baked ziti with spicy Italian sausage

Living in Hoboken, NJ for three years, we came to love real Italian American cooking. We lived on the far west side of town (not that far since the whole of Hoboken is one square mile), which put us within easy walking distance of Leo's Grandevous. Named by Men's Journal as one of the best bars in America (agreed), the real star is the plain spoken Italian American food, heavy on marinara (gravy) and cheese. The meatballs there were perfection. I remember walking those blocks from our condo to Leo's several nights each week after our son was born. We needed carbs and comfort, and Leo's delivered every time.

Since moving away from Hoboken, we miss Leo's a lot. There are nights where I found myself in Hoboken after work (a great place to park when you're headed into NYC, with a quick trip on the PATH standing between you and Citarella on 9th for their lemon bars and cheap grey salt), and Karen has told me to swing by Leo's for a fix of Garlic Parm bread, oozing with provolone and a side of marinara.

When we can't get to Leo's, we make baked ziti, based upon a recipe from America's Test Kitchen. Tons of flavor. We add some spicy Italian sausage in at the beginning of the recipe, lightly browning it before we add the garlic. Then, we crank up the heat of the red pepper, eyeballing it between 1/2 - 1 teaspoon. Live dangerously.

Your weeknight meals just got happier.

Recipe | Skillet Baked Ziti

seared scallops and pureed celery root gratinee

When I was seven, I went on vacation with my family to Sarasota, Florida. We stayed in the house of a family friend, Shirley Apple, whose mother, Ma Core, lived with her. They were so nice to us. They had a miniature train and track in their front yard that was big enough for me and my brothers to ride. And they had a banana tree in their back yard. We we warned to look out for alligators because an overflow water ditch ran behind the banana tree. A train with the potential to be eaten alive was easily one of the best vacations. Ever.

We made most of our meals that vacation. One afternoon, I went to the kitchen to see what was cooking. Something didn't smell right. Lifting a lid off of a pot, I saw giant white marshmallows piled on top of each other, swimming in butter. Naturally, I assumed we were having Rice Krispie treats, even though the blue box of cereal was nowhere to be found. I put my finger on to a marshmallow to get a taste. Sure, it would burn, but it would be worth it. But the marshmallow didn't give. So, I got a spoon and cut off a big bite, along with some butter. It was the most horrible thing I'd ever tasted. Just then, my dad walked in and asked how the scallops tasted. Scallops. We weren't having Rice Krispie treats. We were having seafood. And I hated seafood. Dad ended up overcooking the scallops and threw them away, sparing me from skipping dinner that night.

Since then, I've spent most of my life avoiding seafood, and scallops in particular. Then, I'd try bites of Karen's crab, lobster, whatever. And most of the time I liked it. So...

I decided in the last year to learn how to cook seafood. Anything I could find. I can nail a lobster and make a killer aqua pazzo. Then I got Barbara Lynch's cookbook, Stir, and she loves scallops. And I love Barbara Lynch. So, using the transitive theory, I should like scallops. Based on this single recipe, Barbara converted me. It's easy and spectacular. Crunchy, sweet, and smooth. Butter and sea, but in a good way this time. Make this.

Note - if you haven't tried celery root before, think of celery-flavored potatoes, but in a good way. They'll make you happy. Even if you don't want to make the scallops (which I can understand only if you're allergic to seafood like one of my brothers), make the celery root gratinee. 

Seared Scallops and Pureed Celery Root Gratinee, Adapted from Barbara Lynch's Stir cookbook (which is one of the best cookbooks of the last year)

This will feed up to four people. The second time you make it, you'll want to double the celery root because it's amazing.

• Get four scallops per person. Or three. I won't tell you how to live your life.
• Get a celery root. Whole Foods has them. Our Stop & Shop has them, too. Celery roots are not inherently elitist. They're roots.
• 1 c. of whole milk
• 1/2 cup of panko bread crumbs
• 2 tablespoons of butter, maybe a little more
• Some chives or 1 green onion (the sort-of-green part worked well, and it's cheaper than chives), sliced paper thin
• 1/2 granny smith apple (in honor of the Apple-Core family), diced right before you need it at the end
• A flavorless oil of you choice. Maybe a tablespoon.

Make the celery root
Peel the celery root. A normal vegetable peeler works fine. Cut it up into chunks. You're going to puree it later, so don't worry about uniform pieces. I know chefs will disagree and say that the pieces need to cook at the same rate, but really, move on. You have other things to do. Cover it with the milk. Add a little more to cover the celery root if you need, because the root turns brown where it's exposed. I know because I didn't fully cover it. It's unsightly. Cook it until you can easily stick a fork or a sharp knife into it. Maybe 15 minutes or so. Puree it. Or mash it like you would potatoes. If you have a stick blender, use it. Add one tablespoon of the butter. Stir it until it melts. Add a bit of salt, maybe half a teaspoon. Add in white pepper if you have it or black if you don't. Taste. Adjust salt until you're happy with it. It'll stay warm through the next bit. You can heat it up a little if you need.

Make the toasted breadcrumbs

Melt the rest of the butter on medium and add in the panko. Keep stiring them over the heat. Keep them moving, or they'll burn. Get them golden brown. Dump them on a plate so they don't continue to brown.

Get ready

Get your plates out. Have your apple and onions ready to go. Now, cook the scallops.

Cook the scallops. Remember they are not marshmallows

Scallops need to be treated gently but with confidence. Screw up your courage and be cool. You can own this. Ready?

Get a non-stick skillet hot, maybe over medium high. You want it ready for the scallops. Once hot, add a little bit of vegetable/canola/grapeseed oil. Our stove is uneven, so all the oil gathers to the lower left of the pan. I skate the scallop through the oil, spreading them out in the pan. Set the timer for two minutes. Don't estimate. You will get distracted by your children or your wine. Look for a beautiful sear, a dark golden brown. If you don't think they're dark enough, let 'em cook longer. Stay present and watch them. Stop drinking, pay attention. Turn them over. Tongs work nicely and so will your fingers. Be brave. 90 seconds to 2 minutes more on the other side. While the scallops cook this last bit, spread out the celery root gratinee in an artsy way on the plate. Place the cooked scallops on top, again using your creative powers for good. Top with panko, then apple, and finally the onions.

Take a bite. Isn't Barbara Lynch brilliant? And don't you wish you had a train to ride in your front yard? Or an alligator in the back?

soup and salad

I have a love/hate relationship with a lot of things. Gin. Swedish Fish. Yo Gabba Gabba.

Lately, some love/hate has developed with Thomas Keller. To be clear, Keller is my hero. I want to go there. Keller has some of the top-rated restaurants in the country. Dude was on Top Chef, but not until last season, which makes him awesome for holding out.

I lusted after his Bouchon cookbook. And one day, a few years ago, I ran a training session on internal branding (don't ask) at the private dining room at Bouchon in Las Vegas. I was more excited about the food than the work. For breakfast, there were these amazing oatmeal yougurt things in jelly jars with the hinged tops. I ate three. And then, at the end of the day, we took the class to into the dining room where I ordered almost $75 worth of French fries because they are perfect. I shared the fries, not terribly willingly.

In the last week, we got two of his cookbooks - Bouchon and Ad Hoc at Home. They are perfect. Gorgeous photography. Such thought and care. Craft. And utterly impossible, given the week we've had.

We really try to make time for food. For slow food and for sinking into our food as we make it. There's a lot of hope in our food. Most days. But it's been a week that's challenged all of that. Karen's LASIK, my work. Oh, and three kids. And then to look at Keller's books and realize we can't get there, we're not living in Keller's world even when he explicitly dumbs it down to make it accessible for the home cook. Food was discouraging this week, a reminder that there was no extra energy to give, and we'd fallen way short of what we wanted to do every night for ourselves.
But then there is soup. And salad vinaigrette. And there is inspiration.

Flipping through the two books, Karen was drawn to the French onion soup and his vinaigrette recipes: one inspired, one was easy perfection.

The Soup

I make a good French onion soup. It's not fancy, and it keeps close to very basic ingredients. When I looked at the Bouchon recipe, Keller talks about the importance of cooking the onions low and slow, letting them melt into themselves. Four hours. He wants the onions to cook for four hours. I didn't have four hours. Typically I cook them for 30 minutes. As I was ready to admit defeat, I wondered what would happen if I pushed the cooking time. Just keep cooking until I want to stop. The point was to push myself, my food, and see what happens. Depth of flavor comes from time, so let's see how deep we can get.

I made it for two and a half hours. It wasn't the Keller four. But it was two hours longer than normal. And, of course, Thomas Keller was right. 

So, here's my recipe for French Onion Soup, inspired by Thomas Keller:

• 3 lbs yellow onions sliced 1/4 inch thin.
• Medium low heat, a heavy pot, 1 tablespon of canola, 3 tablespoons of butter.
• Place onions in once the butter has melted. Stir a bit. Put the lid on and cook for 30 min to 4 hours (as long as you can without going insane). Stir every 15-20 minutes and check to see how things are going.
• Stir in a pinch of sugar, some kosher salt, some pepper somewhere around the 15 minute mark or whenever you feel like it. I won't judge you.
• Onions will become a ridiculous golden amber color. Remember, you're going low and slow here like good barbecue, so don't get afraid to get them darker.
• Add in 2 c. of red wine, boil until reduced by half. Add 8-ish cups of beef stock, 1 bay leaf uncovered for 45 min - 1 hour.
• I also throw in fresh thyme and/or rosemary along with the bay leaf and stock if I have them because that's how I roll. I should tie them up with kitchen twine before I add them. Emphasis on "should."
• Salt and pepper before serving. Taste it. Don't be afraid of salt (we're talking Kosher salt here. I'm very afraid of table salt).
• Pull out the herbs and bay leaf.
• Turn on your oven to 400 degrees.
• Slice up some good bread (I'd think a loaf of French bread might make sense). Toast/dry it out in an oven on 400 degrees. Rub the cut sides of the toasted bread with a cut garlic clove.
• Ladle soup into individual bowls, top with bread, cover with a slice of Comte and add shredded Emmentaler. Or whatever stinky Swiss-friendly cheese you want. 400 degree oven for 10-15 minutes.
• Take a bite. You're welcome.

The Salad Vinaigrette

I have a personal vendetta against shelf-stable salad dressing. I suppose there's nothing morally wrong with them (debatable), but they're expensive and take up way too much room in our refrigerator. Plus, rarely do they taste as good as the kind you make yourself. Most nights when we have salad, I add in a bowl a favorite vinegar, diced shallot, salt, pepper, and olive oil. I end up with exactly the amount I want with items I already have on hand. Pennies. Frugal and tasty.

And I was wrong. This vinaigrette takes three ingredients, and ends up tasting better than anything I've made. We ended up using about a tablespoon to dress our greens, which meant we had a lot leftover. We happily made room for it in the fridge, where it keeps up to two weeks.
Make this.
Karen was flipping through Bouchon and saw Keller's house vinaigrette. It's stuck in the back of the book, where recipes go when they want to be left alone. So when she said she wanted me to make it, I didn't have high hopes.

Bouchon House Vinaigrette (based upon Thomas Keller's Bouchon recipe)

• 1/4 c. Dijon mustard
• 1/2 c. red wine vinegar
• 1 1/2 c. canola oil

Place the Dijon and vinegar into a blender or a food processor. Our blender has a bladder control problem, so I use the food processor. I don't imagine I could get the emulsion Keller's going for with a whisk and my arm. This is going to be extraordinary, so use power tools.

Zip the mustard and vinegar a bit until mixed. Then, with the food processor running, drizzle in the oil very slowly. A nice steady stream. I know it sounds like a lot of oil (even though it's a standard ratio Keller's using), but you'll barely use any of it in your salad, so relax.

Watch what's happening...the vinaigrette is turning from a liquid to some crazy whipped goodness that sort of undulates and taunts you, knowing you can't restrain yourself from taking just a little taste. Pay attention to that first taste, because that's the moment you'll say goodbye to bottled dressing.

Malaysia in Chinatown

Our first introduction to Malaysian food came from our dear friend, Joel, at a place in Chicago's Chinatown.  Chris and I even traveled to Malaysia for a very brief stay in 2005, but we were in the 'burbs of Kuala Lumpur, and missed out on anything interesting (other than being attacked by monkeys). We finally had a fantastic Malaysian meal in Sydney, Australia's Darling Harbour, with our friend, Rakna.  Since then, I have to admit that I haven't found any place I would visit twice here in the States.  Until I found the New Malaysia Restaurant in NYC on Saturday.

Very close to the Manhattan Bridge and nestled in a tiny, dark passthrough in Chinatown is a magnificent restaurant that you could almost miss if you weren't paying attention.  We grabbed a menu from here years ago but never had the time to come back.  Since the Chinese New Year has rung in, and I had a day to myself on Saturday, I figured this would be the time to try it.

For me, curry and coconut milk have to be the most exquisite of comfort foods out there.  Saturday was a cold, grey NYC day that beckoned for a meal revolving around those.  I ordered the roti canai, an Indian pancake with a curry chicken sauce for dipping.  The roti has to be one of the most glorious things on a Malaysian restaurant's menu.  The roti at the New Malaysia Restaurant was the best I've ever had.

A huge bowl of chicken curry soup with skinny rice noodles followed, and by this time, I basked in full-on comfort.  I needed to get to an appointment at 3pm was late because I couldn't stop eating this broth.  And the best part:  this entire meal set me back $10.30.

I will definitely return.  Until then, I will dream curry coconut milk dreams.

The New Malaysia Restaurant

46-48 Bowery Street

Chinatown Arcade #28

NYC 10013

212.964.0284

friends and sprouts

I have very few friends in my life that I have stayed in close contact with over the years. Maybe I'm a bad friend (I hope not). Maybe it's because Karen and I have moved so much over the last thirteen years that we've been married. New challenges, new jobs, new communities to connect with and find a place to belong. But there are friends that remain, that you cling to, and to whom you return to know who you are and who you were.

Which brings me to Brussels sprouts.

Our good friend, Lori, hates the sprouts. When I posted on Facebook that I was making them, she threatened to hide my updates, at least the sprouts-related ones. When I told her she could make this same recipe with cauliflower, she asked if I was going to keep naming things until I got to cupcakes, because then she'd be willing to try it.

Lori and her husband, Chris, have known us for long time now. Chris is a teacher, and a good one. He's the kind of teacher that makes you think in more ways than you could ever thought possible. And when he drove me in his car on my first day of me being a teacher, we talked musicals and Sondheim and I knew I found a friend. Later that year, we moved two blocks away from them in Goshen, IN. Proximity wasn't the major factor, but it certainly helped. He and Lori made room for us in their lives. Lori's probably the smartest person I know with the driest sense of humor I've encountered. I remember holding their first son and weeping, knowing just how hard they'd love that boy. Now they have two, and their pictures on Facebook make us miss them more.

I left teaching and Karen and I moved constantly the next few years with new jobs and new adjustable rate mortgages, but we never lost touch with Chris and Lori. Then Chris did a national tour this summer, watching every Shakespearean play in forty days. He stayed with us, and I took him into NYC on a walking tour of food from Penn Station to the East Village, because I knew he had to try David Chang's Momofuku. We ate Berkshire pork ramen and pork buns, and really, it was perfect. They seated us at the counter, and I got to stare at the hands of the chef as he did final prep on dishes flying past us. Art and craft and a razor blade to slice the scallops.

The one thing we missed at Momofuku that we really should have tried was the Brussels sprouts. Crisp burnt edges (but in a good way) from their time in the deep fryer (we bake ours, which is a Chang-approved alternative), coated with a salty/sweet/spicy dressing, and showered with cilantro and mint. The final touch is crisped rice cereal that is seasoned with Chinese seven-spice powder. It's an ugly-beautiful concoction that tastes better than you could ever imagine. It's one of those things that you cannot stop eating, and you're looking at the other person's plate to see if they have any crispy bits left on their plate.

Chris, Lori, and the boys are coming to visit NYC this summer. We really can't wait to see them. And I'm sure we'll be eating sprouts. And cupcakes.

Recipe | Momofuku Roasted Brussels Sprouts