Fight back Somehow - I wish I could tell you how

New York City's Health Department is at it again. This time they closed down an important, high-quality, Kosher deli on points - for the likes of (gasp)

Hanging Salami

Not washing the slicer between meats (where the two meats were both destined for a single combo-sandwich

Please see the post at Save the Deli which includes the story as originally reported in the paper.

Why don't they pick on somebody dangerous?

Moussaka Meltdown

My wife and friend Andy tell me I need sensitivity training. Not sure if they're right (of course) but hey - the guy asked. There he was - in chef's whites, asking if everything was to our liking. Now Andy asserts that he didn't really want my opinion - he was just being polite. He's probably right, but insensitive bastard that I am - I told him.

We were a party of seven - four adults and three kids. We'd just climbed a mountain. We were hungry, there was a chill in the air, the restaurant represented itself to be "Greek-American" and, of course, they offered moussaka. Three of the four adults were drawn to it - but before going ahead with this plan, I expressly informed the server that I regarded moussaka as a serious matter and needed to know ... She assured me I would not be disappointed.

Why did I listen? I had a pretty clear impression that it was a mistake even as I placed the order. For one thing, the dish appeared under the beef section of the menu. This alone should have been a sufficient clue of what I was dealing with - but in this area, beef is often substituted for lamb and I was not put off. I guess this proves I am an optimist. Well...To the heart of the matter.

Never mind - the details don't matter. Bad restaurant, botched moussaka - life goes on.

But the incident did raise a number of perhaps important points.
1) Should they ask, and should you tell?
2) Is there a point along the authenticity and quality continuum at which a dish simply ceases to qualify as whatever they've had the temerity to call it?
3) Who first put potatoes in moussaka?
4) And assuming that you're prepared to accept their presence, are there limits as to their proportion in the dish?
5) Is some sort of béchamel derived sauce or custard topping essential to moussakanesshood?
6) Why are chefs not subject to corporal punishment during the dinner service?
7) OK, I guess that's a tad harsh - but how about immediate dismissal and forfeiture of all public cooking privileges for some interval (like life)?
8) OK, perhaps still harsh - but how about at least... You know, it's just occurred to me that not everybody takes food - and especially the responsibility one takes on as chef to the public as seriously as I do. So how about this question - Am I simply a lunatic? Or do I have a right to expect at least a certain degree of care and respect in the conduct of the trade?

I'm asking, and I really want to know.

Danish, Thy name is Danish Pastry House

This is important -
At 330 Boston Avenue, in Medford, MA - just a short walk from Tufts University they make real Danish pastry. That's all. Go there, get some.

Oh yes, I'm told they have a location over in Watertown too. And I note also that they serve other things besides Danish - but honestly, if you're still reading this instead of traveling to 330 Boston Avenue then I guess I didn't properly convey the importance of the first suggestion above. It's a real Danish. You must go and get some. It is real Danish pastry. You must go and get some. There's some sitting in my kitchen as I write this. I brought some home. It is real Danish pastry too. I must go

Seamed good to me

Yes, I know that seems to be misspelled - but I meant it.
I had an excellent Restaurant Week meal last night at Pigalle (Charles Street South in Boston). The entree was described on the menu as follows:
Olive Crusted Leg of Lamb with Braising Mint Jus, Cucumber Salad, and Moussaka
Delicious.
But what I wanted to particularly bring to your attention was the way the meat had been cut and prepped before cooking. I didn't speak with the chef, but what I saw on my plate looked like they had employed a procedure I often use and which I regard as highly commendable.

They seemed to have seamed the lamb. This means that they dissected the meat from the leg of lamb to break it down into individual muscle bundles and removed from each any fat, connective tissue, and silverskin.

It is a labor intensive operation. But when you prep the meat in this way, each and every bite will be the tenderest and tastiest it can be. What's more, it will take the flavor of your spices more quickly and more deeply; and ultimately it will exhibit a greater clarity of focus than otherwise possible. Time/cost aside, the trade-off is that it will present much less of lamb's characteristic gaminess - a trade off that I find vary favorable. If you're one of those that particularly crave a gamy, sheep-y taste - don't bother.

If you have a real butcher, you can certainly ask them to prep your lamb in this way - and they'll probably accommodate you. But they will not do as complete or clean a job as I require. Nor will they get the yield that I go for. It's simply too painstaking and laborious a process to go through for any reasonable price. So if you're handy with a knife and have the time, I encourage you to try this yourself. The results can be startling.

And at Pigalle, last night - that entree was really very good. Not to quibble, but perhaps a bit saltier than necessary - but the lamb, and the eggplant were fantastic.

The other item I particularly enjoyed there last night was a dessert. A chocolate/coconut cream in a crispy shell affair. The depth, length, and extremely gradual unfolding of the chocolate and coconut flavors in succession were enchanting. Really good effect.

Bravo Pigalle

Caveat: Order a good bottle of wine. The Bordeaux we opted for - by the glass - was not what it should have been.

Kathy's back dinner

Whole family home again. Cooked a quick chicken kofta masala:
Made this up as went along. Couple of mishaps - discovered I was out of garam masala; didn't have the specific curry I'd have normally reached for; on the other hand - had some miscellaneous spices left over from a recent vaguely Mexican dinner (smoked paprika and ancho chile) that I decided to throw in. The substitutions worked out fine.
I used 2.5 lbs of skinless/boneless chicken thighs, stripped off the obvious excess fat, ground once with grinder attachment to KitchenAid using fine blade.
Grated fresh breadcrumbs with stale leftover sesame seed ficelle - about 1/2 loaf. Processed breadcrumbs with 1 large clove fresh garlic and a goodly quantity of fresh-grated ginger. Not sure how much - the piece cost me 40 cents before peeling and grating. Mixed in about the leftover mexican dinner spices - 2 teaspoons of smoked spanish paprika, and 1 teaspoon of freshly ground dried ancho chile. Added about 1 and 1/2 teaspoons of kosher salt, 1/2 teaspoon of fresh ground pepper and a rounded teaspoon of Balti seasoning mix (Penzey's).
Incorporated the breadcrumb mixture with the ground chicken and added about ~3 tablespoons heavy cream and two (jumbo) eggs. Corrected moisture level with besan flour to proper kofta consistency (?3-4 tablespoons?).
Formed koftas and fried over medium heat in a heavy cast iron pan moistened with olive oil (could have used any decent oil or ghee instead).
Meanwhile made a creamy tomato sauce:
Butter (or ghee), 2 large onions diced, 2 large yellow peppers, sliced and slices halved.
1 large can Muir Glen Diced Fire Roasted Tomatoes, a large splash (1/4 jar) of whatever fairly neutral brand of spaghetti sauce is kicking around open (in this case it was Newman's Marinara). Balti seasoning mix, salt, and sour cream to taste.

Saute onions in butter (ghee) until they start to become translucent. Spread onions to outside of pan, exposing center. Add Balti mix to pan and toast until it starts to darken a bit then incorporate with sauteed onions and redistribute throughout pan. Add peppers and saute until they just start to soften. Add Muir Glen and other tomato product. Mix, correct seasoning, mix in sour cream, and cook down to desired consistency. Add koftas for last minute or two - do not mix to incorporate - it's better if the koftas are not sauced all over. If you've fried them properly, they will have dark crunchy surfaces that you don't want to soften with the sauce. The interior texture should be soft and light - much as you'd expect from a good veg kofta.
Serve over rice. Garnish with chopped fresh coriander (cilantro).

Accompanied by: Willm Pinot Gris - off dry. I'd rather have served an Alsatian Gewurztraminer, but this wine worked well.

Children, by the way, will eat this if you avoid making it too hot. Secondo is a picky eater and he cleaned his plate.

The essence of things

Well, perhaps I've been clearing my throat for long enough. Time for some thoughts about Noshstalgia per se.

Most familiar foods have deep roots. But, at least here in the US - and to a lesser degree in the developed world generally - with each successive generation, food has less context, people know less about the things they eat. Less history, less culture, less procedural knowledge. To some degree, the current popularity of all things foodie has slowed the loss of cultural memory. But the prevailing trend, even among self-identified foodies, is to less knowledge and wisdom even in the context of more data. (put that way, one could make the same observation in most any domain). In fairness, we're all busy people, and there's more than ever to know about so many things. How and why should people make time to acquire context, wisdom, etc. where food is concerned? Won't whatever is on my plate taste the same whether I understand ancient history or not? Well...

I concede, at the highest level it is purely a matter of choice. Some people regard food only as sustenance, as a conveyance for nutrition. They are perfectly happy if their need to eat takes as little time as possible and avoids distracting them from their more important pursuits. I don't embrace this point of view, but neither do I condemn it.

Others - My readers (if I have any today) and potential readers - We choose to pay attention to what we eat, and perhaps even to exert ourselves in the procurement or preparation of superior foods. For us, taking steps beyond attentive consumption leads us to context. Preserves, confits, sausages, corned beef, bacon, maple syrup, indian pudding, woks, kebabs, spices, etc. - Why?

An understanding of the origins of things leads to an improved understanding of their essence. Understanding the essence of such things - the original design objectives, the practical problems that drove their creation and refinement - guides us in appreciating real quality. What's the point in preserves made with non-seasonal or improperly ripened fruit? Can they possibly preserve the character and singular pleasure of a perfectly ripened peach? What's the point in a wok of heavy gauge metal, or one set over a weak or diffuse heat source? Can it possibly deliver either the fuel economy or the cooking result for which the wok was developed?

For me, Noshstalgia is not simply an exercise in revisiting old recipes - it is a commitment to deeper understanding. It is a perspective that helps me focus my attention and efforts. Many fine authors have expounded on aspects of this consciousness - how to shop, seasonal menus, slow cooking etc. And implicitly, good food writing tends to include culture and history. But I am working on this blog because as I survey the web - as I look at so many food-blogs and cooking sites - it seems like people are mostly focused concrete details du jour - how to cook this, where to find that. Great information, no doubt but I hope I can lend a voice, and find a readership for digging deeper.

Service

Had dinner out with Secondo on Wednesday. We waited a long time to be seated. Secondo is only 6, so that's not easy, but the time went by quite pleasantly. The restaurant was a very small, storefront neighborhood place not too far off. Family operation. Two sisters were working the front of the house, their parents in the kitchen.

From our vantage point near the entry, we could see most of the dining room, the service area where drinks, desserts, coffee, bread and so on were prepped, the register, and right down the axis of the galley kitchen area. Flourescent lighting on the left side of the room illuminated the entry and service areas. On the right, down-lighting served the dining area - but as there is no real separation, the entire space was bright and unromatic. The decor verged on non-existent. We perused a menu as we waited. It was a short list of absolutely standard, old-fashioned italian (calabrian) offerings. Mostly pasta. A few protein items. Secondo loves pasta.

The sisters were very busy. Upon our arrival, we were the fourth party waiting for a table. The entire restaurant consisted of perhaps a dozen tables. The timing of our arrival was such that it took quite a long time for even the first of the 4 waiting parties to be seated. During this long interval, and at each subsequent seating prior to ours, we observed that one, and sometimes two tables were vacant. A party would clear their bill and head out. Their table would sit, waiting to be cleared and readied for the next party. And people were waiting. And I was waiting with a 6 year old. And we didn't mind; because something magical was happening.

The sisters were very busy. There was no discernable division of labor between them. There was a lot to do back there. When they were in the service area, they flew. Most of their activities were those you'd expect - prepping desserts, totaling checks, making espresso and so on. One thing was a bit less typical. Every time a party was seated, one of the sisters would start a batch of toast on a panini grill. When they removed the toast from the grill, they'd brush it with a mixture of oil, garlic and herbs. No big deal, but it was a labor intensive way to provide bread to the table, it seemed to be the rule, and the care and precision with which they made that garlic bread seemed special.

More remarkable was the transformation the sisters went through each and every time they crossed the threshold between the service area and the dining area. Recall that there was no wall between - just a counter. Still, as they moved from one area to the other, everything changed. In the service area, they were charged and taut, moving as fast as possible. They were perfectly accurate and wasted no motion. But they were clearly exerting themselves to get things done. As they crossed into the dining room, you could see them relax. It was deliberate and unmistakable. It didn't take long - just a couple of seconds. But as they entered the dining room, the tension left them and they moved through the tables with easy grace as if they had all the time in the world. When they approached a table and took an order, or when delivering food, they were relaxed. They exuded hospitality. They might as well have been hostesses, relaxing at a catered affair under the watchful eye of a trusted manager. It was as if they had nothing to worry about, nothing to do, but be with their guest. No other guest either - just the one they were with.

Those tables that sat empty between parties? I was quickly convinced this was a deliberate, and absolutely correct decision. They were regulating the flow of seatings and orders to maintain perfect service in the front of the house and perfect timing in the kitchen. I was waiting with a 6 year old, in an environment that provided no activities to keep him busy for close to an hour - and I appreciated their discipline in turning those tables so slowly.

When our turn came, just as I suspected, we too felt the ease and luxury of gracious service and seemingly undivided attention. And the food was delicious.