A Sensational Seasonal Side
Is it possible I’ve never mentioned my friend Cory? Cory is a chef. He lives in Los Angeles. And some lucky family gets the honor of calling him theirs. For the past several years he’s been working as a private chef, which sounds like a pretty sweet gig for everyone involved. Before that he was in the San Francisco kitchen of a restaurant Ruth Reichl thought was one of the 50 best in the country.
Not exactly a lightweight.
Last year for Thanksgiving, Cory was up in the Bay Area and cooked Thanksgiving dinner for all my friends out there. I was here at home in Albany, with my roast chicken and my delicious stuffing. To say I was a little envious would be an understatement.
I heard in detail about the meal and every delicious thing. But it was clear from talking to each of my friends that one dish was transcendent. So now that the main ingredient is back in season I sent Cory a note and asked if I could have the recipe, and if he would mind me sharing it with a few close friends.
Looks like we are all in luck.
En Route
Jon in Albany thought I wrote about this back in September. Mr. Sunshine invoked its name when commenting on my White Wine for All Seasons. And I am actually pretty excited about getting this post up in advance of the actual event, which is now only hours away.
You do know what is happening at midnight tonight, don’t you? Only the largest single wine marketing event of the year, that’s what.
That means right now the 2010 Beaujolais Nouveau is on its way to these shores ready to be sold at the stroke of midnight. Whoop. Dee. Doo. All joking aside, I do agree with Mr. Sunshine that this is a nice light and juicy wine to pair with the festive Thanksgiving meal. My problem with the wine isn’t its lightness. I actually happen to think bright and youthful wines bursting with life and fruit are delightful.
So what is it? Why are people so scornful of Beaujolais Nouveau? Well, I’m glad you asked. I knew people would want to know this year after year, so I wrote down the answer.
It’s Not an Omelet
I get really worked up about frittate. That would be the plural of frittata. Not that I speak Italian, or even pronounce it correctly, but right is right.
A few weeks ago I went to this Italian restaurant for breakfast. It’s a very popular place, and nobody questions its Italian bona fides. When I found out they had a frittata special and it contained sausage with peppers, I couldn’t resist. But really I should have, because a true frittata is hard to find. Mostly one receives lazy open-faced omelets that try to pass as this classic dish and that are really an insult to both French and Italian gastronomy.
Omelets we shall tackle another time.
But what sets frittate apart from omelets is that they are cooked very slowly, over low heat, and are more akin to a Spanish tortilla than an omelet. At least so says Marcella Hazan, and I will take her word over yours.
The Caffeine is Too DAMN High
Some of you may know where this is going. For those who don’t hang with me and I’ll get there.
I love French fries. I also love Jeffrey Steingarten.
The first time I read his book, The Man Who Ate Everything, I was living in California. One of the many marvelous chapters is about French fries. In it Mr. Steingarten learns that potatoes fried in horse fat have a “a lightness and a true crispness you cannot obtain with other fats and oils.” Ultimately he finds someone to bring back several gallons of the stuff from Austria, and decides that they are indeed wonderful.
On one level I found this to be inspiring, and I too wanted to find a source of horse fat so I could eat some of these impossibly crispy fries. Although truth be told, I don’t really deep fry at home. It’s a long story, but let me assure you, it is for the best.
Then one day, I heard the strangest news story. Robert Redford was trying to ban the sale of horse meat in California. Dammit. But it was put on the ballot in November of 1998 and the citizens of my state were given the chance to vote on Proposition 6.
When it passed all my dreams for those glorious French fries were smashed. And I was pissed. I’m still pissed. I don’t want my government telling me what I can or cannot eat. There seems to be an ever-growing list of banned foods that started with horse meat, then moved to trans fats, and was just recently expanded to include caffeinated malt liquor.
Big on Thanksgiving
Wine appreciation is a funny thing. The wine snobs have been so influential for so long that they have convinced otherwise rational people to believe some irrational things.
The worst thing to come from this era is the notion that good wine needs to be further aged before it is ready to drink. This has resulted in countless bottles of wine being left unopened and un-enjoyed until they have diminished to shadows of their former selves.
The silliest thing to come from this era is the act of sniffing a cork.
Thankfully, the former wine writers at the Wall Street Journal created a holiday to try and reverse the damage of the former. The latter will hopefully fade away as people learn that a cork just smells like a cork, and you need to actually smell and taste the wine itself to see if it’s tainted.
Speaking of the Wall Street Journal, I happened to glance at the wine column this week, and was reminded of two things. One is an irrational piece of wine snobbery that is more rational than you would think. The other is that the wine at the source of this very rational piece of wine snobbery would make another great choice for serving at Thanksgiving.
Scotch as Medicine
It’s time. I have put off answering this question for long enough. It’s almost winter. We’ve had over an inch of snow, and almost all of the leaves are off the trees. I’m well into putting on my winter weight, and the lingering smokiness of new barbecue joints Rubbin’ Butts and Dinosaur is still fresh in my memory.
Plus, I’ve recently gone off my actual medication, and now I can enjoy an evening cocktail without the risk of grave consequences.
All of which make me think about a scotch that I enjoy, as do a small handful of enthusiasts, but that most do not. In fact, it was considered so unpalatable that during Prohibition it was legally imported to the U.S. as medicine. But to those who love it, its intense smokiness is perfect for the cold winter nights that will so soon be blowing on our doors.
That means Ellen Whitby’s question from March will finally be answered:
You said “recommending Laphroaig without a disclaimer that most human beings can’t stand the stuff is irresponsible” Could you say more about that? I tried it recently and didn’t like it much at all. The person who served it to me thought it was the bees knees.
Troyrannosaurus
For those living beyond the confines of the Capital Region, or for those who have been hiding under a rock, yesterday was a big day for the city of Troy. The famous Dinosaur Bar-B-Que opened its fourth restaurant, right on the eastern bank of the Hudson River.
The city of Troy worked hard to get them here, and now they occupy a beautiful building on the water that has been vacant for almost three years.
Even if you haven’t heard of Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, it is famous regionally. Its original location is in Syracuse, a short 150-minute drive away from Albany. But they also have an outpost in Rochester and one all the way down in Harlem.
People have been known to make the drive for this food.
Opening day yesterday sounded like a madhouse. Reports came in that there was a line 100 people deep by the time the doors opened for lunch. Normally I would avoid crowds like this, but the savvy editors of All Over Albany had other plans. They hypothesized that there would be a lull in the crowd come late afternoon. So at 3:45 pm I showed up at the Dinosaur, ready for anything.
Thanksgiving Made Easy
This is what everyone wants to know, right?
Because putting together a Thanksgiving meal is hard. Well, I suppose to some people who have been doing it for a long time, it’s not exactly hard. They have the routine and the timing down. They know when to clean the sink, so the bird can be brined with enough time to make it into the oven and make it to the table. They have figured out the side dish dance, managing the real estate of the burners and the oven (during the time the turkey is resting) so that everything cooks through and comes out hot.
But even if it’s not hard, it is a lot of work. And beyond work, it’s not cheap to put on a big festive meal for a crowd. Yes, some supermarkets run specials where they give you the turkey for free. But there are two adages that apply. One, there is no such thing as a free lunch. And two, you get what you pay for.
Then there is the stress and the worry. Let’s say you go out and buy a nice bird to cook. It may be the most expensive thing you’ve ever attempted to cook, and if you leave it in the oven too long, it will border on inedible. But if you don’t cook it enough, it will be pink and could make people sick. Ack!
My personal solution is to get invited somewhere where the meal’s always delicious, and supply enough well-selected wine that I get invited back.
But you may actually want to host an event like this. So for you, I have the following, timely, and sage advice.
Ask the Profussor – Snowed Under
It snowed in Albany yesterday. Not just the first few flurries of the season either. It snowed big fluffy flakes that actually stuck and accumulated.
I was not expecting that.
This is what I get for banking on global warming and not putting the snow tires on in October. But life goes on. Heck, I’m still supposed to get three more deliveries from my CSA. Plus I’ve signed up for the additional 40-pound box of storage vegetables. I love potatoes. And onions. Can’t wait to see what I get.
Anyhow, after unloading a bit yesterday, today I feel like I can take up the gauntlet again and answer all of those questions that were asked in the past few weeks that have somehow managed to go unanswered. I do take your questions and comments very seriously. And if you ever want to have a beer with me, all you need to do is ask (and find a date when Mrs. Fussy can stay home with the kids).
Now, how about those questions?
Hot Dogs and Mustard
Did I mention I’ve got tooth pain too? I’m not sure if I’m more upset about the pain itself, or that it means another trip to the dentist so that he can examine the filling. That on top of my aching neck has really put me in a mood.
So if you are one of those people who put ketchup on hot dogs, you may want to turn around now, and come back tomorrow.
Yesterday we were talking about how people have different tastes. Just because I love gewürztraminer with ham doesn’t mean you will too. This fact was illustrated by the example that some people think ketchup goes better on hot dogs than mustard. I know this to be true, because Young Master Fussy is one of them.
I am so ashamed.
My son. MY son. My SON, who I carefully crafted into a lover of Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray, abhors mustard on his hot dog, and will only eat it with ketchup. Somehow I have failed him, and I can only hope that I can get his palate realigned before it’s too late.
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