Eating New England from YankeeMagazine.com

I Found Myself in Peru

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 04:00:00 +0100

Last month the Yankee editorial staff was all over the place. Literally. Our editor, Mel Allen, was in Japan, visiting his son (do read his blog about the trip -- it is quite touching). Our art director, Lori Pedrick, and online editor, Barbara Hall were in New Orleans for the annual City and Regional Magazine Awards. We were nominated for awards in several categories, but took no gold (this year!). I found myself in Peru.

It's a bit cliche to say that it was a life changing experience, but it truly was. I traveled with high school friends and spouses (we try to do something exotic and adventurous together every two years). How could hiking at 12,000 feet amongst centuries old Incan ruins not change a person? Or to hold hands with a monkey? Share breakfast with a toucan? Gaze upon a rendition of the "Last Supper" featuring guinea pig as the meal? So, yeah, I am different. I am still decompressing from the two weeks of planes, trains, and automobiles.

In one town where we hung out, Ollantaytambo, in the Sacred Valley, I considered what kind of life I could have if I stayed. I decided a bakery would be the way to go, because, well, baked goods were lacking (although great food otherwise was there). A nice little cafe with great coffee and basic, but delicious, baked goods. I ruminated this idea for a few days and really let myself go with it. I'd have a simple life of early mornings, training employees, knowing local customers, arranging for deliveries to this remote town, building a bakery, perfecting my rusty Spanish, and offering advice to tourists on their way to Machu Picchu or to the nearby ruins. I'd tell a story about being on vacation and falling in love with the town, "and gosh, now, after 17 years, I guess I am a local myself."

Then I remembered baking a cake in Aspen one year. Baking at high altitudes is incredibly difficult -- the air pressure is different so temperatures are different, leaveners go kaflooey, and the air is drier so batters need more liquid. Custard don't set. Cookies don't brown. Pies over-brown. Bread droops and souffles pop, then collapse.

So it turned out to be a little easier to get back on the plane and come back to my real home. Besides, we took a side trip to the Amazon and I am covered in mosquito bites.

The Fast Food Trap

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Thu, 21 May 2009 04:00:00 +0100

I'm rarely shocked — but my jaw has just dropped to a new low. I'm well aware that fast-food restaurants don't give a moment's thought to our health; in fact, they make their profits on the back of America's growing obesity, diabetes, and cancer crisis. They raise and slaughter animals with no regard, and they control vast tracks of farmland. But last night I saw a commercial for a fast-food restaurant that, although it may seem innocuous or even delicious to some, makes me scratch my head and say, "Really?"

For $5.99 one can purchase a "bread bowl" filled with pasta: an 8-inch carbohydrate bomb that gets filled with your choice of pasta (three-cheese mac-and-cheese, alfredo, etc.) and meat (bacon, salami, Philly cheese steak). The suggested serving is for two, but sure as I'm writing this, I know people will be gobbling these down on their own at an estimated 1300- to 1500-calorie count. Yikes. The sodium levels must be high, too. Sadly, they probably taste good.

Just when I think we're making progress and people are really thinking about where their food comes from, big business is going to make it easier to destroy that work. Easy on the wallet, but at what cost to the body? And, frankly, what is the overall health-care cost down the line? Perhaps these businesses ought to contribute to a national health-care fund for all the damage they do.

Fight back: Support a local restaurant, market, or producer.

Bratwursts

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Thu, 14 May 2009 04:00:00 +0100

This is an approximation of a recipe for bratwurst that my dear friend Dr. B made for his family and friends. He has left us, but I know that I'll have a hankering for one (or two) of these bratwursts once the Packers start playing again this fall. I never got to watch Dr. B make the recipe, but I think it went something like this. As much as I loved him, I won't be cheering for the Packers, but I will be thinking about what a great man I had the honor and pleasure to know.

2 yellow onions, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 bottles beer
1 package Johnsonville Brats
Mustard

Saute onions in butter until softened and transparent. Set aside half.

Heat grill to medium high.

In a large saucepan, bring the beer to a simmer and add half the onions. Add brats and simmer about 10 minutes. Drain brats from liquid. Transfer brats to the grill and brown lightly on all sides, about 5 minutes. Serve in warm rolls with a bit of cooked onion and mustard.

Fiddleheads, Ramps, and Pesto

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Fri, 08 May 2009 04:00:00 +0100

Those wonderful harbingers of spring are popping up in gardens and markets, and I'm doing my best to use as much of them all as I can. Fiddleheads have come and gone, but I managed to get my hands on a pound or so.

I wanted to pick them myself and pickle them, but ended up blanching, then sauteing, them with lots of lemon and fruity olive oil. A friend makes martinis and garnishes them with pickled fiddleheads -- they're a great condiment for such a sophisticated yet simple cocktail.

I've been getting terrific ramps. If you've never had ramps, they're a special spring onion with strong garlicky-chive flavor notes. Most people find ramps too strong to eat raw -- they're powerful despite their wee size. I've been making pesto and pickling them.

Here's how I make the pesto: I blanch the ramps in salted water, dry them well, then puree them with walnuts and a bit of parsley, lots of olive oil, and a squeeze of lemon. I've already used up most of it, just tossing the pesto in noodles, but I made sure to freeze a bit, too.

As you can do with regular pesto, just fill a few sections of an ice-cube tray, freeze, and then pop into freezer bags. (I save one tray just for this purpose. No matter how well I scrub, I just can't get the flavors out of the plastic, and that can really ruin a glass of lemonade.) And don't forget to label the bag.

Pickled ramps are good, too. I use a lot of coriander seeds in my pickling mix -- it calms those ramps right down. I'm open to suggestions for how to use pickled ramps (make a comment on this page), but I've found that a simple (olive oil, salt, and pepper) grilled steak with pickled ramps or a few spoonfuls of ramp pesto is an easy and delicious dinner. You could get fancy and tie the pickled ramps in a bow or something.

And if you'd like a new twist on old veggie favorite, try asparagus hummus -- it's ridiculously delicious. We've even made a video for you: Making Asparagus Hummus.

Hair Lessons

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 04:00:00 +0100

When I was in college, musician Billy Ray Cyrus was popular as a one-hit wonder for his horrid song (which came with its own dance steps) "Achy Breaky Heart." I remember him for his mullet. It was a really fine example of how one should never wear one's hair. I've never wanted a mullet, but last weekend I had one briefly — self-induced, but not on purpose.

Last Friday I was on NECN's "news quiz" on Jim Braude's show Broadside. Before going to the studio, I had a good look in the mirror. I try not to do that too often. I really needed a haircut. At the very least, I needed to trim my bangs. I took a shower, combed my hair out, and with my sharpest fabric scissors, "trimmed" my bangs. You know where I'm going, right? I overtrimmed and I trimmed unevenly. So I kept trying to even things out, and it got worse and worse. I decided to stop and fix it later, because I had to get to the studio and it was pouring rain - and I assumed no one would notice. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.

I watched the show with friends and decided that when I fixed my bangs, I should lighten my hair, too, because my natural color hadn't been served well by lack of sun. In the spirit of saving money, I stopped at the market and bought a box of hair coloring.

I waited a day, and before I bathed, I mixed the dye with the accelerant, carefully combed the stinging cream through my hair, set the timer, and then went into the shower. I used the special conditioner as the package suggested. Got out, combed my hair, took another whack at trimming and evening things in bang-land. Trimming turned to serious cutting, and I knew I was in trouble - but couldn't stop. I had a mullet on my hands. Adding insult to injury, the mullet was a horrible shade of reddish-orange. Perhaps you've seen the comedian Carrot Top? I wish my hair had turned out his color.

So there I was with a flaming-red mullet and no hair salon open. Most are closed Mondays, too. More insult to injury, I was scheduled to be on the Today show Wednesday morning (http://www.yankeemagazine.com/issues/2009-03/food/brisket-recipes), which meant I had to leave Tuesday morning. A fine pickle indeed.

Being the resourceful gal that I am, I called my hair stylist extraordinaire Patrice Vinci on her cell phone. This woman works hard, but I coerced her into coming to her salon on her day off to "fix" my hair. And she had a cold. She asked me to bring the scissors with me (I assumed so that she could hold the weapon in her hands and do a little CSI-type work).

I got to the salon and handed her the scissors. She took them away from me and told me she would fix my hair if I promised to never do such a thing again. I promised and then helped her make us some coffee - this wouldn't be a quick fix.

My hair is many inches shorter and blonde now — a nice blonde.

As for Billy Ray, these days he's famous for being the father of Miley Cyrus, a.k.a. Hannah Montana. I hope I'll be remembered for my children and not my misguided hair don'ts.

From Butter to Wine

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 04:00:00 +0100

My friend Rebecca left a voice mail this week asking how long eggs and butter can stay out of the refrigerator before they go bad. I get calls like that a lot. Usually, I can help, but the hard ones are from friends entertaining at a restaurant, when they've been handed the wine list and they're calling, panicked, from a restroom. (I can always tell -- that tile echo is unmistakable.) They don't know what to order, and I understand the pressure. They don't want to appear unknowledgeable or cheap.

Wine lists can be many pages long and overwhelming–I know a lot about wine, but compared with the amount of information about varietals, vintages, wine producers, regions, etc., I know a mere smidgen. Anyway, I can usually navigate a wine list, but muddling through what everyone wants to drink can be difficult, on top of trying to match the cuisine being served. One person orders a soup with a lot of cream and a main course of spicy meat. Another starts with an artichoke-laden salad followed by lamb.

Try asking the person serving you how well he or she knows the wine list, and get recommendations. If you're still sweating like Nixon, ask to speak to the sommelier and express your needs. That's his or her job: to maintain the wine list and to get you what you want at a price that makes sense to you. No shame in that, I promise. And may that be the worst thing that happens to you this week!

Anyway, I got back to Rebecca and it turns out, lovely person that she is, that she wanted to make cookies for her new neighbors. She took the butter and eggs out and put them on the counter. A combination of kids, phone calls, work, car pools, grocery shopping, text messages, pets, snow, sun, hockey, and basketball intervened, and those eggs and butter stayed on the counter for 10 days. "I had good intentions, but I don't want to poison the new neighbors," she laughed. And being a frugal New Englander, she wasn't quite willing to throw the ingredients away.

Here's the deal. Most supermarket eggs can stay out of the refrigerator for a few hours, depending on the temperature of your home, but you must store them in a cool (40 degrees) fridge. They should last 4 to 5 weeks in the fridge, depending on when they were delivered to your market. If you buy fresh eggs from a farm, you can keep them out on the counter for a good week, assuming that your kitchen temperature is in the 70s. Farm eggs aren't scrubbed the same way supermarket eggs are, and the shell's natural protective coating is still there. It prevents air, bacteria, and just about anything else from passing through the shell, thus keeping fresh eggs ... well ... fresh. But whether it's from a basket on your counter or the container in your fridge, if an egg looks or smell odd for any reason, don't use it. It's better to err on the side of safety, especially with eggs.

As for the butter, smell and appearance are the giveaways. My parents to this day don't refrigerate their butter. Occasionally they lose a stick, because they don't use it fast enough. If the butter separates, curdles, or smells "off," move on. Despite what my parents do, I strongly suggest not leaving butter out in the summer. Salted butter, by the way, will last longer out of the fridge than unsalted; the salt acts as a preservative. The refrigerator will certainly keep your butter fresher longer. Be sure to keep it well-sealed, as it's really good at picking up refrigerator odors.

Please let me know if you have any kitchen questions or suggestions. Just write to: anniec@yankeepub.com

Food and Lyrics

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 04:00:00 +0100

We all screw up song lyrics — some of us more than others. That, and a terrible singing voice, has never slowed me down. I think that one of the funniest things in the whole world is when you find out a song's real lyrics — it's infinitely more hilarious the longer you've been belting out those incorrect words. For example, the song "Southern Cross," by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. I'm guessing that the first time I heard that song was in the early 1980s. It's a real beaut of a tune, all about lost love, the mistakes we make, what really matters... and, of course, those men know their way around a harmony.

In those early years, I thought the refrain was, "Think about how many times I have fallen/Spirits are usin' me; larger voices callin'/What heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten./I have been around the world/Looking for a one-eyed girl." I thought myself so clever when I "realized" that David Crosby wasn't looking for a one-eyed girl but, duh, a one-armed girl. Now, I fully understand that I didn't think this through. I was just singing along when the song came on the radio. I didn't think this through at all. Clearly, if this guy was chasing a one-armed girl — both of them are in boats — wouldn't she be sorta easy to track down? I'm just saying ... if she had the one eye, as I originally thought, then she could cover it with her bangs or sunglasses if she were incognito. But, with all due respect to people with missing limbs, sailing around the world with just the one arm, people are going to notice you.

I bring this up for a reason. My friend Kelly made a CD for me with this song on it and I've been listening to this song over and over again, to the point where I decided to learn how to play it on the guitar. So I downloaded the lyrics. Turns out he's desperate and pining for a woman-girl. I don't entirely understand what that means, but in retrospect it does make more sense than one arm or one eye.

Now here's the food segue. Keeping the islands in mind, another friend, Cindy, makes a delicious dish called "cashew rice." She made it at a dinner party, and I've been mildly obsessed with it. I had Cindy to my house, and she brought a hostess gift of Boston Uncommon, a recent cookbook from the Junior League of Boston. I love Junior League cookbooks. Guess what? Page 108 reveals the instructions. Here's the recipe, but the whole book is terrific, and available by logging on to the Junior League Web site: jlboston.org

Cashew Pineapple Rice

2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon canola oil
1 yellow onion, finely chopped
1 1/2 cups long-grain rice (don't use instant or quick-cooking)
1 20-ounce can pineapple chunks
3 cups reduced-sodium vegetable broth
2 carrots, chopped
1/2 cup raw unsalted cashews, lightly toasted
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon red-pepper flakes

Heat your oven to 350º. Heat the butter and canola oil in a medium saucepan. Add onion. Cook 4 minutes or until tender. Pour onion and drippings into a 9x11-inch baking dish. Add rice, stirring to coat. Drain pineapple, reserving 1 tablespoon juice. Add pineapple, reserved juice, broth, carrots, cashews, salt, and pepper flakes to rice mixture and stir to combine. Bake, covered, 45 to 55 minutes or until liquid is absorbed. Let stand, covered, 5 minutes. Yield: 10 servings

A Taste of Positano

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 04:00:00 +0100

Oh, the weather. It's that time of year in New England when, you know, you could stick a fork in us, cuz we are d-o-n-e. That's not a complaint, but I'm definitely ready for some warm air on my skin. I didn't get out of town this winter, a must for most of us, so I've been taking advantage of local events and a pampering massage every now and again — it's sort of like a vacation, albeit a brief one.

Olives restaurant in Charlestown, Massachusetts, recently hosted four chefs from Italy's Campania region (Positano, to be more specific, that fancy harbor village tucked into the cliffs along the Italian Riviera) for a "Taste of Positano" dinner. I signed right up. The afternoon of the dinner, I was still slugging around the house in my jammies (it was a cold, rainy Sunday) and ambivalent about putting proper clothes on. I thought it a better night to stay in, eat pasta, and watch a movie. I gave in and got dressed. Sighed my way downstairs and rushed with an umbrella over my head to get to the car. Second thoughts. It was that yucky, get-in-your-bones wet and cold — the kind you have to soak in a hot tub to get rid of. With windshield wipers slapping away, I neared the restaurant and thought, "I could still turn around — who'll miss me? I could be back at the house and in those flannels in 10 minutes." But no, as I slowed the car, Luis, the longtime valet at Olives, recognized me and waved me over. In I went.

Almost immediately, I began to warm up... the sexy red dining room and orangy glow of the wood-burning oven, smiling faces, riffs of Italian conversations floating about, and a glass of sparkling rose offered to me on a serving tray. Okay, I figured, this will be okay, I'll get some pasta either way.

The four chefs worked well with the Olives kitchen crew, and together they created a gorgeous meal of beef carpaccio, perfectly cooked vermicelli noodles in an anchovy and walnut sauce, grilled fish over warm polenta, veal-stuffed cabbage, and a hazelnut semifreddo that I can still taste. I'm glad the chefs didn't try a warm-weather menu, but instead collaborated and made a traditional southern Italian meal that makes sense for late February. (Even Positano gets a little chilly in winter.)

They also paired the food with some of my favorite varietals, some of the ancient grapes of Italy: two whites that I wish I saw on more menus, Greco di Tufo and Fiano di Avellino, and a red Aglianico. The dessert wine, a "passito" from the island of Pantelleria, was a real treat, made from grapes that stay on the vine until they're almost raisins-sweet and concentrated with deep flavor.

As I scurried to my car and the almost-frozen rain stung my face, despite the umbrella overhead, I did feel as though I'd had a little vacation. Who needs Boca?

Hot Coffee

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 05:00:00 +0100

The Boston Globe reported on Wednesday that "a topless coffee shop that raised the ire of many residents of a small central Maine town is open for business. The Grand View Topless Coffee Shop, located at the site of the former Grand View Motel, opened its doors Monday on busy Route 3 in Vassalboro."

Zoinks. I tracked down a Kennebec Journal piece that offered more information. I'm less concerned about nudity being offensive to someone -- I say, "WHAT-ever," than I am about the potential burns that could occur (and where they could occur). Just about all of us have worked in the restaurant business at some stage of our lives. Think about it a minute, and some of those blisters, burns, stains, and spills will come back to you. I can't tell you how many times I've spilled hot coffee on the front and cuffs of my white waiter's shirts. Not to mention the hot oil, soups, eggs, etc., that those white cotton button-downs absorbed.

One sign out front reads, "No cameras, no touching, cash only." A second says, "Over 18 only." And there's a "bouncer" of sorts out front. Apparently despite the rough snowstorm last week, business has been pretty steady and mostly men. Curious -- the coffee must be good. I hear the wings at Hooters are terrific.

For more information: kennebecjournal.mainetoday.com/news/local/5990458.html

Valentine's Day

rss@ypi.com (Yankee Publishing Inc.) — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 05:00:00 +0100

Some say Valentine's Day is a phony-baloney holiday, created by restaurants and greeting-card companies. As a "singleton" and a cynical bird by nature, the approach of February 14 could easily churn me into a bitter spiral, especially upon hearing "every kiss begins with 'K'" or walking by the cheery, heart-laden, red-laced windows of lingerie shops. Oh no, not me. I believe in love. Instead of trying to ignore it all, this year I embraced Singles Awareness Day. Despite the very unfortunate acronym, it was a success. Ten single friends (okay, one couple and one friend whose husband was traveling-but why nitpick?) came over last Saturday for a special night that celebrated us.

I had my young friends Casey, Matt, Tori, and Simon cut out paper hearts and hang them from the ceiling with thread and Scotch tape (yes, there are still several pieces of tape stubbornly clinging to the ceiling). My dear friend Nan handed over her red velvet cake recipe, which was the highlight (I found miniature, heart-shaped muffin tins at the Christmas Tree Shop at a great price). After dinner, a second shift of V-Day revelers made their way to the party, which went on until the wee hours. I may be single, but I felt the love.

Nan's Red Velvet Cake

These instructions are for two 8-inch layer cakes, but it works for cupcakes, too (just mind the shorter cooking time). Also, the original called for less cocoa, but Nan said, as she handed it to me, "I always add a bit more." I added the extra cocoa to the ingredients measure here.

1 stick unsalted butter
11/2cups sugar
2 large eggs
2 cups flour
2 tablespoons cocoa
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup buttermilk, divided
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 ounces (2 small bottles) red food coloring
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon vinegar

Heat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl, cream together butter and sugar. Beat in eggs.

In a separate small bowl, sift together flour, cocoa, and salt. Add 1/3 of the flour mixture to the butter mixture. Stir just until incorporated. Add 1/3 of the buttermilk. Alternate mixing in flour and buttermilk in thirds.

Add vanilla and food coloring. Dissolve baking soda in vinegar. Add to creamed mixture.

Pour batter into prepared pans. Bake about 30 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out dry.

1 cup milk
1/4 cup flour
pinch of salt
1 cup sugar
2 sticks unsalted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla

In a medium saucepan over low heat, whisk together milk, flour, and salt. Cook, whisking often, until thickened to pudding consistency. Set aside to cool.

In a separate bowl, cream together sugar, butter, and vanilla. Using a whisk or an electric mixer, add to the "pudding" mixture.

Frost, once the cake is fully cooled.