Channeling Julia

A few years ago, before Meryl Streep so perfectly took on the role of Julia Child, I read the book Julie and Julia and was tempted to make Julia's famous Bouef a la Bourguinonne. Tempted...but not quite ready. Working with ingredients like pearl onions intimidated me and at that point I'm fairly certain my kitchen equipment did not contain anything close to a dutch oven. My other concern with such a dish was that I would have no one to serve it too. If bouef is being made into bourguinonne in a kitchen but no one is around to taste it is it really bourguinonne?

Fast forward to the present. On a cold Saturday afternoon in the land of senior developments otherwise known as southern New Jersey, I asked my father what he wanted for his birthday dinner. Having just seen the movie that past Tuesday (it was senior day at the local theatre which means tickets, soda and popcorn for only $10 - which incidentally still makes my father twitch....) his reply was "beef bourguinonne". He said it so matter-of-factly that I knew he had been thinking about it for a while and a momentary panic set in. Having just seen the movie myself, I immediately conjured up images of burning the casserole and serving dad a pizza for his birthday. I quickly stuffed the fear down and thought to myself if Julie could do it then damn well so could I!

Finally the big weekend arose. I headed down to NJ with my copy of the recipe straight out of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and a lengthy shopping list. First thing on my to do list: buy dutch oven. I have one but Mom doesn't and since I'm cooking at their place we had to procure one quickly. A quick stop at TJ Maxx and after I revived Dad from the $49 cost of the pot, I loaded my wares into the trunk and headed home to prep.

As I sliced onions and garlic and carrots and tried to get my beef into even 2" cubes I had another moment of panic. What if I'm really not good enough to do this? What if it doesn't turn out right? I'm only on step 3 and there are 45 steps in this process. At this point it wasn't so much about my dad's birthday dinner as it was my own pride in the kitchen. I gathered my head and channeled my energy. I browned the bacon (ok so I used pancetta - shoot me for a tiny improvisation) and the beef, softened the veggies, coated everything with flour and toasted it in a high oven for four minutes at a time. I agnoized over the wine choice and finally settled on a Pinot Noir from my parents wine rack. While the casserole was bubbled away in a low oven I prepared the smothered pearl onions and sauteed the mushrooms. As it simmered it started to smell phenomenally good in the house. I peeked at the under the lid of the casserole and thought "I just might pull this off".

By the time evening rolled around and I was on step 37 I began to care less about how it turned out and just wanted to get the damn thing over with. Pour the contents of the casserole into a strainer over a sauce pan. What???? Do you know how heavy that dutch oven is???? Now wash out the casserole and put the meat back in it. What? Why am I washing it out if I'm going to just get it dirty again???? Ok, fine. If Julia says so. Add my smothered onions and mushrooms to the meat. Now simmer the sauce until its just the right consistency to coat the back of a spoon. Ok....two minutes on a high boil. Nope...not coating. Ok, two more minutes...nope...still not coating. AAAGGGHHHH. Two more minutes! FINALLY COATING!!!!! I pull it off the heat, pour it back over the meat and veggies and take the whole thing off the heat to cool so I can put it in the fridge overnight.

Sunday morning in Jersey brought the usual routine of early mass with the parents and breakfast. All I can think of while the priest is giving his sermon is "what happened to the beef?" "What if its not good?" "Can I ever cook again?" Later at breakfast when the waiter asked for my order I almost requested beef borguinon. I was a mess and completely obsessed. Thankfully I was distracted by Sunday afternoon football. Finally the moment of truth came. I heated up the casserole on a low flame and cooked up some noodles to help sop up the sauce. The smell coming from the pot was amazing. Even my Mom who has been severely under the weather these past few weeks came poking into the kitchen. I tossed the noodles with a little butter and fresh pepper, set the table and called in the troops.

Now my dad is a hard one to please food wise. If you make something light he thinks it was too light. If you make something rich he'll want it lighter. If it's sweet he'll say it should be saltier and if its spicy he'll want it bland. There are a few dishes I have prepared for him that have left him without criticism. One is my osso bucco with risotto Milanese. Another was when I made him a quick chicken and vegetable stir fry with a brown sauce of a bunch of different Asian sounding ingredients I had in the fridge that I will never again be able to recreate in its exact original form. I had no idea what he would say about the beef. I sat with baited breath, my own plate steaming up before me tempting me with its rich scent of beef and wine and herbs. He stabbed some noodles with his fork and followed it with some meat and vegetables and placed the fork in his mouth. Through his glasses I could see his eyes begin to twinkle. The corner of his mouth turned up a bit as he chewed. He paused, swallowed and looked across the table at my mother. Very quietly he grunted and I vaguely heard him say something like "Mitsy....this is.....really good." After that we sat in silence until our plates were empty.

Ha! Take that Julie Powell!

Sunday Dinner Memories

When I was a kid, every Sunday we had a traditional Italian-American style Sunday dinner. I remember waking up early to the strains of Jerry Vale singing Mala Femina or Lou Monte singing about Pepino the Italian Mouse. As I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes my nose would catch the fantastic smell of pork sausages being browned in a pan and garlic sautéing in olive oil. I'd come downstairs and find Mom at the stove and my Grandmother at the kitchen table rolling meatballs (each one of course gradually getting bigger and bigger until finally Mom would yell "Ma!!!!! They're meatballs not basketballs!" and Grandma would giggle and reroll them smaller.

My job was to take the cans of peeled tomatoes and run them through the food mill to crush them and get out the seeds. I loved the way the handle fit perfectly in my small hands and the sound the blade made as it scraped against the bowl. When I was finished with the tomatoes I'd help Grandma with the meatballs.

Inevitably either Mom or Grandma would start telling stories of the past and suddenly those would bring to life long gone family members. The kitchen began to feel crowded with family I never had the chance to meet. It didn't matter (and still doesn't) how many times I'd heard the stories. I'd sit on Grandma's lap, Mom would be at the stove and they'd tell stories about Maruzielle, the Italian Bulldog who was bested by a french poodle or of the time that tiny Uncle Jimmy beat up a kid twice his size and half his age. I don't think I was ever happier then when I was in that kitchen.

After the meat and the gravy (NEVER call it sauce) were happily perking together on the stove Mom would rush us upstairs to get ready for church. After Mass we'd drive to the bakery to pick up a loaf of bread and maybe a cake or some pastry for dessert from Cuccio's bakery on Avenue X. I think that to this very day, Cuccio's has the best bread in the world. We'd sit in the car and stare at the long crusty loaf that smelled so good eventually Mom would tear into it (we almost always had to get two) and hand out pieces to each of us. If we were exceptionally lucky, there would be a loaf of lard bread to share on the ride home loaded with spices bits of salami and bits of creamy pork fat.

Dinner was always early on Sundays, usually sometime between 2 and 3pm. My Dad was bartending and worked Sunday nights so this also allowed all of us to have dinner together. The hardest part of Sundays was trying to stay out of the kitchen while the gravy warmed and perfmed the air with tomatoey garlicky goodness. It smelled so good that it was nearly impossible not to go in and dip a hunk of that delicious bread into the pot. My mother's hearing became supersonic on those Sundays and as soon as we'd walk anywhere near the pot of gravy you'd hear "GET OUT OF THAT POT! AND DON'T EVEN THINK OF DIPPING A PIECE OF BREAD IN THERE!" The thought of crumbs in the gravy made my mother crazy. Years later we finally learned that if we spooned it onto the bread it was ok. Topped with a little (or a lot) of grated cheese there was absolutely nothing better.

My brother and I would set the table (and sometimes succeed in not fighting) and Mom would throw in the macaroni of the day. My favorite was - and still is - a long fusilli. And then finally, when we thought we could stand it no more Mom would call us to the table. Dad would say Grace, inevitably some variation of "Thank you God for this food. Take care of our family. Amen." Short, sweet and to the point. And then we'd dig in!

First came the macaroni followed by the meat in the gravy. If it was a regular Sunday it would be meatballs and sausages. If it was a special occasion the gravy would also have spare ribs and braccioles (or a spinelle - a large piece of beef stuffed with parsley, grated cheese, pine nuts and garlic) and if it was a big holiday like Easter then it would also have the pork skin bracciole (I have no idea how to spell out how my family says this in Italian. It sounds something like a'godon. The actual term in Italian is 'cotina' - and I've found as many dialect translations as there are shapes of pasta so for now, pork skin bracciole will suffice. ) This is one of my favorite indulgences. Its probably one of the worst things healthwise but it's incredibly delicious and find it gives a velvety richness to the sau....oops...gravy. :) Last thing to hit the plates was always a green salad. No salad dish necessary. I learned from Mom and Grandpa to use the lettuce to sop up the last of the gravy on the plate (sounds strange I know but its good, trust me!). And of course, there was the bread! Lots of bread dipped in the gravy and not a drop of butter to be seen on the table unless there was a "Medigan" (American) present.

It took hours to prepare and less than 30 minutes to eat. As a family we'd talk before and after eating - but when the food was out you ate! Inevitably Mom or Grandma would say "I can't believe I'm getting full already!" signaling the near end of the meal. When it was over my brother and I would split the duties of clearing and washing and Mom would take a well deserved rest. Grandma would stay in the dining room until the last of the food had been cleared sneaking little tastes and nibbles that Mom wouldn't see - or perhaps she just pretended not to.

Looking back, I can't even begin to express how much I miss those days. When Grandma was in the nursing home in what turned out to be her last few months here on earth I had the chance to spend an evening alone with her. I made her macaroni and meatballs (sadly not my best effort) and we sat and talked like old times. I remember how beautiful she looked that day in her favorite pink sundress with matching jewelery and her hair freshly coiffed. The gravy and macaroni made up for the tough meatballs and we sat for hours talking and telling stories of the past. I'm sorry that my last chance to cook for her turned out to not be my best, but I think that it definitely helped me to never make that mistake again. Every time I prepare a meatball I hear her voice in my head going "Not your best effort kid...." and I make sure they come out perfect just for her.

Today I came home from church, put on Jerry Vale and made my own Sunday gravy. The meatballs came perfect and are happily bubbling in the sauce while I write. I thought I had made 10 but now see there are only 9 floating in the pot. Grandma, I hope you're enjoying it!

Mitsy's, Mom's and Grandma's Meatballs:

1/2 lb. each Ground Pork, Beef and Veal (or your choice of ground meat - turkey works well too)

3 cloves of garlic - chopped fine

2/3 cup of grated Pecorino Romano Cheese

1/2 cup breadcrumbs

1/4 chopped fresh parsley

1-2 eggs to bind (sometimes I find one is enough. Sometimes you need 2).

Salt and Pepper to taste

Mix all of the ingredients together (being careful not to overmix the meat - you'll end up with tough meatballs!!!!). Roll the mixture into balls (slightly larger than a golf ball works well). You can either fry the meatballs in a little olive oil or bake them in a 450 degree oven for 20-25 minutes. Serve with your favorite sauce (just please don't tell me if its jarred).

Ride em Cowgirl! Or .... perhaps not.

Last night I met up with a few friends for dinner at Cowgirl Sea Horse, the new South Street Seaport outpost of the famed West Village destination Cowgirl Hall of Fame. I had read a number of very mixed reviews on Yelp and Menu Pages and other assorted web sites so was eager to form my own opinion.

I arrived a few minutes late (which for those of you who know me is practically on time) and found myself wandering down Front Street amongst a sea of new restaurants. Nowhere did I see a Cowgirl or the giant sea horse hanging out front. A quick phone call and I was directed to cross Peck Slip and go all the way down Front stopping just before I slammed into the Brooklyn Bridge. There it was on the corner, looking very cute and very kitsch. The place was about half full with a smattering of patrons at the bar and a few tables occupied. I joined my friends at their table already halfway into their frozen cocktails and picked up where the gossip had left off at our last night out (nearly two years ago!).

Not in the mood for a margarita I tried something very unlike me off the cocktail menu - The Cowgirl Coolada. A mixture of pineapple and coconut juices and 3 kinds of rum blended with ice to a creamy froth and served in a mason jar with the requisite non-eco friendly plastic toys. The drink is definitely sweet but went down fairly easy. I definitely could not have more than one of those in a night but it was a fun start to the meal and the sweetness was nicely offset by the chips and Texas caviar on the table. One of my dining companions tried the margarita - both on the rocks and frozen and determined the frozen margarita won the day although commented that both tasted like they were from a pre-made mix.

Onto the food. The Oyster Po'boy basket looked beautiful albeit a bit beige when it arrived. It was loaded with huge sweet plump oysters. Slightly over-battered but still surprisingly crispy with no heavy oil taste. The roll they were served on left me a little disappointed - it wasn't the crispy french bread that I usually associate with a po'boy but was instead a plain hamburger roll. Oh well. Less carbs to ingest. It came with a side of cole slaw which was tasty albeit a bit soggy, a sort of odd piece of lettuce, an unripe tomato slice and some pickle chips. The corn-on-the-cob was just ok. It was sweet and buttery but the somehow felt overcooked with the kernels slightly shriveled and dry not plump and juicy. And then there were the hush puppies. I love hush puppies. I'm fond of picking one up, staring at it closely and yelling "HUSH! [Pause] PUPPY! " before popping it into my mouth. (I don't know why. I just do. You all have strange habits too.) But sadly these just didn't inspire me in the same way. They were solid massive blocks of cornmeal flecked with something that might have been bell pepper. I found them too dense to enjoy particularly after the heavy breading on the oysters. Other menu options also left us feeling cold. The clam fritters had very little clam and were very heavy on the bread and seasoning. I'm all for flavor but that much seasoning on my shellfish leaves me wondering exactly what they're trying to cover up. The veggie burger had a texture that made it similar to baby food and the too smooth guacamole served on the side only added to that. Most of it was left behind.

A highlight of the menu were the onion rings which were buttermilk battered and fried to a beautiful golden crisp. We saw a plate of nachos go by to the table next to us which also looked (and sounded) quite good. And one of my dining companions highly recommends the fish tacos that she has enjoyed at many a few lunches since she works in the area.

Service was quick and friendly. I think our food order took less time to arrive than our drinks but that's understandable when there's a blender involved.

Ultimately I think this place still has potential. It's cute. It's in a great location off the beaten path just enough to steer clear of the tourists but relatively easy to get too as long as you don't wear stilettos on the cobblestones. Dinner and drinks with tip came to about $30 per person which really isn't bad. I'd recommend it for drinks and maybe appetizers before or after a walk in the Seaport. I'd just skip the entrees until they work out a few more of the kinks.

A Terrible Confession!

My Dear Friends and Family,

It is with utmost shame that I admit to you that this evening, I came very close to giving into a horrible temptation. I have no idea what came over me. Perhaps it was the heat, or the result of a somewhat stressful day in the office, or perhaps it was the last effects of that stupid rum and diet coke I thought was a good idea after a half bottle of wine late last night? More likely it was an evil combination of all three, clouding my judgement and making me momentarily forget myself.

What was it that was so terrible you ask? Tonight, I, Maryanne Lorraine Theresa Nigro, held a jar of a factory produced tomato sauce in my hands AND considered purchasing it. Jarred sauce!!! Me! In my kitchen! Those of you who know me know how absolutely shocking this is. For a split second even I thought it was possible. I argued with myself, out loud, in the middle of Frank's Market up here in Washington Heights. "People do it all the time. No one has to know. It's too hot to really cook. Mom will kill me if she finds out..." All of this and more was rushing through my head. I was giddy with defiance and was close to putting it in my shopping basket. Suddenly, out of nowhere I heard my grandfather's voice, so close as if he were right behind me say "Kid what the hell are you doing with that???" That was when the price tag of $8.99 caught my eye. Seriously? $8.99???? Thanks Grandpa! After a quick scan of the ingredient list I was mystified as to what could have possibly cost $9. Tomatoes, garlic, onion (yuck - anyone who knows me knows I don't believe onion has a place in marinara sauce), oregano, basil and salt.

After replacing the jar on the shelf and resolving to flog myself later for the mishap, the reality of the season hit me. Here we are at peak tomato season and I was about to commit a mortal food sin! I quickly remembered myself and set about gathering ingredients for my own sauce that would kick that jarred product's oniony behind any day!
Fresh, ripe plum tomatoes, garlic, sweet basil, chicken sausage (for a lean protein boost) and broccolini because Produce Pete said it was in season (ahh Pete. I have long harbored a secret..and well..now not so secret crush on him and his eggplants, tomatoes, squashes, and whatever else he recommends that week).

I set to work as soon as I got in slicing 4 cloves of garlic, chopping tomatoes, cleaning the broccolini and slicing up the sausages. In a hot pan I sautéd the garlic with a good pinch of hot red pepper flakes. Just as it turned golden I added the broccolini and cooked that until crisp tender then added the sausage to brown up a bit. I deglazed the pan with a portugese white wine that was open in the fridge (and helped myself to a glass as well - of course) and finally added the rough chopped tomato and some torn basil. While this perked away ever so lightly I cooked up some whole wheat penne in salted water. In a method I picked up from watching many episodes of Lidia's Italy, I let the pasta finish cooking in the sauce and finished it all off with a (large) handful of grated Pecorino Romano and some more fresh basil.


One bite assured me that there was no way anything in a jar could come close to this. Don't tell my Mom - but she was right. Jarred sauce is something 'other' people do. Next time you're ready to pick up that jar I hope you'll consider making your own instead. You'd be surprised how easy it is.

Happy Eating!

One Day Delay Arroz Con Pollo

All day long I sit in the office and think about what I'm going to have for dinner that night. Yesterday, I could only think about the cut up chicken I had taken out to defrost the night before. An arroz con pollo was calling my name. With saffron rice and smoked spanish paprika it was perfect for what ailed me. And since I accidentally ordered double the amount of chicken I had needed for the weekend picnic would be a perfect way to use it up. You can imagine my distress when I came home and discovered that the chicken wasn't defrosted yet!

Fast forward to this evening. At 5:25 pm I abandon the office and my import files still waiting to be uploaded. In the high heat and humidity I rush home thinking only of the culinary adventures that await. When I get in I momentarily falter as I am suddenly overwhelmed by the heat, my clothing sticking to me in places that I didn't even realizes existed. I turn on the A/C, get into something comfy and let the adventures begin.

First I prep my veggies - chopping up red pepper, yellow onion, lots of garlic and some briney pimento stuffed green olives. I brown the chicken pieces in a little olive oil and when they are golden all over I pull them from the pan, wipe out the excess grease and saute the veggies until soft and starting to brown. Then add the paprika (I like spanish smokey paprika for its complexity here), garlic and rice. For this one I didn't have enough long grain or arborio so used a combination of the two. White wine, chicken stock, diced tomatoes (with juice), bay leaf and saffron all bubble together. Then the chicken goes back in with a lid while it bubbles and brews and becomes a vat of delicousness. Just before its done I add a cup of frozen peas and some chopped green olives and let them just heat through. Before serving a sprinkle of fresh parsley for color and zip.

Was it worth the wait? Most definitely!