I had to get downtown today for a workshop, and was able to fit in lunch afterward at Cafe de la Presse. It's at the corner of Bush and Grant, across from the gates of Chinatown. It's a combination of a cafe and a newsstand, which happen to be two of my favorite things lumped into one. Who doesn't want to eat a croissant while paging through Australian Elle?
It appears that everyone who works at Cafe de la Presse is foreign, and at least half the people that go there are too. I'm 100% Californian and not well traveled, so when I go there I feel a little sheepish, as if for some reason I should be more cosmopolitan just to go there. But the staff is very friendly and warm, and I always shake that feeling quickly. Today I got waited on by a 20-something waiter with an ambiguous foreign accent and the appearance of having just finished skiing the Alps; he was very tall, tan, and blond, but not in a California way--a French or Swedish way. His smile was blinding. I felt a little like a hobbit.
Hobbit or no, when I'm there, I take care of business. They do a great croque monsieur and the loveliest, saltiest cornet of fries, but I usually get the pan bagna, which is olive oil-poached tuna on ciabatta, with butter lettuce, sliced fennel and cucumber, red peppers, tomato, egg, green beans, and very light pesto. It's like a salad Nicoise, but layered into a stunning and delicious sandwich, the primary lingering impression being of really good olive oil and good, crunchy vegetables.
The sandwich reminded me that as much as I like strong flavors, some of my favorite things are very delicate, like cucumber and celery. Celery! I could put celery in everything! I love its mild, grassy taste and pale, watery color. In my head, I lump these vegetables together, mostly for that summery, washed out shade of green, but also for having a very distinct but delicate flavor. I also include fennel in this group, and to some extent artichokes. (Incidentally, I just about lost my mind when I discovered cardoons, which, just like the Internet said, look like celery but taste like artichokes.)
No photo of the pan bagna, though. I guess technically I can take photos with my phone but I don't know how to get them from my phone to the computer. Ultimately, my technical abilities are pretty geriatric--I can type, and that's about it. But, I'm planning on changing this, starting this weekend. The husband and I are in search of some camera equipment. So, stay tuned.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
How to cut up a chicken
One of the many things I regret not listening to my dad explain to me was how to cut up a chicken. Now that he's not around, I've had to figure it out myself. I'm not the type of person who's very good at looking at the wispy little drawings in cookbooks and translating that into my hands and the chicken on the cutting board. So it's taken a number of years and countless chickens until I finally feel I can do a respectable job of cutting one up.
The fact that we now roast a chicken almost every week has helped, although my poor husband had to listen to quite a bit of swearing over the last few years as I struggled to teach myself. The thigh was always my nemesis. Wing, drumstick, no prob. But the thigh was always tricky to outline and inevitably I ended up hacking into the joint, either resulting in a very tiny thigh or a weirdly large one carrying with it part of the bone that connects the thigh to the back I guess (do chickens have hips?).
Anyhow, I finally figured out a few things that really make it easier. 1) Let the meat rest. I knew this from a cooking standpoint--let the juices redistribute etc-- but letting it cool makes it much easier to handle and the parts become more distinct. 2) The order that works best for me goes: drumstick, breast, wing, thigh. And here's the secret with the breast: remove the entire breast off the bone, which is easy, but takes a bit of practice so you don't lose much of the meat, then slice cross-wise. I used to just slice it straight off, but I have to say, not only does it end up looking much prettier, but the cross-cutting makes for more tender chicken. Slicing it straight off results in unnecessary shredding. 3) Do not cut into the thigh until you find the joint. This is basic, I know, but it has generally been a problem for me, as I would get frustrated and end up angrily hacking through something or other just to get it done. But if the chicken isn't too hot and you're careful, you can find the joint and remove the thigh so it turns out intact.
The fact that we now roast a chicken almost every week has helped, although my poor husband had to listen to quite a bit of swearing over the last few years as I struggled to teach myself. The thigh was always my nemesis. Wing, drumstick, no prob. But the thigh was always tricky to outline and inevitably I ended up hacking into the joint, either resulting in a very tiny thigh or a weirdly large one carrying with it part of the bone that connects the thigh to the back I guess (do chickens have hips?).
Anyhow, I finally figured out a few things that really make it easier. 1) Let the meat rest. I knew this from a cooking standpoint--let the juices redistribute etc-- but letting it cool makes it much easier to handle and the parts become more distinct. 2) The order that works best for me goes: drumstick, breast, wing, thigh. And here's the secret with the breast: remove the entire breast off the bone, which is easy, but takes a bit of practice so you don't lose much of the meat, then slice cross-wise. I used to just slice it straight off, but I have to say, not only does it end up looking much prettier, but the cross-cutting makes for more tender chicken. Slicing it straight off results in unnecessary shredding. 3) Do not cut into the thigh until you find the joint. This is basic, I know, but it has generally been a problem for me, as I would get frustrated and end up angrily hacking through something or other just to get it done. But if the chicken isn't too hot and you're careful, you can find the joint and remove the thigh so it turns out intact.
I should have taken a picture of the chicken cutting procedure but juggling the chicken, knife, and camera seems tricky. The husband has been interested in helping me with the picture taking business so next time I will enlist his skills.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Dinner with friends, and a simple breakfast
Last night we had good friends over for dinner. It's been very wintery up on the top of the hill where we live, with wind whipping over Twin Peaks and rattling our little flat. We've been cranking up the heat and piling on sweaters. So, pot roast seemed like a good idea.
As with most recipes, I turn to Marcella Hazan. I like her Pot Roast of Beef Braised in Red Wine. It's reliable, and it manages to seem both elegant and rustic. I served it with mashed potatoes (which always get the short end of the stick when I'm cooking--this was proved true again last night when the cream and butter boiled over and I ended up haphazardly mashing them in the pot they boiled in in a rush to the finish) and roasted asparagus--the cheating cook's vegetable, because it is so easy and everyone seems to like it.
The pot roast turned deep brown from the initial searing, then got velvety and sweet from three hours of slow braising. As has become my habit, I added a few things to Marcella's recipe (sacrilege, but not only does she not call for any sizeable vegetables, but she calls for miniscule measurements of them, such as 1 1/2 T. chopped tomatoes. Yes, tablespoons.) I got some good carrots at the farmer's market and the husband put in a request for pearl onions. Impossibly cute and delicious, he reminded me. I agreed, so long as I could use the frozen and pre-peeled ones. I am not about to go blind for some pearl onions, painstakingly marking the little x in the root and struggling to get a grip on their slippery little skins.
But the star of the evening if I do say so was the dessert, a delicate apple crostata. Braeburn and Fuji apples (I know, not traditional, but that's what I picked) tucked into a golden and flakey crust, with a sparkly sugary shine on top. The secret to this delicious pastry is that the dough is very short, resulting in a very tender crust. Served with vanilla bean ice cream, this launched the four of us into a temporary coma.
As you'll see, I'm trying out something new here, food photography. I'm a borderline terrible photographer so bear with me. So far what I understand is that you need light, not too much background crap, and it's imperative that you get weirdly close to the food.
This morning I woke up surprisingly refreshed, after sleeping deeply and undisturbed for a good eight plus hours. It is so great to wake up on a Sunday and have no plans but coffee and The New York Times. And, currant scones.
Later tonight: roast chicken and freakishly large Brussels sprouts.
As with most recipes, I turn to Marcella Hazan. I like her Pot Roast of Beef Braised in Red Wine. It's reliable, and it manages to seem both elegant and rustic. I served it with mashed potatoes (which always get the short end of the stick when I'm cooking--this was proved true again last night when the cream and butter boiled over and I ended up haphazardly mashing them in the pot they boiled in in a rush to the finish) and roasted asparagus--the cheating cook's vegetable, because it is so easy and everyone seems to like it.
The pot roast turned deep brown from the initial searing, then got velvety and sweet from three hours of slow braising. As has become my habit, I added a few things to Marcella's recipe (sacrilege, but not only does she not call for any sizeable vegetables, but she calls for miniscule measurements of them, such as 1 1/2 T. chopped tomatoes. Yes, tablespoons.) I got some good carrots at the farmer's market and the husband put in a request for pearl onions. Impossibly cute and delicious, he reminded me. I agreed, so long as I could use the frozen and pre-peeled ones. I am not about to go blind for some pearl onions, painstakingly marking the little x in the root and struggling to get a grip on their slippery little skins.
But the star of the evening if I do say so was the dessert, a delicate apple crostata. Braeburn and Fuji apples (I know, not traditional, but that's what I picked) tucked into a golden and flakey crust, with a sparkly sugary shine on top. The secret to this delicious pastry is that the dough is very short, resulting in a very tender crust. Served with vanilla bean ice cream, this launched the four of us into a temporary coma.
As you'll see, I'm trying out something new here, food photography. I'm a borderline terrible photographer so bear with me. So far what I understand is that you need light, not too much background crap, and it's imperative that you get weirdly close to the food.
This morning I woke up surprisingly refreshed, after sleeping deeply and undisturbed for a good eight plus hours. It is so great to wake up on a Sunday and have no plans but coffee and The New York Times. And, currant scones.
Later tonight: roast chicken and freakishly large Brussels sprouts.
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