42 posts from March 2009

Thanks to the 99 Cent Chef for this public service announcement:

John Pleshette's Fettuccine with Chicken Livers and Peas

Fresh peas are starting to pop up in the farmers markets and those little crunches of green cuts through the richness of the livers.  You can substitute frozen peas, just make sure they are room temperature before you add them to the pasta.

Fettuccine with Chicken Livers and Peas
Serves 2-4

1 lb. of fettuccine
1/2 lb. of chicken livers
1 shallot
Butter
Olive oil
3/4 cup of peas
Parmesan cheese

Bring a large pot of water to a boil.  Salt generously. Shell the peas.  Peel and thinly slice the shallot. Wrap the livers in several layers of paper towels to dry thoroughly. Put the pasta in the water.  

When the pasta is nearly done, heat a large sauté pan over a medium high flame.  Salt and pepper the livers.  

Put a splash of oil and 3 tbsps of butter in the pan.  When the butter melts and the foam subsides, toss in the livers.  Brown on both sides over high heat about a minute a side.  Add the sliced shallots, stir into the livers for 30 seconds and remove from the heat.  

Scoop 1/2 cup of pasta water and set aside.  When the pasta is cooked, add the peas to the pot, drain in a colander.  

Return livers to the heat and add the pasta.  toss gently to coat the pasta with the livers and peas.  Add a little pasta water if necessary.

Grate some parmesan over the pasta.  Serve the rest on the side.

CellarWise Wine Pairing
Traditionally styled wines seem best here, and either red or white will do. The peas favor whites with similar elements, the oft-ignored Italian classic Vermentino’s green pea and hay flavors seeming perfect.  It ages well so you can look for wines as far back as ’04 or ‘05, but you’re likely find more ‘06s and ‘07s in stores. The Argiolas Vermentino di Sardegna “Costamolino” is stellar and retails for about $15. Another widely available version is the Antinori Vermentino Bolgheri Tenuta Guado al Tasso, selling for about $19. A special treat if you can find it is the Vermentino “Ariento” from Tuscany’s Massa Vecchia, a unique and expensive wine that’s worth the search to find.  Reds will need good acidity, and something with black pepper notes seems right.  The impressive ’07 Bodegas Borsao Garnacha Campo de Borja “Monte Oton” is just $8 and should work wonderfully.  The Delas Cotes du Ventoux, a great ’07 Rhone that’s $10 is another fine option. If your area is served by a Trader Joe's retailer look for their Italian direct-import line “Epicuro”, including a Vermentino as well as Nero d’Avola, Aglianico, and Salice Salentino reds. Selling for $6, they’re correct affordable options here.

Pork Dumplings at Street

Gary Mecija, Good Food's Music Supervisor, is at it again.  This time he went to Susan Feniger's latest restaurant Street.  The menu is centered around street food and specializes in dumplings (see Good Food 2/7/09).  Yum!

More photos of what Gary eats here.

Eating your first raw oyster takes courage.  Guest Blogger Lisa Kroner writes about her maiden voyage to the raw bar:

Grand Central by Lisa Kroner

I have a love-hate relationship with many things. Exercise. Road trips. Reality tv. And oysters. Definitely oysters.

I grew up in Milwaukee where we ate meat with every meal, but seafood consumption was largely limited to fried cod of the Friday Fish Fry and cold shrimp platters on Christmas. I grew up eating fish that was always cooked and always white, so it took quite a leap of faith to try that first bite of raw, soft, red tuna at an L.A. sushi bar. It was a big deal at the time, but then again, the rice, soy, and wasabi were all supporting players. With an oyster, you're all alone out there. And let's face it: they're disgusting.

During a recent visit to New York I was wandering about, wondering what to eat, and the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station popped into my head. I had never been there before, but it was on my culinary to-do list. I took a leisurely walk to the station and followed the signs to the basement. I looked through the picture windows as I walked down the ramp and approached the entrance. I saw that there were two counters on one side and a bunch of booths on the other.  I reached for the glass-paned door, scouting the available seats as lone diners do. But just as I grabbed the handle, I noticed the menu posted on the door. I was shocked to see over 30 kinds of oysters listed in front of me. I looked in again, frozen. I was clearly out of my league. And still on the outside. I turned around and walked away, out into the food court. If this was a cartoon I would be whistling.

But I was after something. Not just a meal, a food experience. I had glimpsed the people hunkered down at the counters, seen the waiters in white paper hats, and sensed the gritty cafeteria feel of old New York. I wanted in. I knew I would hate myself later if I sat down out here and had a bagel or an $18 club sandwich. I had to get it together.

So I walked back to the front doors, as casually as possible, and contemplated the menu again. I looked inside, deciding on the counter. Or did you have to sit on the other side if you wanted alcohol…which I would most certainly need. While trying not to look confused, plotting my course, and planning how to preserve my pride while ordering, I somehow maneuvered into the restaurant and headed for the counter with all the cooks and waiters buzzing behind it. The last frontier of the Midwesterner: the Raw Bar.

A tall waiter appeared with the menu and left without a word. As I addressed the menu a third time, I had the idea to choose by geography. Picking the oysters from local regions seemed reasonable, an homage to my months spent working in New Jersey and New York. I am contemplating fun names like Buzzard Bay and Pemaquid when the waiter comes back and stands stoically in front of me.

Receipt from The Oyster Bar

"Hm…you have so many different kinds…" I say, trying to establish some kind of rapport before I go with my awesome plan.

"You want me to choose for you…" It is a statement, not a question. He has a French accent. He has dealt with my kind before.

"Sure," I said. "I'll take a half dozen. And a glass of chardonnay." He is already walking away.

I look around. The woman next to me is eating fried clams and French fries, the coward.

But I need support. I need levity. I need someone to witness the drama. So I engage her in basic Oyster Small Talk. How much fun it must be for those guys to shuck oysters all day. To chew or not to chew. Favorite condiments.

My half dozen arrive. These awful things are a mess of contradictions that make my head spin. I love the smell but hate the way they look. I love the taste but abhor the texture. They draw me in and repel me at the same time. I am out of my comfort zone. I am challenged. Or maybe I'm just addicted to chaos.

I try to get psyched as the waiter points at each one and names it for me: Bluepoint, Belon, Kumamoto, Totten Virginica, Yaquina Bay. One of them looks like a tongue. The exact size and shape of a human tongue.  Maybe a little bigger. I order another glass of wine.

The Kumamoto is the smallest, so I start there. It's perfect. Salty, sweet, and mild. Soft bite, nothing I have to wrestle with. I try the Belon next. I'm not impressed. I finish my wine and get ready for the big boys. The Yaquina Bay goes down easy with some tangy mignonette. The Blue Point is next, simply delicious.  My  new friend agrees that the biggest one looks vile and she laughs as I order a Stoli to help me out. I am enjoying myself.

"Chilled?" the French waiter asks.

"Of course!" I call back, happy that we are finally on the same page. I take a hearty sip of the vodka and hit The Tongue with cocktail sauce and extra horseradish. But not too much. No matter how frightening The Tongue may be, I will not diminish the integrity of the mission by obliterating an oyster with heat or alcohol. Both must be used, of course, but judiciously.  I raise the giant shell, slide the monster into my mouth, and chew it unhappily. I finish my vodka. It is done.

I pay for my expensive snack and walk out feeling great. Still hungry, but great. Oysters are not something I eat, they are something I conquer. I am reminded once again that whenever I feel afraid to do something, I should probably just do it. Where would I be if I didn't?  Probably still in Wisconsin eating fried cod and cold shrimp.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Chicks are brewing their own beer says bartender and home brewer Nathalie Balandran.  Peter Langenstein buys wine from a negociant -- a high-priced name for a bargain situation. Mira Advani says the route to Mumbai from LA is a short drive down the freeway.  Restaurants are popping up all over LA and Lesley Balla gives us a few to try.  What can happen when you eat a can of tuna every day for five years? Bad things. Stephanie Mencimer traces the beaurocratic maze that regulates canned tuna. Chef Michael Cimarusti loves the fish soup known as boullaibase.  Kallari Chocolate's Judy Logback found that small steps can improve the lives of the Ecuadoreans who grow cacao for the company. Plus Laura Avery talks with chef DJ Olsen about blood oranges and she samples Miner's Lettuce.

Heimlich-maneuver

Here's a story from Derek, a listener from Los Olivos, California wrote us his story:

Loveland, Colorado 1976

My wife and I were having dinner at the Pizza Hut across from Lake Loveland. We had been separated for several months and were discussing the possibility of divorce. The restaurant was full of patrons, mainly families with kids. We had finished our pizza and it was becoming apparent that the divorce was inevitable when we noticed a commotion several tables over. A boy, who looked to be around 10 years of age, was choking. He stood and staggered while both parents jumped to his aid. They tried slapping his back while he was upright and while turning him upside down. By this time everyone in the restaurant had stopped eating and were watching quietly. I walked over and told the father several times that I thought I knew what to do. I told them about the Heimlich Maneuver and finally the father started to hand the boy to me.

As I was about to position the boy for the maneuver and being very honest, I mentioned that I had never preformed the maneuver before. He did not like my lack of experience and we started a tug-of-war with his choking son. After several back and fourths and my pleadings to let me try, the mother prevailed upon the father to let go. By this time the boy could not stand. My first thrust had no effect but the second sent a hunk of cheese flying. I remember the sensation of the cheese hitting the floor with the same viscerally satisfying thunk of throwing a knife into a wooden floor.

The father took the gasping boy to the restroom and I was vibrating with adrenaline. I needed to leave so we quickly paid the cashier and left. My wife later said that the mother thanked me but I did not remember. Yes, we did end the marriage.

I emailed Derek again and asked why he had to rush out of the restaurant. Here's his reply:

I always wondered why I left without talking to the family. The original circumstances of our dinner were not pleasant to begin with.  I was shaking and everyone in the restaurant was looking at us. The tug-of-war with the father was very contentious. After I admitted to the father that I had never actually performed the Heimlich, I had to be very insistent that it might work. Luckily the mother persuaded the father to let me try. My first thrust was a dud and I thought "Oh shit". I wonder if I would have let a stranger have one of my sons, we have 2, in the same situation.

Learn how to do the Heimlich Maneuver here.

Last week on Good Food, you heard Margot Dougherty tell the story of when actor Terrence Howard saved her life when she choked on sushi at the Four Seasons.  I thought I'd share with you my story.

This was about 20 years ago.  My long time boyfriend and I were having dinner at Sofi, the Greek restaurant on 3rd St near Fairfax.  As usual we were talking over each other, laughing, eating, gesticulating.  The deadly table dance of multitasking.  I should mention that I am a world class fast eater.  I've always eaten too fast.  So I was eating a piece of tomato from my greek salad when all of a sudden I hear a sound like a coffee can vacuum being broken, but the opposite.  The cork was going into the bottle....the tomato in the windpipe.

When you hear this sound from the inside of your body you know immediately that you are dying.  No breath, can't talk.  The mind is racing. 

"I don't want to be in the middle of the restaurant when I (fill in the blank) die, puke, faint, become incontinent.  So I'll just run outside (where no one can help me)." 

So I find myself out on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.  There is no restaurant storefront so no one sees me.  Thank goodness my beau followed me outside.  He had no idea what to do. So....I positioned him behind me, wrapped his arms around me, made a double fist with his hands and mimed what he should do.  On the second try the piece of tomato shot out of me like a champagne cork.  It had to have traveled 10-15 feet.  I was a mess of tears, adrenaline, melted makeup.  He was literally shaking. 

So what did we do?  We went back into the restaurant and tried to finish our meal.  Eventually we gave up, went home, had a drink and cried.

What a sad day.  We love the Cook's Library Bookstore on 3rd St in Los Angeles.

It's a unique spot. Sadly, economic forces are too great for them to withstand so they are closing their doors on April 30th.

Stop by to say goodbye and pick up some good buys. The entire inventory is 20% off right now.

Cook's Library, 8373 West 3rd St., (323) 655-3141

Umami Burger

Last week he went to Umami Burger...

KCRW staffer Rachel Reynolds has proof that Rachael Ray is a bona fide music fan.  Our Rachel saw the Food Network star jamming backstage at South by Southwest (SXSW).  Pics and a report from Rachael Ray's showcase on the KCRW music blog.