Black Twigs Are In!

The black twig, which can only be described as a cult favorite apple, has made its annual late October appearance at the Locust Grove Fruit Farm stand at the Union Square Farmers Market.  Hard and tart yet sweet, this 1868 heritage apple (some say it is from Arkansas, as one of its parents is said to be Arkansas Black; others claim it for Tennessee) is great out of hand, in pies, and in sauces.  It's pretty good sauteeds in bacon fat, too, but what isn't?
  Twigs have a brief season--last year I missed them altogether due to a three-week flu.  This year, I'm making no mistakes and stocking up early.  Unless my big mistake was letting the Twig out of the bag.

Bloody Good

Met friends last night at the King Cole bar at the St. Regis, which is currently celebrating the 75th anniversary of the bloody mary, perhaps invented there in 1934 by bartender Fernand Petiot.  As with everything from the Caesar salad to the margarita, it is doubtful that a sure-fire history of these American classics will ever be uncovered.  No matter.  We were there to celebrate by hoisting a red snapper, a bloody mary prototype that doesn't contain horseradish.  I would think that whoever first stirred horseradish into tomato juice has at least some claim to the title of bloody mary creator!

While the King Cole might have been the birthplace of the bloody mary, there is no doubt at all that, during this celebration at least, they serve the widest variety: twenty-one, although not every variety is available every night.   Many are based on recipes supplied by establishments around the city, including Blue Smoke, Prune, Back Forty, and WD50, as this celebration also benefits City Meals on Wheels. Five of them are only available on twenty-four hours' notice.  This is, after all, the St. Regis, which certainly doesn't like being rushed; a state of affairs I found rather irksome while waiting the better part of a quarter hour for my second drink.

My first was the Blue Smoke, which was irresistably described as containing magic dust.  It was smokey, spicy, and quite lovely, but it was my second drink that brought on the magic, and made me forget about my original intentions .  It was a bloody martini, which shared even less kinship with the blood mary than the red snapper.  I checked the menu for ingredients, which I hurriedly scribbled on a napkin. A good thing I did, as the online version of the menu is sketchy in parts.

Ingredients include basil and cherry tomato (garnish), fresh lemon juice, simple syrup, Tabasco, and Belvedere Cytrus.  Sound simple enough, but it combines enough sweetness and heat to keep your palate interested after the first, or even second, round, which is as far as I was willing to go at $18 a pop.  Once I nail the proportions, I figure that, even with Cytrus at $42 per bottle, I can make a pitcher of bloody marties for under twenty bucks.

No picture of the cocktail, I'm afraid.  I tried, but when the automatic flash (which I was sure was off) fired right into the face of the patron at the next table, I felt as embarrassed as I would had I farted in a cathedral.  Speaking of farting, take a good look at the famed Maxwell Parrish mural.  Get it?

Dumpling Festival Update

I say it's a frat festival, and I say the hell with it.

Halloween Cupcakes

Because everyone needs a scary cupcake now and then.
From Junior's in Grand Central.

The Unmathematical Lamb

A couple of weeks ago, on a wintry day, my thoughts turned, as they so often do, to lamb.  Something stewish, for sure, but nothing was calling to me.  I was standing in front of the meat counter, contemplating the stewing lamb, when shanks caught my eye.  I'd never made them before,  which made the prospect  enticing.  After grilling the counterman on serving size, I settled on two for two.  Mercifully, this exchange was early in the day, as my blithe ignorance might otherwise have had me serving dinner just in time for Craig Ferguson's opening monologue.

I learned soon after I got home and hit the cookbooks that there is no such thing as a recipe for two lamb shanks.  The smallest grouping I ran across was four, so some mathematical improvisation would be required.  Not a great strength in this kitchen.
Purchased: two lamb shanks, 28 ounce can peeled plum tomatoes, red wine
On hand: olive oil, chicken stock, garlic, shallot, onion, spices

Season shanks.  Add a couple of tablespoons of oil to a large, heavy pot. Over medium-high heat, brown the shanks on all sides.  Remove from pot.  While shanks are browning, chop a large onion, a large shallot, and a couple of cloves of garlic.  Add a tiny bit of cinnamon, and maybe a teaspoon of Aleppo pepper.  Maybe a pinch of cumin.  It's yours now, not mine.

This is point at which I ran off the rails:  Each and every recipe I consulted called for mingy, stingy amounts of liquid.  I like my sauce with sauce, with extra sauce on the side.  So, instead of half a can of tomatoes for four shanks, I used a whole can for two, plus a brimming cupful of wine, and a half-cup of chicken stock., brought it to a simmer, then returned the shanks along with any juices on the plate, to the pot.  Lowering the heat, I clamped on the lid, and strolled off, returning only to give the shanks a turn every half hour or so, for the next hour and a half.  The timing is by no means exact; the shanks are done when the meat is fork-tender, and almost dripping from the bone.  I degreased the sauce a bit by layering some paper towels on top, and letting them soak up the excess for less than a minute.  There was a lot of sauce.  Even with generous pools on our plates, there was enough for another meal, albeit without shanks.  The extra went into the freezer, where it lay in wait, haunting my dreams for some days to come.

Served the shanks over polenta, with sauteed zucchini on the side.  Sprinkle with incredibly poorly chopped parsley.

Fountain of Cheese

I am oddly drawn to this.

Soupy Sales Dead

It's a stretch for this site, but his nickname was Soupy and many, many pies were involved in the making of his show.  Ostensibly for kids, his sly humor drew many adult fans as well.  My mother and I both laughed at Soupy...but rarely at the same time.
  Pachalafaka*, Soupy!
*A Muppet performance of a Soupy Sales song.

White Wine with Fish

According to the Journal of Agriculture and Food Chemistry (via Food Navigator-USA), white wine goes well with fish because it makes fish taste less fishy.  I would have thought that keeping it--the fish, not the wine-- on ice would take care of that.

Farewell to Nuts

Via EV Grieve, the imminent demise of Bazzini, one of the last Tribeca oldtimers.

Sauced, with Cranberries

The other night, after a mere couple of ciders, I got home a bit later than planned.  It was 7:15, and I really wanted a proper dinner on the table before eight.  Otherwise, we'd wind up staying up too late, perhaps watch the Yankees, then go to bed feeling suicidal because the bastards won again.
Purchased that evening, previous to imbibing cider: can whole-berry cranberry sauce, six bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs, cat food
On hand: spices , shallots, seasoning pepper (also known as aji or dulce), red wine, stock, noodles, cream, milk, butter, parsley

First step (3 minutes, tops, if you know where everything is):  Heat.  Seems obvious, but how often have you chopped onions or garlic, toted them to the stove, and been given a gloomy stare by an ice-cold pan?  Or maybe it just happens to me.  So, put a pasta pot onto boil, heat some neutral oil and butter (a tablespoon each)  in a largish saute pan over somewhat high heat, and set the oven to 350 degrees.  Start the steamer to simmering.  No steamer? I couldn't find mine, so I put a small pot on the stove to boil.

Second step (12 minutes):  While things are warming up, chop a large shallot along with a seasoning pepper, if you've got one.  If not, a little finely chopped bell pepper and an infinitesimal flick of cayenne will do.  Cut up a small bunch of broccoli into stems and florets. Season six chicken thighs.*  Chicken into pan, skin side down.  Turn occasionally (best to use tongs,** thighs can sputter viciously), until nicely browned, 10  minutes or so.  In between turns, get the broccoli into the steamer or pot.  Cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Drain; leave in pot.  I was going to serve steamed broccoli,  but the florets were started to look a bit jaundiced and sad, so puree it is.  Check pasta water, but it's probably not quite at a boil yet.

Third step (7-8 minutes): Remove chicken to a plate for a couple of minutes.  Meanwhile, lower heat, drain off most of the fat, add shallots and peppers.  Cook until softish, 2 or 3 minutes.  Add 1/2 cup stock (water would do, just, or you could use all red wine) and a hefty slug, perhaps a half cup, of red wine.  Get the chicken into the oven in order to finish cooking, in another pan or on a baking sheet.  If there are any juices on the plate, add to the stock and wine.  Add noodles to boiling water, which I hope you have salted.  Reduce the sauce over high heat for about five minutes; add a half can of whole-berry cranberry sauce.  Stir in.  Reduce until a wooden spoon drawn across the pan leaves a trail.***  Lick spoon.  Add salt, pepper, or whatever other spices you might find pleasing.

Fourth step (8 minutes): Break up broccoli.  Puree broccoli in a minichop, food processor, or with an immersion blender with about a tablespoon of butter.  Add cream, half and half, or milk, until the puree is smooth but thick.  Season with salt, white or black pepper, and a tiny flick of nutmeg.  Return to pan, keep warm over low heat.  Check noodles for doneness; they're not.  Chop a handful of parsley.   Noodles now done.  Drain.  Toss with butter and parsley.  Chicken should be cooked through.  Add to cranberry sauce, turn to coat, over medium low heat.

Fifth step (45 seconds):  Plate.  Take picture.  Check clock: It's 7:48. Congratulate self.  Serve.  Drink balance of wine.

*You can make this with boneless skinless chicken breasts, if you must.  Skip oven step; just return the white, flavorless, yet wonderfully healthy slabs to the sauce after it has been reduced.
**I know it's blurry.  Do you think it's easy turning hot chicken with your right hand, and taking a picture of  it with your left?
***See **.