procure tickets: http://sud-de-francefestival.ticketleap.com

First two photographs courtesy of BigStock, party photograph courtesy of Sud-de-France

Julia Child, goddess (on this side of the pond) of French gastronomy
Photo courtesy of Jon Chase/jonchase.com

La Super Rica Taqueria, in Santa Barbara, California, Julia Child’s favorite restaurant late in life

Julia Child, ever-reigning goddess of French gastronomy in America, passed away in 2004 at 91 years of age. But almost a decade later she is still stirring food passion, and still stirring up food controversy.

Ask any Mexican restaurant owner in Santa Barbara, California, and you’ll get an earful.

Julia, who was actually born in Southern California (in Pasadena, in 1913), and who later lived, most famously, in Cambridge, Massachusetts, started gravitating westward, back towards the Golden State, in her later years. Her beloved husband Paul, with whom she’d taken the renowned Cambridge Victorian house in 1961, a short walk from Harvard Yard, had to move to a local nursing home in 1989 after a series of strokes, and Julia started splitting her time between coasts. Paul died in 1994, and, a few years later, Julia finally decided to spend all her time in Santa Barbara, when she moved to a posh retirement community, Casa Dorinda, in the tony suburb of Montecito.

There were food writers aplenty in those years stopping in to see Julia, or engaging her on the phone in pursuit of the living taste of our greatest food legend. And Julia, who was always intensely loyal to the things and people she loved, started telling everyone that her favorite place to eat in Santa Barbara was La Super Rica Taqueria, which had opened on Milpas Street, SB’s great Mexican food neighborhood, in 1996. She mentioned it in an interview with Bon Appetit, discussed it on Good Morning America, and even inspired an article in The New Yorker about La Super Rica Taqueria.

American foodies ate it up, savoring the wack factor: the tall, patrician, cultured, New-England-ish lady who introduced all of us to coq au vin, escargots, and French mother sauces was touting a down-and-dirty taco joint as her fave dining spot! The irony was irresistibly delicious.

From the beginning, however, Julia’s pick inspired controversy. If you roam the internet, you’ll find hundreds of posts proclaiming love for Super Rica, testimonies of miles driven, of annual pilgrimages from Ohio, etc. You’ll also find people calling Super Rica the most overrated restaurant on the planet, a place merely resting on Julia laurels, a secondary player in the Santa Barbara Mexican scene.

And yet, if you arrive at Super Rica today at noon, or at 6 p.m., you’ll find a line winding around the street — the very line upon which Julia stood! — that often requires an hour and a half of waiting time before you get to the hatch where the food is ordered.

I know. I was there last week.

Early diners in line just after 11AM opening

I had some business to do in Santa Barbara last week, but, as an old friend of Julia’s, I felt it incumbent upon me to make my first visit to La Super Rica Taqueria. I hadn’t been to Santa Barbara, a gorgeous, upscale, seaside Shangri-La about 90 miles north of Los Angeles, for almost 20 years and, accordingly, had never experienced the relatively youthful Super Rica Taqueria.

It was high time to see for myself.

My big questions were:

1) What kind of Mexican food is this?
2) What might have made Julia such a believer?
3) Is it great?

The discussion begins with the word “taqueria,” as in “La Super Rica Taqueria.” When I was hearing these Julia Child/Super Rica reports for so many years, I assumed ol’ Julia had found herself a true taqueria, the kind of place that offers tacos exclusively. This is very common in Mexico: the only dish on the menu is a pair of soft corn tortillas that can be filled with maybe eight or nine different kinds of meat (plus salsas, etc.). One of these bundles, filled one way, is the classic taco. Furthermore, the word “taqueria” originally was reserved for a street vendor stand; only later did some taquerias move indoors to become a kind of restaurant.

This one most definitely moved indoors… and most definitely expanded the menu to serve all kinds of other Mexican dishes. Tortillas are central here, yes…but many things are served ON tortillas, along with sauces and garnishes, not IN tortillas; in sum, Super Rica is far from a taco stand.

The main indoor dining room at Super Rica, with its vibrant turquoise trim…and the original plastic flaps now replaced by more “upscale” glass

An array of non-taco specials at La Super Rica Taqueria

There’s nary a taco to be had on Friday’s list of specials.

But though the menu sprawls, one of the things that keeps it all together is owner Isodoro Gonzalez, who launched Super Rica in 1996. He was there on the first day, working in the heat of the griddles and grills…and he was still there on Friday, doing the same exact thing.

Isodoro Gonzalez in the midst of the lunch shift last week

And what a griddle he oversees! Bundles of sizzling meat are constantly moved on and off, keeping up with the orders that come in at the hatch.

Supervised by Gonzalez, meats destined for all kinds of dishes at Super Rica

The energy is palpable. The sizzling smells are pulse-quickening. The smiles on the faces of the lined-up regulars are real, and really infectious.

And the quality? Did Julia get it right?

I am assuming that one thing that has not changed in 17 years is the quality of the tortillas. The tortilla itself is my favorite thing at Super Rica…and it’s not unreasonable to assume that Julia, she of the French baguette sisterhood, responded to something as simple and technical as a superior tortilla, even if she wasn’t a tortilla expert; for me, it’s the best taqueria tortilla I’ve had in the U.S. for years. Wet, fresh masa is shaped into balls á la minute, pounded by the tortilla specialist on a tortilladora (tortilla press) into lovely, flat thinness, then griddled briefly to keep up with the orders.

Super Rica’s great tortillas pounded and griddled á la minute

These tortillas are exemplary: complicated with chewy, flaky, soft layers…lightly golden on the outside…exploding with the proper, earthy taste of lime-slaked corn. One of my tips at Super Rica is to seek those dishes that show you the outside of the tortilla: when it’s buried under other ingredients, the tortilla excitement declines.

A good example of the tortilla-face-forward tradition at Super Rica is the delicious Lomito Suiza, “grilled marinated pork with melted cheese between 2 corn tortillas.”

Lomito Suizo, with pico de gallo placed on top by diner

I also loved their small versions of quesadillas, particularly the chorizo one–which features chunks of Spanish-style chorizo, not the usual Mexican ground-meat routine. Of course, the tortilla shines through.

The quality of the corn kitchen also carries over to the corn filling of the fluffy, earthy tamales; different wrappers (corn husks, banana leaves) will show up as specials each day, along with different filling/saucing permutations.

A vegetable tamal special, filled with corn, peppers, chayote, zucchini, lots of sweet flavors

Another great strength of Super Rica is the full flavor of the grilled green chiles used in many dishes.

Green chiles on the grill at Super Rica

Probably the simplest way to enjoy these chile flavors is to grab an order of the inexpensive Rajas–”rags”of green chile–cooked with long-melted onions and ladled over tortillas. Simple and sublime.

Rajas on tortilla

If you want to go all the way on some of Super Rica’s strongest categories–roasted chiles, corn tortillas–my choice would be #16, the Super Rica Especial. In fact, it’s my favorite dish at Super Rica.

The Super Rica Especial at Super Rica

The great thing is the front-and-center charred flavor of the pasilla chiles (same as the rajas chiles, but much less cooked)–blending perfectly with the marinated pork, and the integrating gooey cheese (of which, blessedly, there’s not too much).

Right. All that said, about a few particular dishes and themes…is Super Rica a killer dining experience?

I’m afraid I have to say, after two visits in May 2013…the answer is “no.”

Lovers of real Mexican food, from various Mexican regions, will notice right away a kind of blandness underlying many of the dishes. I hate to call it Americanization…but it must be at least a variation of that, which keeps bringing in the tourists.

Consider the very popular beans with bacon, which looks like a million bucks:

Beans with bacon

Where’s the bean flavor? For all that floating bacon, where’s the bacon flavor? It’s a watery barge, and a big disappointment.

Ditto the dishes loaded up with cheese and cream. Occasionally, a proper balance is struck–but mostly the cheese is too heavy as well as too bland, and the cream adds nothing but calories. I tried a chile relleno specialty, with cheese and cream…

Chile Relleno de Queso con Crema

…and came away knowing better!

Cream? Cheese? Of course, one could speculate that dear Julia liked the creamy-cheesy connection that might have put her in mind of French food. California girl at heart, she might also have liked the “vegetable transformation” dishes, where something traditionally made with pork now gets made with zucchini. I’m sure the locals and tourists are digging the “veg” themes here…though, truth, be told, they’re not awfully flavorful.

But whether Julia liked the vegetarian themes or not, I’m sure she like the visual analogues of them. This is no dark, porky, old-fashioned taqueria. This is a place with airiness all about it…and maybe a very old 1920s flavor of California.

The airy flow from the line to the dining room at La Super Rica Taqueria

Ah, the California-ness of it all

Maybe young Julia, in the 1920s, after a week of food cooked at home, sped with her parents on the weekend to some “naughty” place like this…which would have etched an indelible memory, of course. Perhaps the gorgeous trees around Super Rica…

Trees outside Super Rica

…helped her complete a nostalgic California fantasy in her mind.

Perhaps Julia’s love for Super Rica was not all about the food.

I spent the rest of my available Santa Barbara hours bouncing off Mexican restaurants, hoping to find something better. Intriguingly, almost all of them are “taquerias” which, like Super Rica, mostly focus on more complicated dishes than tacos (with the exception of Lilly’s, the one true taqueria in town). None of them has an airy decor like Super Rica; they go either for the gussied-up Mexican hacienda cliché, or the ultra-simple food counter (without the turquoise and the airy glass panels).

And…most important…the ones I tried erred like Super Rica in trying to present a softer, more mass-appeal version of Mexican food.

And that is why, after picking up a few whispered tips from local foodsters, I was delighted to find El Bajio–which, to my limited knowledge, is the best place in Santa Barbara to get tacos, and mucho more. It opened in the same year as Super Rica, 1996, so Julia had a shot at it. I don’t know if she ever went–and I don’t know if she would have preferred it to the airy turquoise home-away-from-home she adopted.

Entering El Bajio at 8AM

The simple take-out counter look of El Bajio: super-clean, but super-ordinary

Most folks who told me about El Bajio said it’s their favorite breakfast spot in Santa Barbara, so I dutifully went at 8AM. But I discovered a huge board of breakfast and non-breakfast possibilities…

Part of the “menu” at El Bajio

…most of which are available all day (until the typical 9PM closing time).

I did the breakfast thing by ordering chilaquiles–the classic Mexican-mama-leftover dish, in which last night’s broken tortilla pieces are soaked in sauce, sometimes mixed with eggs and proteins. The El Bajio chilaquiles–soaked in red chili sauce, not the more common green–was a standout:

Chilaquiles at El Bajio

For starters, these tortilla pieces hit the best combo of crispy and soggy that I’ve ever experienced in chilaquiles. Secondly, the red chile sauce was roaring with capsicum flavor (and of course heat)–an antidote for all the blandness I chomped through in Santa Barbara. Even the fluffy rice, and the pink beans, had tons more intrinsic flavor than anything else in the neighborhood.

Another breakfast specialty in Mexican restaurants, especially on weekends (for its hangover-cure value) is a red soup of tripe and chiles called menudo. I’ve eaten menudo all over the southwest on Saturday mornings…but this was the best one I’ve had in America:

Menudo, the real thing, at El Bajio in Santa Barbara

The magnificence was in the tripe…the earthy flavor of which was just at the level most folks can appreciate…not too strong, not too weak. Not to mention the abundance of tripe! And the deep, capsicum flavor of the red chiles! Everything counted.

And I already was knee-deep in something other than chicken breast with cream. When I eat Mexican food, I want the underbelly–literally and metaphorically. Here’s news, folks: the underbelly in Santa Barbara ain’t at Super Rica.

OK. I was done with breakfast, even though it was 8:15. I had to move on to a few all-day items, just to see. I chose to roar into three conventional tacos with fillings I love. If El Bajio passed the taco test, this would become my place.

First the downside: El Bajio’s tacos come with only one tortilla, not the traditional two. Why? I speculate that the reason is the thickness of El Bajio’s tortillas. They are not supremely thin, and one tortilla does the job. Oh, if they only had Super Rica’s tortillas at El Bajio’s taqueria!

But what they do have at El Bajio are insanely flavorful, insanely textured, insanely great fillings. They had me at lengua…the tongue-y specialty that has always been my favorite taco filling. I went on to carnitas, supremely porky pulled pork, tender and delicious. And I concluded with chicharron (pig skin)–which, they warned me at the ordering counter, would be soft, not crisp.

Brilliant tacos at El Bajio: tongue on the left, carnitas in center, chicharron on the right

Wow were the chicharron soft! They were goopy, even, stewed for a long time to bring out every sticky molecule, and every strand of porcine DNA. O Dios! this is not gringo food! This is the real thing!!!

Would Julia have preferred El Bajio to Super Rica? I’m not sure. Julia liked to do things and say things she wasn’t supposed to do and say. One of her dearest friends in the late Cambridge years, Dun Gifford, head of Oldways (a food think-tank in Cambridge), told me before his passing that bed-ridden Julia’s favorite treat was a bag of Big Macs and fries that Dun used to smuggle into her house. She felt so BAD eating those in bed, with the curtains drawn. I’m thinkin’ that Julia LOVED telling people about Super Rica because it was such a departure for her. But I’m also convinced she loved the feel there–which might have prevented her from plumping for the really bad boy in town, El Bajio, had she known it.

The last time I saw Julia we were returning to a downtown L.A. hotel, with a car full of acolytes after dinner on the west side of town. At about midnight, while we were driving through a sketchy neighborhood, Julia suddenly said “Stop at this gas station! I need to go!” We stopped–any order given in that voice had to be obeyed. But we didn’t like the idea of Julia walking to the back to use the facility. Every male in the car jumped out, insisted on escorting her, but she waved us all away. “Oh dear,” she said, “I’ll be fine.” We couldn’t figure out why, in her late 80s, she’d want to risk it.

Julia was a willful enigma to the end. What did she really think about Super Rica, and why? We will never know. But the good news is we can go there today–with only a little wait–where we can bask in her spirit.

Tacos on the street in Mexico are one of that country’s great gastronomic delights. Most typically, each taco is made from 2 soft and warm corn tortillas, folded together, filled with a little meat and salsa. A little further north, in the world of Cal-Mex, predictably, things change. The tacos are stuffed a little fuller, they’re less greasy and more salad-like. And in and around San Diego, you’re most likely to see tacos that have no meat at all–for this is the home of the fish taco, a breezy, delicious treat. The fish that will stuff it can be either fried or grilled–but to make the following recipe as Californian as possible, I’m recommending the grill.

Makes 2 tacos

two 4-ounce filets of any fairly firm-fleshed fish (red snapper, tilapia, etc.), each filet about 5″ long and 2″ wide
1 teaspoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
scant 1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
pinch allspice
1/2 teaspoon very finely minced garlic
1 teaspoon grated lime rind
four 6″ soft corn tortillas
1/4 cup Creamy Tomatillo-Avocado Salsa (see recipe below)
4 teaspoons sour cream
2 tablespoons shredded cheese (like Monterey Jack)
1/4 cup shredded cabbage
1/4 cup thinly sliced onion
1 plum tomato, cut in thin, long slices
2 tablespoons cilantro leaves
hot sauce (optional, available in our shop)

1. In a bowl, coat the fish filets with olive oil. Sprinkle on the chili powder, salt, black pepper and allspice; working with your hands, distribute the spices evenly. Rub each filet with the minced garlic and the lime rind. Cover and refrigerate for 4-8 hours. (You could use it right away, but the fish won’t have as much flavor.)

2. When ready to prepare the tacos, turn on a broiler or make a charcoal fire. Cook fish by either method until it’s just done, about 3-4 minutes. Reserve.

3. Place the tortillas on a griddle, or steam them until they’re soft and warm. Lay them out on the counter, making 2 stacks of 2 tortillas each. Divide the Creamy Tomatillo-Avocado Salsa between the 2 stacks, centering a few tablespoons on the top tortilla of each stack. Top salsa with sour cream, dividing it evenly. Top the sour cream on each stack with a cooked fish filet. Divide the rest of the ingredients between the 2 stacks, resting them on the fish filets: cheese, cabbage, onion, tomato and cilantro leaves. Fold up each stack of 2 tortillas and serve immediately. Pass hot sauce if desired.

Creamy Tomatillo-Avocado Salsa
Tomatillos, which are not unripe tomatoes, have a wonderful, mystical flavor all their own–something like earthy apples, with a little cucumber thrown in. That flavor is enhanced by the complementary flavors of avocado and cilantro. When you make a salsa that preserves the natural tartness of the tomatillo–as the following tingly one certainly does–you have a fantastic salsa with which to top any Mexican/Southwest fish dish. I especially love a little of this salsa on raw oysters.

Makes about 2 cups of salsa

6 small tomatillos (about 6 oz.), husks removed
1 Haas avocado
2 teaspoons lime juice, plus extra for sprinkling on avocado
1/2 firmly packed cup of minced cilantro leaves
2 large scallions, cleaned and finely minced (white and green parts)
1 tablespoon finely minced fresh jalapeño
2 teaspoons very finely minced tomato
1 teaspoon very finely minced garlic

1. Core the tomatillos, and cut them into small chunks. Place in a mixing bowl.

2. Cut the avocado in half, remove the pit, and remove the peel. Cut into small chunks. Sprinkle avocado with lime juice and a little salt. Add to mixing bowl with tomatillo.

3. Add the 2 teaspoons lime juice, the cilantro leaves, the scallions, the jalapeño, the tomato and the garlic. Blend well. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

These recipes are from my book It’s All American Food.

Photo courtesy of BigStock

With so many Sunday-night offers from restaurants these days–special menus, special atmospheres, special wallet-friendly prices–I’ve been Sunday shopping for my fave. At last…two days ago…I found it!

It’s at the New York outpost of one of my favorite chefs on the national scene, Charles Palmer. Charlie grew up in upstate New York, lives in California now, with outposts all over the country…but maintains his high-end New York City showcase, Aureole.

By all means, hit Aureole anytime, Monday to Saturday, for great food, comfortable dining, serious wines, wonderful service (on Sunday, my waiter Sean was insanely polished!).

But Sunday is special. That’s the night that the large room where the bar is located…

The bar at Aureole

…called the Bar Room, naturally…

Dining in the Bar Room at Aureole

…fills up with casual diners enjoying a merry feast of…steak and Bordeaux…for $49 a person!

It’s not just any steak, and it’s not just any Bordeaux. The steak is a côte de boeuf, or rib steak, served for two, and the Bordeaux is something yummy out of magnum poured to your heart’s content!

Let’s start at the top, to see what you get for $49 a person.

First there’s bread…unusually delicious bread, four kinds…better than the bread I know in any New York steakhouse.

The bread at Aureole

Next up is a first-course salad…

The first-course salad at Aureole’s Sunday-night dinner

…sparkling in the spring with tender greens, yellow string beans, English peas, and, of course, fava beans. Lovely lemony dressing.

We started tasting our magnum at this time, and was delighted to find…

The bottomless magnum at Aureole’s Sunday-night dinner

…that the 2004 Chateau La Vielle Cure they’re serving is a great wine for food! Made almost ten years ago, it displays the tertiary notes on the nose that turn Bordeaux-lovers on: in this case, hints of meat and leather. But it’s light, graceful, elegant…light enough, and sprightly enough with acid, to partner a spring salad! This wine, by the way, will be poured at these Sunday dinners until the magnums run out. One of Aureole’s great sommeliers, Sheri Griffith, told me that they expect the supply to last another 6 weeks or so. After that…”we’ll pick another Bordeaux magnum with some age.”

On to the steak. Fueled with Fronsac, I was ready as hell. And, three minutes later, happy as hell.

The rib-eye for two at Aureole

Oh my, was it good. Delightfully marbled, as you can see. Cooked exactly as ordered: crispy outside, rare inside. It was all those things you want steak to be: juicy, velvety, beefy, sweet. Insanely good with the Chateau La Vielle Cure, to be sure. And how comforting that you don’t have to think about things like…should we get a glass? A half-bottle? A full bottle? It just flows, jackson!

In order to be thirsty for a bit more…don’t miss the excellent pile of accompanying french fries served for each diner, along with a little plate of perfectly cooked spinach!

Individual cone of french fries, with garlicky spinach on the side

Room for dessert? It was also quite delicious on my Sunday night…

Baba Bouchon at Aureole

This is a super-flavorful (but not too-soaked baba) served with a delicious crème Anglaise, marinated berries, and a house-made vanilla-bean ice cream.

$49 bucks. Think about it. All the good Bordeaux you can drink, out of magnum.

It’s a deal!

Aureole
One Bryant Park
135 West 42nd St.
New York, NY 10036
212.319.1660

California is home of many legendary movie star desserts. Of course, there are those who claim that this recipe goes back to the royal Romanovs in Russia at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Others place it with Auguste Escoffier, when he ruled the kitchen at the Carlton Hotel in London. But one thing is abundantly clear: high-spirited twentieth-century restaurateur Mike Romanoff, of the legendary Romanoff’s restaurant in Los Angeles, grabbed the America franchise for himself when he popularized the dish in the 1940s at the Hollywood celebrity haunt. The part about his descent from Russian royalty may have been press angentry; the part that’s significant is the way he changed the dish. For Escoffier, Strawberries Romanoff was a question of marinated strawberries and whipped cream. For Mike Romanoff, the whipped cream was folded into…ice cream! How wonderfully, flamboyantly American! If there’s an eight-year-old somewhere deep inside you, you can’t fail to love the following version of his creation.

Makes 4 servings

Ingredients:

1 pint strawberries
1/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed orange juice
2 tablespoons triple sec (orange-flavored liqueur)
1 teaspoon finely grated orange zest
1/2 cup whipping cream
1/2 pint vanilla ice cream, softened

Directions:

1. Wash and stem the strawberries. Cut into quarters, reserving 4 small, whole strawberries for garnish.

2. In a medium bowl mix the strawberries with the sugar, orange juice, triple sec, and orange zest. Let stand, covered, in the refrigerator for at least two hours.

3. When ready to serve, remove the berries from the refrigerator. Whip the cream to soft peaks, then gently fold into the softened ice cream. Gently fold the strawberries into the ice cream mixture.

4. Serve in martini glasses or wine glasses. Garnish with reserved strawberries.

This recipe is from my book It’s All American Food.

Photo courtesy of Barbara Kiebel of Creative Culinary.

What this country needs is a good five hundred American affineurs!

Affi-whut?

Hey, I’m just back from France…where I am always gastronomically programmed to seek out three things that are absolutely unparalleled:

1) Oysters (the French obsession with these critters insures superiority all the way from oyster bed to oyster platter)

2) Les abats (offal, another item that needs cultists in a culture to survive)

3) Cheese, which in France is unequivocally the best

Obsession plays a huge role here, as well, in French Fromage World.

Now, I’m not saying we don’t have good cheese in America, both domestic and imported. And I’m not saying that the cheese chain in the U.S. isn’t better than ever, resulting in the best cheese selection I can remember in American shops and restaurants.

But dude…we still ain’t France! Not by a kilometre de campagne!

There are numerous reasons for this, but the key one has to do with the French concept of the affineur, or the “raiser” of the cheese…a concept in very short supply in the U.S.

In France, in the cheese world, les vedettes…the rock stars…are not usually the actual dairy farmers, and cheese producers…(though good French gourmands are aware of them, too).

No. The real stars are the ones who receive the cheese from producers, then hold it in their shops, downstairs in the cave, until the cheeses are just á point (perfectly ready to eat). The cheeses may hold in that window of perfection for as little as a day, sometimes a few days. A great affineur knows exactly when to sell it to you…will not sell it too early, will not sell it too late.

But there’s more than mere timing involved. A great affineur truly “raises” his or her cheeses as if they were children. Some days, if the cheeses are too moist, they must be dried with a towel; some days, if they’re too dry, they must be moistened. Most days they need to be turned, or shifted in the cellar; some of them need a wash on a regular basis with strong alcohol to develop a certain flavor in the rind. There is no specific list of what the affineur must do in his her or cave; are there any rules for parents? Affinage, and parenting, are creative activities!

I tapped into this all over again, a few weeks back in Paris, when a chef friend took me to her favorite affineur in that cheese-mad city:

Cantin, a tidy, super-aromatic cheese fantasy on the Rue du Champ de Mars, in the 7th, not far from a good open-air market, the brilliant bakery Poîlane, and La Tour Eiffel.

Cantin is owned by Marie-Anne Cantin, who truly is a rock star in Paris. Gourmands come from toutes les arrondissements to get a few quivering slices of this or that from Marie-Anne.

I was a little intimidated on approaching the shop, because the great one has a reputation for persnicketiness. On some days she’s fine, they say…but on some days you my get your hand metaphorically slapped with a cheese spatula. So, I just went about my business, looking at the marvelous orbs on display…

Mostly goat cheeses near the shop’s window

Magnificent hard cheeses in foreground, like Emmenthaler

Cantin is so powerful that she has her own Roquefort prepared for her by one of Roquefort’s few producers

I guess I did it all politely…because, suddenly…the apparition appeared, looking for cheese talk! And what a pleasure it was…

Marie-Anne Cantin, the Parisian cheese legend

A few hours later, I was enjoying a Cantin selection at the wonderful home-cookin’ bistro Reed, not far from the cheese shop:

An array of Cantin cheeses at Reed, including (at 10 o’clock) the greatest St. Felicien I have ever tasted

Here’s what I want you to do: ALLEZ-Y!!!!!! As soon as you can! Because this is not about Marie-Anne Cantin alone–this is about an epochal surge threatening to sweep away all that’s good about French cheese. As you can imagine, the bureaucrats in Brussels are eager to “regularize” European cheese, make it more industrial, take it increasingly out of the hands of such a one as Cantin. And they, the bureaucrats, have made progress in numerous food areas, wiping out the small businesses of many tiny artisans, such as charcutiers.

I hope the EU never wins this one. But in case a bad ending is in the offing…we know that people like Marie-Anne Cantin are at the heights of their powers right now. Visit them now. Support them now. Expose your kids to this culture…because they may not have the pleasure of doing the same for their kids!

French fries–despite the Gallic monicker–are among America’s most beloved treats. But I think of them as restaurant food, above all–fast food places, coffee shops, lunch counters, upscale California grill restaurants, bistros of all sorts. They are ubiquitous in American restaurants…and rare at home. Why? Because, I contend, home cooks are not pleased with the results they get when they haul out the deep fryer. It’s frustrating to discover that McDonald’s makes fries vastly superior to yours. Restaurant fries are often light, crispy, airy, with what I call an irregular, “nubbly” texture on the outside. Home fries are usually slick and smooth on the outside, lacking texture interest, just a fried potato stick with no magic. Until now. Stealing a secret from the fast-food industry, I have devised the following recipe–in which the fries are actually cooked three times: they are boiled first, to make them more interesting in texture, then fried twice, as per the classic french-fry recipe. With so much handling, you must exercise care, lest the potatoes break. But the effort is well worth it; these fries are as good as any restaurant fries in America.

Makes enough french fries for 4 people

5 large russet potatoes
2 tablespoons table salt (plus coarse salt for sprinkling)
2 tablespoons sugar
2 quarts vegetable oil

1. Peel potatoes, and trim each one into the shape of a rectangle. Cut the potatoes, the long way, into broad slices that are about 3/8″ thick. Then cut each slice into French fries that are about 3/8″ wide. (It is important for the size of the potatoes to be correct for the cooking process to work perfectly. A French fry cutter that yields 3/8″ fries is a good investment.) Hold the cut potatoes in a bowl of cold water until ready to use.

2. Place 3 quarts water, the 2 tablespoons of salt and the 2 tablespoons of sugar in a large pot. Bring to a boil. Add the fries to the boiling water, let the water return to a boil, then immediately reduce the heat so that the water comes to a gentle boil. Cook the potatoes for 7 minutes, or until they are quite soft but still holding together. You don’t want to make mashed potatoes, so check the potatoes during the last few minutes of the boiling period. Remove them with a wide, slotted utensil (what chefs call a “spider” would be ideal), and place them on paper towels in a single layer. Bring to room temperature (about 10 minutes.)

3. When ready to do the first fry, heat oil in a deep, heavy, straight- sided pot to 250 degrees. Using your hands, carefully place a small batch of fries on a spider (or another wide, slotted utensil), making sure not to break them. Slowly lower the spider into the oil, drop the fries in the oil, and cook them for 2 minutes. After removing them from the oil with the spider, place them on paper towels in a single layer. This step essentially blanches the potatoes, so there should be very little color. Repeat with the rest of the potatoes, in small batches, until all of the french fries have had a first fry.

4. When ready to serve, heat the oil to 350 degrees. Using your hands, slowly remove a small batch of the fries from the paper towels without breaking them and place them onto the spider. Slowly lower the spider into the oil, drop the fries in the oil, and cook, stirring occasionally to insure even browning. You want the French fries to have a deep golden brown color, and for the surface to be a little crinkly; this should take about 3 minutes. Remove them from the oil with the spider and place them in a single layer on a baking pan lined with paper towels. Sprinkle generously with coarse salt. Repeat with the remaining fries. Serve immediately for maximum crispness-but if you’re holding the first batch or two, hold the completed fries in a 300-degree oven.

Note on Freezing: After completing step three of the process, the first frying, you can place the fries on a baking pan in a single layer and freeze them. Once they are frozen solid, place them in an airtight freezer bag and keep them frozen until you need them. To cook them, thaw the fries in the refrigerator, then fry them using the directions in step four.

This recipe is from my book It’s All American Food.

Photo courtesy of www.merelymarie.com

The Goghstronome who got me cookin’

My week in Holland was a high…I haven’t even come down enough to tell you about it coherently. And yet, despite having just returned from there at 35,000 feet…my Tuesday story describing my recent gastronomic uppers is already due…today!

So here’s my plan…based on my great good fortune in attending THE re-opening of the mind-expanding Vincent Van Gogh museum…at the end of my trip, just the day before I left for New York…I’m going to post for you a Goghstronomic photo essay!

I had already been lucky, art-wise, in Amsterdam. The opulent Rijksmuseum, which holds the greatest Rembrandts, Vermeers, etc…had been closed for ten years of renovation…until two weeks before my arrival! I got a guided tour there on my first day ever in Holland, April 23, 2013…which left my oils oozing, my acrylics resinating, and my water colors dripping.

Rembrandt’s masterpiece The Night Watch, in the distance, at the end of a long gallery at the beautifully restored Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam

But my chances for Van Gogh didn’t look so hot. Sure, there’s a small collection of Van Gogh at the Rijksmuseum on another floor…but I wanted the main course, the Van Gogh Museum itself…which, I was told, to my great consternation…was closed for repairs!

After a glorious five days of eating and drinking in Holland–you will see my big, in-detail report soon–I flew to Paris to track down some wine, and spend another glorious three days (details soon!)

Then, on Wednesday, May 1, I flew back to Amsterdam to do a little business in acquiring Cameroon peppercorns as a new product (more on THAT later!)…and to catch my flight to New York on Thursday, May 2.

So here’s the trippy high that descended on me as I returned to the Netherlands on the first day of May: on the jet, I read in the Dutch newspaper during the flight that the Van Gogh Museum was opening…TODAY!

OMG. My flight was due at 1PM, and the museum was closing its doors at 6. Surely, it’ll be chaos. Surely, I’ll somehow fail to make it.

But surely…somehow…it worked out!

I got there at 4:15…just as the line at the entrance was beginning to peter out. By 4:30 I was in…which gave me 90 glorious minutes of Van Gogh-inhaling before the 6PM close. In fact, I felt like I had the munchies. Because the crowd was thinning, I was able to walk right up to canvases both un-famous and famous…and, with my little camera, take a bite of them. I took few whole-canvas photos, but I had snacks all over the frames…which, in most cases, created whole new looks at the work of this amazing artist.

Here’s a bunch of Van Gogh bites…leading up to the series of paintings that were downright gastronomic! Come on…it was 6PM…I was getting hungry!

As every art historian knows, Van Gogh’s earthy work changed considerably after he did what I did…go to Paris! The color of the South began to bleed into his paintings…as did his new fixation with Japanese painting!

Here is a Japanese painting that he wanted to “copy”…

And here is his copy:

Here’s another Japanese painting he wanted to copy:

And here is his copy:

And here’s one more Van Gogh work in the “Japanese” style.

From there, the sky was the limit……

By this time, I was getting good and hungry…and not just for oreille panée! I started thinking about one of the best bites I’d had all week in Amsterdam: french fries, with mayo, from a little stand with a long line! And, of course, it was then that I discovered Vincent Van Goghstronome’s particular obsession with…potatoes!

He painted potato peelers. He painted potato farmers. He painted potatoes by themselves, just like these:

Most famously, he painted “The Potato Eaters,” finished in 1885–often considered his first great work. Here are two “bites” I took from it, followed by pretty much the whole canvas:

And that’s when the museum closed…just in time to get to my favorite french fries stand and devour another kind of masterpiece:

Straight away, I will post my report on my entire gastronomic odyssey in Holland…and will, of course, tell you exactly which french fries stand you MUST get to when you visit.

I can pretty much guarantee it won’t be closed for renovations.