Sometimes when making dinner I have just a little bit of time and the inclination to use it well. This is the sort of food that would normally get the one-plate treatment, but the simple act of approaching and presenting it as a multi-dish meal made it so much more interesting and satisfying than it would have been. Presentation matters, and that intention works to inform the cooking process with more care and attention.
A couple of weeks ago a friend gave me a 1968 copy of the first American edition of the Larousse Gastronomique that she found at a yard sale. It’s a mixture of fascinating information and hilariously dated pictures–the color plates are printed with ghastly separation–of the ponderous, baroque platings that were the norm before nouvelle cuisine broke free. Giant roasts, birds, or hams covered in pastry, surrounded by things stuffed with more things, arranged in concentric obedience–it looks positively medieval now, and reveals how far food culture has come since then. It’s true in music, too: the other day “Crazy Train” was on the radio, and I laughed at how the once-diabolical Ozzy now sounds like teen pop, much in the same way that the Ramones practically sound like doo-wop compared to the hardcore that followed them.
It’s not just the presentation from that time that’s anachronistic; the idea of preparing a huge hunk of animal for anything other than a big party just seems silly and wasteful. I almost never buy roasts, since it’s just so damn much meat. Last night the three of us split a beautiful ribeye. Sure, I could have eaten a bit more, but it was the right amount of meat from a health and general consumption point of view. Plate-obscuring steaks for one are an apt symbol of our national eating disorder. But something about the image of a big roast surrounded by vegetables caught in my mind, and got me thinking about a super-traditional Christmas dinner. That, and the presence of a pork shoulder in the freezer, which I had originally bought to grind into sausage.
Here’s that pork chop–the one that so generously provided the bone with which I made the stock that embellished the chicken roulade kabobs so handsomely. I had a busy weekend (ceramics sale and then return to Rhode Island to collect all the work from the gallery) so this will have to do until I empty the camera of pictures from intervening meals. Having said that, though, it was a good one.
It’s full-on fall gorgeousness here, and mid-weight meals are very much in effect. The sun is warm, and the leaves are incandescent, but the shade has a chill to it that makes one glad for a layer and come sundown it gets brisk in a hurry. The garden is transitioning nicely into fall, with lots of greens and roots to make for a nearly full spectrum of colors and textures until the first freeze culls the tenderer plants and leaves a narrower but still plentiful assortment into winter. I’m setting up the hoop houses this week, and I’ll try to write a bit about it for anybody considering season-extension technologies involving a minimum of effort and expense. Meanwhile, food.
Meatloaf is an interesting food. On one end of the spectrum, it can be a sad slab of factory meat on bland mashed potatoes drowned in burned, salty gravy at some diner. On the far end, it can be a terrine of elegant subtlety and refinement made from quality components, especially if it’s treated more like a pâté and cooked gently in a bain-marie. There’s plenty of room between these extremes, and that latitude allows a dish like this to be an excellent showcase for the only two things that matter in cooking: ingredients and technique. You get exactly as much out of a meatloaf as you put in to it.
Yesterday was Milo’s fourth birthday, so we let him choose dinner. “Pizza” was the verdict. So I made pizza dough and tomato sauce, and pulled other ingredients from the fridge. The pizzas were well received. True story. Today, in between trying to keep an eye on him while he tear-assed around the driveway on his new bike ($10 from the used bike guy in town, and the best ratio of glee to expense I have…
This blog is two years old as of yesterday, so I thought I’d make something humble yet refined to exemplify my approach to home cooking where improvisation and aspirational experimentation dominate. So tonight, a lamb shoulder, braised for 7 hours in mirepoix (I fear we’re almost out) plus mustard, cumin, caraway and fennel seeds, juniper berries, pink peppercorns, preserved lemon, garlic, olives, herbes de Provence, a splash of wine, a shot of espresso, and water…
There’s a vegetarian place in Williamsburg called Bliss that we used to go to when we lived in that part of Brooklyn, in large part because it was cheap and featured the “bliss bowl” which consisted of brown rice, beans, greens, tofu or tempeh, and a tahini-miso sauce. Over the years, it has become a more malleable idea in our kitchen, but essentially means the same thing: a perfect meal in a bowl (there’s also…
I had some requests from the gang for more of my barbecue sauce; I made some for last year’s holiday party and it was enthusiastically received. So I pulled out the big pot and got to pouring, stirring, tasting, and adjusting. The main ingredients are molasses, tomato and tamarind pastes, balsamic and cider vinegars, and red wine, with smoked espresso, sriracha, ponzu, and various dried spices adding complexity. It’s a little different every time, but…
