Tomato Squishy

My favorite summer sandwich. Squishy white bread (ultrafresh Wonder, for example), juicy tomato, mayo, salt, pepper. Do not mess with this; do not add anything. Slice, spread with mayo, season, squish (press down with your hand), serve. Repeat.

Southern Shells

As served on Amtrak's Silver Star, heading to Florida. Stuffed shells were flaccid, but the filling--pimento cheese lightened with ricotta--was, um, interesting in a school cafeteria sort of way. As autumn approaches, I'm going to play with this idea and try to create a truly appealing cross between stuffed shells and mac 'n' cheese.

Today's topic is...Granola?

Breakfast buratta, baby

Gorgeous baby buratta from Saxelby. Sided by focaccia, topped with a little Maldon sea salt, served with a cup of black Bustelo. Great start to one of the better days of this very strange summer.

Distastrous News for Burgers and Tuna Sandwiches

According to the NYT, northeast tomatoes are doomed, and it's not looking too good for potatoes, either. This is an utter disaster for farmers, and we shouldn't grudge paying more for those tomatoes that do make it to market.
Meanwhile, Bowery Boogie breaks the sad news the Guss ' Pickles is hitting the road for Brooklyn.

Steamy? Steam Steamers (Or, What a Pisser!)

It could be worse; I had to restrain myself from making puns on clammy.  So, in the misty midst of this miserable summer, I turn to food that requires minimal time and attention, like steamers, also known as soft shell, Ipswich, or pisser clams.  (Note to the squeamish--I have friends who make gagging faces when I order these clams at a beachside joint.  I will never understand people like that, and I hope you are not among them.)
   I buy a pound and a half for an appetizer for two people .  Toss them (the clams, not the people) into a large pot of cold water--actually, getting tossed in a pot of cold water sounds pretty good right now.  Change the water if it starts to look murky after 20 to 30 minutes.  Rinse the pot, fill with about 1/2 inch of water.  Add the clams, bring to simmer over high heat.  Slam the lid on, lower heat. Cook until the clams have opened, 4 minutes, give or take.  If any are unopened, give them an additional 30 seconds, then discard any that have still not opened. While the clams are cooking, melt some butter in a bowl.  Add a squeeze of lemon if you'd like.
  Put clams in a large serving bowl.  Pour the cooking water into yet another bowl, carefully, as though you were decanting wine.   You don't want the sandy dregs in the bowl.
   Pull clam from shell; remove black athletic sock from dangly bit, aka the pisser.  Holding clam by pisser, dunk in broth, then butter.  If the clam is small, pop the whole thing in your mouth.  If the clam is large, the pisser is apt to be chewy, and thus should be discarded.
   Serve on their own as an appetizer, or with the usual summer bounty of corn, new potatoes and the like for a full meal.

Beet It!

I long had a hate-hate relationship with beets; as far as I was concerned, they didn't have a single redeeming quality. Beets of any variety tasted like an ill-begotten cross of the sickly sweetness of cotton candy with a refreshing mouthful of mud.
Surely, I was not alone in this. Does anyone look forward to the first beet of the season with the same rapture that they might the first strawberries of spring? A search on beets in poetry offered me the option "beats in poetry," and no verse more positive that this children's poem, which compares beets to witches' toenails.
I don't like hating foods; my long aversion to sage--except in stuffing--has long since turned to addiction. So it would be with beets. Last winter, at the Tompkins Square farmers' market, I was offered a sample of apple-and beet-salad. I waved away the tiny cup, saying "I hate beets!" and instantly felt about six years old. I took the cup. It was pretty damn good. Not nectarine good, but good.
I still haven't reconciled myself to borscht, which looks far too much like a bowl of Pepto-Bismol, but I'm exploring beet salads , included the neo-classic beet and goat cheese , which can be led in all sorts of directions.

Started with slicing beets (a pound or so), which look exactly as you might think; that is, long and slender and perfect for salads. Other varieties will do, but these are more fun. Wrap them in a double layer of foil, toss them on a baking sheet, into the oven for about at hour at 450 degrees, until tender enough to pierce with a fork.
While beets are cooling, make a vinaigrette (a bit on the sharp side to cut the sweetness of the beets, using shallots instead of garlic, if possible. Chop up some feathery cilantro; I believe the variety is Del Fino, but that could just as easily be a girl I went to high school with who became a gym teacher. If you don't like cilantro, use parsley. Drop a handful of pecan halves into a hot pan, shake until fragrant, which shouldn't be long. Cool, break into smaller pieces. Peel, then slice or chunk a couple of small cucumbers. I like the small, prickly Persian variety that's available at most farmer's markets. Crumble some fresh chevre. If you're serving the salad as a first course, go light on the cheese. For a main-course serving, perhaps a half pound or so.
When the beets are relatively cool, remove the peel, which should pretty much just fall off. Toss the beets with the vinaigrette, then with the remaining ingredients. Wash all that red off your hands. Serve. Two main course servings, with leftovers for the next day's lunch.

Grinding Your Meat

Taking a cue from last Wednesday's NYT, I decided to juice up my burger-making skills. Usually, I buy a pound or so of the highest-fat ground beef I can find, but that's usually 15% at best, which doesn't make for the most succulent burger on the block. Stuffing cheese inside the burger can remedy--or at least cover up--the lack of flavorful, chin-smearing fat, but that has its own problems, like oral--or even facial--burns. And we all know how painful that can be.

Clearly, the juice had to come from fat, and the only way to get that fat is to buy a hunk of chuck, and ask the butcher for a good, fatty piece. Next step, using a sharp knife, cut the hunk into good-sized chunks, trashing any intractable bits of gristle and so forth. Freeze for half an hour or so--depends on the freezer. The meat should be firm but not stiff.
Toss the chunks into the food processor and process for 20 seconds or so. Scrape up from the bottom and process again. Do this until the meat is uniform and not overground. You are not making pate. Salt, salt, salt. Pulse to blend.
Gently form into equal-sized burgers...I got three to a pound and a quarter of beef. Heat a cast iron pan over medium high heat until a drop of water cast upon its surface disappears instantly. If you like your burgers rare, get going with the accoutrements while the pan is heating. I sliced some tomatoes, Vidalia onion, and Swiss, then made an homage to BK's special sauce, which included pickle relish, ketchup, mayonnaise, and some Sriracha, aka rooster, sauce. Toast the buns. I recently discovered (at Key Food!) Big Marty's Potato Rolls (with sesame seeds), which are perfect burger rolls: sturdy enough to sop up the burgery juices without falling apart, and having a homey character of their own.

Char the burgers for about three minutes per side for rare. Ramp up the doneness from there, if you must. Assemble. If you don't feeling like tarting the burger up, that's fine. My leftover unadorned burger was delicious the next morning, topped only with a little Maldon sea salt. Nothing better than a naked burger in bed for breakfast. Most days.

Freelancing the Fried Rice

Last night's plan was for a rather more elaborate meal than I wound up serving, as the much-vaunted freedom of freelance life had yet again bitten me in the ass.  That is to say, I had been working on a relatively easy job with a long deadline, affording me lots of time for shopping and prepping.  Within two hours, however, I had a fiddly on-screen job and a rush job, and the idea of all those extra pots suddenly had no appeal.  Neither did leaving the house.  Nor did cooking, for that matter.
  Taking stock of what was around, I came up with two smallish pork cutlets and some bean sprouts in addition to the usual staples.  Fried rice was the way to go.
  Fried rice is usually made from leftover chilled rice, as it has lost all stickiness and won't turn into an Italian riceball in the frying pan.  Of course, I had no leftover rice. Solution?  Cook the rice, cool slightly in the pan, dump onto a plate, and shove in the freezer for a while.  Check on it every five minutes or so, moving it around so that all the grains chill equally. It should be good to go in under 15 minutes.  If you're really pressed for time, stop at the Thai joint on the corner, buy a container of rice, and do the same.  The guy behind the counter may  look at you oddly; buy a summer roll if you feel guilty.

Neither the ingredients nor the method would be considered authentically Chinese, but serving fried rice as a main course (that is, not sided by chicken chow mein, eggrolls, fried noodles and yet more rice, followed by all-American fortune cookies) most certainly is.
 
2-3 tablespoons neutral oil, preferably grapeseed
3/4 pound of pork cut into smallish cubes*
2 chopped shallots
1 red bell pepper, seeds and ribs removed, chopped
2 cups chilled rice
about 1 cup frozen peas**
3 tbs soy sauce, combined with1 tbs sherry (optional), and a pinch of sugar
1 capful Gravy Master,optional***
handful of bean sprouts
scant 1/4 minced chives
1 beaten egg


Have your mise en place ready.  In other words, have everything lined up and ready to go; cooking will take about 10 minutes.  Heat the oil over high heat; toss in the pork.  As it begins to brown, add the shallots and pepper.  As they begin to soften (3 minutes or so), add the rice, tossing furiously to coat with the oil.  If no rice has landed on the stove, you either have an enormous wok or are not stirring furiously enough.  Lower heat, add the peas and the soy-sauce mixture. Move the rice around until the peas have thawed and soy is distributed.  Stir in the Gravy Master (hang on, all will be explained).  Add bean sprouts and chives.  Turn off heat.  Now, make a little well in the middle of the rice and pour the egg into it.  Let it sit for a few seconds, then mix throughout rice.  Serve in bowls, with polka-dot chopsticks.
  This took me far longer to type that it will take you to cook.
Serves 2 as a main course.

*Got leftover pork, chicken, shellfish?  Toss in with the rice.  No meat?  No problem.  Up the egg, add more veg, tofu always good, too.
**All vegetables welcome.
***I read in the indispensable Thousand Recipe Chinese Cookbook by Gloria Bley Miller that this is what Chinese restaurants use to give their fried rice that appealing dark-brown look.  It was a relief to discover this; my earlier fried rice attempts had looked anemic. 

Spring Strawberry Risotto

Despite all the rain (or because of all the rain, what do I know?), this year is great for strawberries; the Union Square market is swoony with the seductive scent of ripe, red berries. Sadly, those berries don't look nearly so good after the quart you impulsively bought has gone a bit sloppy--or even moldy--in the fridge. No one can drink that many strawberry margaritas.
Strawberry risotto is not, as far as I can tell, a recent invention. There is nothing fussy or fusiony about it. Nor, oddly enough, is there anything fruity. The taste is a bit vegetal, with a lingering memory of strawberry insinuating itself into the sauce. Light yet hearty, it is a perfect dinner for cool spring nights. I served the risotto with veal meatballs and a watercress-arugula salad, but it can certainly stand alone as a lighter vegetarian meal.

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1-2 shallots, chopped
1 cup strawberries, pressed down a bit
1 cup arborio rice
1/2 dry white wine, heated
3 or so cups chicken or vegetable stock, heated
Parmesan, grated
salt, black pepper

Melt the butter over medium heat in a 2 or 3 quart pot. Add the shallots. When they start to soften, throw in the strawberries. As they soften, squish 'em around. A potato masher is useful here. When the berries give off their liquid, add the rice, stirring until rice is nicely white and opaque. Lower heat to medium low. Pour in the white wine, stirring. When it is more or less absorbed, add some stock, 1/3 to 1/2 cup will do. Stir. (Note: You do not have to stir constantly; every couple of minutes will do. Go pet the cat, read a few pages , pour yourself a glass of wine, go back to the kitchen, stir, repeat.)
When the stock is absorbed, add more. Keep doing this until the rice reaches the texture you prefer; traditionally, there should be some "bite" in the middle. The degree of bite is up to you; I like it just a bit past discernible. The rice should be creamy, saucy, but not at all sloppy.
Add a handful of parm, salt if necessary, and a good grinding of black pepper. Serve with the rest of the wine, which I hope you remembered to put back in the fridge.