Stuffed Mushrooms

The purpose of stuffed mushrooms is stuff, left over stuff. In this, the humble stuffed mushroom differs in its esthetics and ethics little from the raviolo, the kreplach, the shu mai, or any other members of the family Dumpling-idae, except in that the container is pretty tasty itself.

The only secret to stuffed mushrooms is to pour about a teaspoon of olive oil into the hollow of the cap itself and sprinkle with kosher salt and bake at 375º (the People's Committee is meeting to determine whether 350º or 375º is the People's Temperature) for 10 minutes before stuffing, thus rendering said 'shrooms more tender and juicy.

The filling this go-around was 3 slices of bacon (left over from I've forgotten what - we usually use crumbled sausage, but what the hell, this was there), 1/2 a small onion. fresh thyme and marjoram, the mushroom butts, and grinded-up bread (frozen scraps from the finger foods party), all chopped up fine (and dandy). Sautéed the onions in bacon, added the herbs and butts and then tossed in bread crumbs. Too dry, so I added a couple of frozen veal stock cubes (after a big poitrine de veau [farcie, braisée « à l’ancienne »] a couple of months back, we made tons of veal stock, which we saved by freezing it in ice cube trays à la pesto, then storing the cubes in paper bags in the freezer).

Back to 'shrooms. I let the stuffing cool (since I do not have Julia Child's asbestos hands). Scooped up into little bullets (not too tight), plopped into the hot mushrooms. Baked about 10 minutes more, then topped with a grated nubbin of mozzarella (from a salad) and baked until it bubbled.

See what I mean about left-overs?

Penne ala Saffi, with asparagus, ham, and cream

This is the pasta dish we make most often, which tells you how good it is. Also, how much Holt loves asparagus. He scrutinizes every bunch offered in Findlay Market, and picks the plump ones with fresh, tight tips and good green color; he won't pay more than $1.50 a pound for them - well, mostly he won't. When we get them home, we saw off the bottoms of the stems and put them in a plastic container with some water, as if they were flowers - which they sort of are. This keeps them fresh in the refrigerator if you have to store them for a few days.

Fortunately for us, Cincinnati is the source of one of the world's best hams: Schad's. It has a pure ham flavor, slightly smoky, dense but supple texture, in the German/Central European tradition. It ain't country, and it's not one of those jellified ham-and-water products you find in supermarkets. Also, Krause's in Findlay Market will sell you the end-knob as "first cut," at a lower price. So there's another reason to make Penne ala Saffi.

So, snap off the ends of your bunch of asparagus, and cut them on the bias into inch-long pieces, separating tips from stalks. Cut the ham into matchstick-sized strips. Grate a bunch of cheese, parmesan or pecorino romano.
Get the water boiling, but don't put the penne in yet. Instead, drop in the asparagus, stalk pieces first, and then after a couple of minutes, the tips. When they're almost as tender as you want them, fish them out with a sieve (it's not hard, they float), drain them in the colander, and throw them in a wide pan with a pat of butter. Now you can cook the penne in the slightly-green but still boiling water.
Heat up the pan and add enough heavy cream for as much pasta as you're making. Start it simmering and thickening, and put in as much cheese as you want. Toward the end, add the ham - it should heat, not cook. Season with salt and white pepper. When the penne are done, drain them and throw them in the pan, tossing it all about until the green, pink, and white are beautifully distributed. Serve and eat, with fervent thanks to Aurelio Saffi, Italian patriot

Tandoori Chicken (without the Tandoor)

تاندور Tandoori
Someone check if the Urdu is right

A great little recipe from one of our favorite (or favourite) cookbooks, The Larousse Book of Country Cooking (now sadly out of print).
Take 2 chicken breasts and cut 3-4 deep slits in the meat.
Cover them, taking care to work the marinade into the slits, with
1/2 cup yogurt
1 TBSP grated ginger
2-3 cloves grated garlic
2 TBSP coriander
1 TBSP cumin
1 TBSP turmeric
Marinate in the fridge till you get home. Easiest just to put the whole thing in a covered pyrex baking dish.
Slam into a 375º oven (see? the people's temperature) for c. 30 minutes covered. Then 10 more or so uncovered to crisp up the coating.

Notice: no red coloring, which is strictly for tourists. Muck with the spice mixture to your heart's content, or burn.

(Note on chicken: the internal temp for poultry should be 155-160º. The quick read thermometer is even better than sliced bread. We now never travel without one and give them away to friends.)

How to Make Three Pounds of Pesto

1. Scatter a $1.39 packet of basil seed in the garden.
2. Go away for a month.
3. Come back to find Birnam Wood has come to Dunsinane.
4. Invite over Julie and Michael.
5. Put out snacks for the laborers: a tapenade made of green olives ground with artichoke hearts; lox and cream cheese blended with a little lemon juice and white pepper; brie; crackers.
6. Put out wine for laborers.
7. Do step 6 before step 5.
8. Harvest two shopping bags full of basil stalks.
9. While others are harvesting grind about 1/2 lb. of asiago and 3/4 lb. romano in the RobotCoupe (the earliest form of the Cuisinart; a wedding present from Brian and Catherine: their weddding, not ours). Set aside.
10. Wash the leaves.
11. Set everyone to stripping the leaves.
12. Do step 11 before step 10.
13. Spin each batch of leaves in the salad spinner.
14. Do it again.
15. In the bottom of the RobotCoupe toss a garlic clove and kosher salt. Grind.
16. Add big handful of walnuts and another of pignoli. Grind.
17. Pack in one salad-spinner-ful of basil. Salt with kosher salt. Douse with extra-virgin olive oil. Grind.
18. Dump into biggest salad bowl in house.
19. Repeat steps 13-18 about four times.
20. Scoop out a cup of vivid green essence of summer and serve over nice potato gnocchi from Trader Joe's.
21. Serve with any wine that's cold.
22. Tell stories with friends.
23. Send friends home with Tupperware full of pesto.
24. Repeat steps 1-23 until either the first frost hits or you run out of Tupperware.

Kitchen tip, from Martha, I think: Pack the pesto into plastic ice cube trays and freeze. Then pop them out and put in a freezer bag. 2-3 cubes is usually enough to sauce pasta for 2 people. Save a bit of the pasta water to reconstitute and freshen up with a bit more cheese. Stuff'll last till next harvest.
Kitchen tip from me: All "recipes" for pesto are at best rough indications, or to be blunt, delusional. I found on the web this "Official Recipe" for Pesto from the CONSORZIO DEL PESTO GENOVESE. Notice that even it calls for "bunches" of basil leaves, and various "cups" and "spoons" of oil, pignoli, and cheese, none of which are standardized measures in Italy.
La Ricetta Ufficiale del Pesto
It does, however, specify that the oil must be Ligurian. Ma certo!

Scallops Provincial

Nice little bay scallops at the fish place ($5 a lb.). I wanted to do something vaguely Provençale with tomatoes, mushrooms, etc. Problem is that all three main ingredients, scallops, tomatoes, mushrooms, give up liquid like crazy. Unless you can get so-called dry scallops (usually just the big ones), almost all scallops in the US are soaked in a potassium or sodium tripolyphosphate solution to keep them fresher while shipping. It's really not that bad (it's about the only way we'll see scallops in Cincinnati), but it does mean that most scallops are in fact a scallop and water product and need to be treated accordingly.
I started with the scallops but this is the better way (So I'm violating the Laws of the Kitchen. So sue me).

Sauté a small onion and a glove of garlic in some olive oil, add the mushrooms, cook till brown. Pour into a bowl. Add some more olive oil. Add the scallops and cook all on one side for a minute and a half. Try to turn all the scallops evenly to the other side. It can't be done, but never mind. Toss the scallops anyway and cook another minute until opaque. Fish them out to the same bowl. Add to the scallop juice (and there will be a lot) a mess of tomatoes chopped in goodly chunks (we've got some nice black plum tomatoes coming in) plus kosher salt, fresh oregano and thyme, a shot of red pepper flakes, and some saffron (we're probably the only people in North America with too much saffron, the results of gifts and friends abandoning their spices to our tender care when moving). The saffron adds an amazingly subtle flavor and color. Pour in any juice from the bowl. Cook on medium until tomatoes are thickened a bit. Now fish out the tomatoes from the soup, put them in the same damn bowl, crank up the heat, and Reduce the Juice. When it's thickened, add all the stuff: mushrooms, scallops, and tomatoes. Re-hot the savory mess and eat with big spoons.

Steak with Gorgonzola Butter

This is a way to jazz up a grilled steak when you don't have any other plans for it and time is running out. Get out a hefty pat of butter per person, and an equivalent amount (by volume) of gorgonzola cheese. Cut them up into smaller bits so they come to room temperature faster, and mash them together, seasoning with salt and white pepper. I use a thin, flexible knife to cut and mash, but whatever works; you could even use a palette knife, if you happen to have one. The taste will be strong and very salty when you try it on its own, but put a great big wodge of it to melt on the steak just before serving, and it's very heaven.

Many seasoned butters make great toppings for steak, despite being trayf as hell. It should be regular gorgonzola, of course, not gorgonzola dolce, which is harder to get anyway. We actually freeze leftover gorgonzola (to keep it from getting any bluer than it is), so when we do this, we chip or shave bits off the frozen block and can still get it melded into the butter before the steak is ready.

We had this with a salad of chopped-up beefsteak tomatoes, red onion, and ricotta salata, and a bottle of nice pinot noir, for the complete steakhouse experience (but without having your legs stick to those awful red leather banquettes).

Pheasant

There's a dearth of good game recipes in most cookbooks. This is a problem if you have a mighty Nimrod (and we mean that only in the nicest sense) for a brother-in-law. JoDee's husband David keeps us plentifully supplied with venison, V-burger, and the occasional pheasant.
The problem with pheasant is that, as a wild bird whose main job is to escape things that want to eat it (like us and David), it doesn't have a lot of fat, so the meat can be dry if overcooked. Add to that the problem with almost all fowl (but most noticeable on the upcoming Thanksgiving turkey) that the breast is done well before the legs.

The solution: PHEASANT SOUVAROV
There are many variations, but the main points are mushrooms, gin, and juniper berries, to give it that dark, woodsy, boscaiolo taste. (Now, in best Julia Child voice, or rather, your imitation of Dan Ackroyd's imitation of Julia Child, say, "And a bottle of gin for that juniper flavor"!). There's a version in Joy, but it perversely lacks the mushrooms.

So, take a pheasant, remove the breast meat, and cut off the legs (that's pretty much all there is to a pheasant; see above on "try to escape"). Watch out to remove any remaining bits of birdshot that may be in there, or you may break a tooth on what you thought was a peppercorn.

Toss the carcass into a pot with some white wine, thyme, peppercorns, celery tops, shallot butts, what have you, and make a little stock while you're doing the next bit. (The secret to stock, taught to me by Barbara: never let the heat get above the ideal point where only one or two bubbles lazily break the surface).

In a pan, sauté some bacon (this is equivalent of barding the breast, if you were going to roast it). Sauté the legs first for 3-4 minutes a side, then when you flip the legs, add the breasts, and cook legs and breasts till just brown on both sides. Remove to a plate. (I know this is going to sound complicated, but in fact you only wind up dirtying two extra plates, and they can go into the dishwasher, which is working again, or, heck, just plunk the finished dish right back on them). Then add about a pound of thickly sliced or quartered mushrooms. Sauté on high till they brown and have given up some liquid. Remove to a second plate (you'll see why in a sec.). Toss in some butter, and add a couple of minced shallots. When they're starting to color, take off the heat for a minute (to reduce splashing) and deglaze with 3/4 cup of gin (taste first to make sure the gin is still OK. It is? Good.) and 1/2 of sherry. One older recipe I've seen calls for 1 1/2 cups of port in addition to this, but 1) that would make the dish too sweet, and 2) all our port is good (thanks, William) but our sherry is mediocre. So in it goes. Then add a cup or so of the stock, plus 10-15 crushed juniper berries (in case the gin isn't doing its thing) and a bay leaf (or, as we thought when we were kids about my mother's spaghetti sauce, just leave the window open).

Now lower the heat, add the legs, cover, and cook for 10 minutes. Then flip the legs and cook for ten minutes more. At this point, uncover the pan. The sauce should be pretty well reduced now; if too little add more stock. So add the breasts, and any meat or mushroom juice. Cook open for 3 or 4 minutes a side and add the mushrooms (this keeps them from just rendering all their liquid into the dish). Hot up for a bit and serve on clean or dirty plates.
Looking back, I think I would have added a shot of tomato paste just to darken the color and flavor. Older books call for truffles and decorated with fois gras, but then they always do and that's just showing off.

Serve with a pinot noir. We had Muirwood, which was mellow and about 13 bucks in our part of the woods.

And now you have a reason to encourage your friends and relations to go out and shoot little creatures.