Seattle Bon Vivant

Roasted Spiced Crabapples

Uploaded to Flickr by Seattle Bon Vivant on 20 Sep '06

They were roasted in O & Co's Didier Goubet Organic Merlot Juice (the same juice used for the Guavas in Spiced Merlot Juice Syrup), superfine sugar, true cinammon and cloves. The reduced juice was served over the ice cream.

Served with vanilla bean ice cream, I can't think of a better way to say goodbye to the amazing summer we just had while welcoming autumn and all its possibilities.

*Over Greek yogurt, these would make a great simple little dessert too.

Wine Roasted Pears with Pecorino Toscano

For Superbowl Sunday we were looking for a nice local late harvest something or other to serve with our cheese and dessert course. I had read about McCrea Cellars releasing a Late Harvest Viognier that I was unable to get my paws on.

So, as soon as I found out about their Late Harvest Roussanne I emailed the winery to find out about where to buy it in my neighborhood.

Susan Neel responded to my email and pointed me to a few local vendors that had purchased the small release wine. I picked up a bottle at Metropolitan Market in Sandpoint and emailed the winery to thank MS. Neel and ask for a pairing recommendation for the wine.

These pears were what she suggested we served. The recipe was adapted from Mario Batali's Roasted Pears with Chestnut Honey and Parmigiano-Reggiano.

I followed Susan's instructions. Since there was no Washington Syrah around we used a bottle of a lovely 2000 Marquiz Phillips Shiraz from the cellar.

The orange blossom honey was found in our pantry. A jar of Famille Mary Miel de Fleus d' Oranger purchased while shopping the Rue Cler honey shop last March.

The Pecorino came from the cheese counter at Larry's Market in Queen Anne. A quarter pound did the trick. The cheese is so phenomenal it was quite tempting to eat it out of hand on its own. I highly recommend it.

This is definitely an über elegant, gorgeous dessert that looks very professional and gives the impression that it took hours to make when, in reality, it is as simple as it can be with hardly any prep work and less than an hour to achieve fabulous results.

Pears, honey, red wine, sugar and cheese. For a dish this utterly delectable and beautiful, it is almost obscene that it is so easy to make.

Coquito (Coconut Eggnog)

We all have them. A particular dish or beverage we indulge in when we are craving a taste of home, of the familiar, of times gone by, of childhood, of a special evening, of a summer picnic or particular holiday.

I have a laundry list of these special tastes in my gustatory memory.

And when I feel a bit nostalgic or melancholic, I reach for any one of those culinary Linus blankets, the kind that can make one feel cozy and warm and toasty and giddy. The kind that also, somehow, serves to shorten the distance between loved ones, especially those far from us this time of the year, out there on the opposite coast.

Last Saturday the usual suspects-- friends and neighbors, a family of sorts--were getting together for dinner right here in our building. Some of us were cooking but all of us were bringing something to the table.

So I made flan and Coquito.

Coquito or Ron con Coco (Rum with Coconut) is a very tropical, rummy, redolent of spices and extremely coco-nutty eggnog that is quite popular around the holidays.

I make it more than once a year and when I do I make it to share not only because it is absolutely delicious but because every single time I had Coquito in the past it was always at a family gathering or at a party with very good friends.

The traditional family recipe calls for the flesh of two large coconuts and it involves a lot of elbow grease. Finding the freshest, nicest coconuts available, cracking them, opening them, separating the dark skin from the snow white pulp, grating and blitzing said pulp in a blender with the rum.

Oy! It can be a tricky, tiresome and very messy affair.

Or you can just buy a can of Coco López, that delicious--and extremely convenient-- cream of coconut and skip the trip to the beach, the machete and the guerrilla tactics altogether. For a fresher and healthier coconut taste, I purchase Trader Joe's Coconut Milk or the organic coconut milk sold at Whole Foods.

Coquito my way is mainly a pouring of all the spices, liquid ingredients and egg yolks into the bowl of a blender and a blitzing of said mixture into oblivion.

The key is to use VERY good spirits. And if you, like me, want to spice things up a bit, use the best Bourbon you have around. I find the combination of dark rum and bourbon perfection and much better than the traditional white rum-only version.

For this particular batch I used the last of my 80% proof Austrian rum--a gift from a neighbor who was moving back to Austria and gifted me with a half bottle of his very special, old and potent rum, the one he used to soak the raisins for his famous cookies and rum cake.

Into the mix went a generous amount of Bacardi 1873--not the Solera kind but a bottle I purchased in San Juan about 10 years ago when you could only find this at the distillery's shop.

Lastly, I reached for the bottle of Maker's Mark Kentucky Bourbon I've been saving (who wants to break that pretty red wax seal?) since a trip to Louisville a few years ago.

And yes, you can make this Coquito without the spirits but really, what's the point? It needs at least a bit of rum to achieve that beachy, sandy and warm tropical taste.

Ideally you'll have a couple tall, sterile clean bottles (great way to recycle empty wine or rum bottles) around to hold the contents of the blender. You can use a pretty (large please, this serves about 12) pitcher too.

Make it ahead of time so you can refrigerate it (overnight if possible) to give time for all the ingredients to meld together and thicken a bit more.

Pour it onto pretty glasses, sprinkle with nutmeg or cinnamon, garnish with cinnamon sticks. Now sit somewhere cozy and observe those around you. Just make sure you get your own glass before you do. And sip your Coquito slowly. Don't expect leftovers either.I doubt there will be a chance for seconds. Take my word for it.

Maple-Spiced Yam Purée

Last minute inspiration. Clock was ticking. No recipe.

About three large and beautiful organic yams were cut up (two inch rounds) and roasted at 450F for one hour.

Once roasted (golden colored, fork tender and honeyed), the yams were puréed using a potato ricer while still hot. Whipping cream and Beecher's Cultured Butter (lightly salted, BHT free) were added. Cardamon, nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla paste were mixed in.

Crushed Maldon salt and a sprinkle of Hediard Five Spice powder went into the mix. Canadian Grade A Maple syrup to sweeten.

We served these at room temperature last night. Ealier today, served cold, straight out of the refrigerator, they were even better.

Next time I am adding some heat (minced jalapeño, cayenne or red pepper flakes) and a bit of finely diced red onion, in the manner of the yams served at Kingfish Café.

Now those are the perfect yams!

Quince-Pomegranate Cranberry Compote

A variation of last year's Pomegranate Cranberry Compote this year's version--I was intent on--included  Quince, one of my top three favorite fruits in the whole wide world.

The gorgeous and highly aromatic quince, with its beautiful flesh--redolent of both apple and pear-- not only added a decidedly autumnal depht of flavor to the cheerful but familiar cranberry while the fresh squeezed pomegranate juice--from half of the largest POM pomegranate found at the market--added tartness and intensified the color of the compote.

This baby a real treat to prepare, cook and serve with both my simple pomegrante turkey yesterday and  our friend A's gorgeous bird earlier tonight.

Make it a day ahead, as it allows the fruit  to set nicely and the flavors to really come together. Any remaining compote can be stored in refrigerator. Use within the next 3-4 weeks.

Quince-Pomegranate Cranberry Compote

12 ounces fresh--frozen ok too-- cranberries (rinsed, stemmed, picked through and drained)
1/2 POM pomegrante juiced (about 1/4 cup)
1 Quince (peeled, cored, seeded and diced)
2 Satsumas (juiced and zested)
1 cup super fine sugar

Place the diced quince in a small saucepan with enough water to cover fruit over high heat. Bring to boil, lower heat to medium and simmer until quince is fork tender. Set aside without draining fruit to avoid discoloration.

Place cranberries, satsuma zest and juice, sugar and pomegranate juice in preserving pan or medium-size nonreactive saucepan over high heat. 

Bring to a boil and cook for about 2 minutes. Lower heat to medium, add drained quince and simmer for about 10 minutes or until mixture thickens and quince melds with the cranberries. Crush with back of wooden spoon while stirring if necessary.

Test set. Transfer to a pretty bowl. Remove from the heat and cool completely. Refrigerate until use.

 

*To our dear friend Nilofer--who is freezing her tuchus in Buffalo and missed the festivities--some of the compote was put away in a pretty jar, awaiting your return. See you next week!

Summer in a Jar: Green Tomato Jam

How much do I love tomatoes? Let me count the ways. I eat them in some form or another most every day and in the summer, when they are at their peak of availability, diversity and flavor, rare is the day in which tomatoes are not consumed around these parts.

Sometimes a fresh, ripe tomato, rinsed and pat dried, eaten as one would an apple, with perhaps the slightest sprinkling of good salt and pepper is good enough for lunch.

The thing I love most about tomatoes other than their effulgent, puerile nature is their beneficience. They take pity on the fact that by the time their cute, little bodies reach their most adorable, juicy and delectable stage, it is already the end of summer, when the air is getting chilly and the leaves have already started to fall. When we have almost given up on the warmth and taste of summer.

These beauties then show up at our local farmers markets, ready for the picking as if saying, don't be sad, here is one last summer hurrah, one last chance to be happy before it's time take out the woolens from storage and start consoling yourselves with sun dried and canned tomatoes, tomato paste and tomato sauce.

It is around the middle of September that fresh organic green tomatoes start appearing in massive quantities at the farmers market. And the sight of them could not make me any happier.

Because while I love tomatoes of all kinds (heirlooms in particular), sizes, and colors it is the late summer green tomato that lends itself best for one of my favorite things to doing the kitchen: preserving and jam making.

I had been looking forward to making green tomato jam at home ever since discovering O&Co.'s heavenly Green Tomato Jam (Confiture Au Chaudron Tomate Verte).

After finishing the jar and before running up the street to buy some more, I figured I could always give it a go, and see if a home version would be as good or better.

So, reaching once more for my favorite manual on jam and jelly making, the little gem of a book that is Christine Ferber's Mes Confitures I searched for her Green Tomato and Cinnamon recipe (page 201).

Then it was a matter of stopping by my favorite market to purchase enough organic green tomatoes from Alvarez Farms to make my jam.

The tomatoes were as beautiful as can be. Organic, green, firm, the perfect size. I took them home and aided by the simplest of ingredients--superfine sugar and a couple small lemons-- and my laconic recipe, I got to work.

As in most of Madame Ferber's recipes, the endeavor took a couple of days to complete but it was by no means a burdensome or complicated task.

The idea was to macerate the tomatoes in the lemon juice and sugar overnight, cook them the second day, refrigerate the mixture overnight for a second time and cook the fruit one last time before transferring the jam to little jars (and in my case to the refrigerator).

I was very happy with the results. The jam came out thick and chunky and substantial. The tomatoes cooked until they became translucent, the color of candied citron, like the one I've found while shopping at Izraël in the Marais (or Big John's PFI in Seattle).

The flavor is pure green tomato, with a slight floral undertone that reminded me of borage blossoms, contrasted by the lemony tartness I prefer in my jam.

The recipe, as I interpreted it--by skipping both the cinnamon stick in and the food mill step in Ferber's original version--, allowed for the taste and texture of the tomatoes in all their glory to remain palpable, unadulterated. Perfect!

Until the very last spoonful is used up this jam shall be a reminder of this year's gorgeous Seattle summer, of my weekly trips to the market and a promise of  next year's summer and the market season ahead.

Here's to great tomatoes everywhere!

Golden Raspberry Jam

All summer long I've been making jams and jellies at home. Red currant jelly, red raspberry, blueberry, red raspberry with rose water, red raspberry and strawberry, Skagit strawberries with pomegranate, blueberry, blackberry and strawberry, tayberry and nectarberry jams.

All the while, I've been waiting impatiently for the summer's golden raspberry crop to arrive at one of the many neighborhood farmers markets.

Until this week, that is. One of the stands at the Columbia Farmers Market had beautiful ones that I brought home to preserve right away.

Golden Raspberries are not only hard to find but more fragile and a tad pricier than their red counterparts. However, the payoff resides not only in their beautiful color but in their sweeter, milder, less tart taste, with a slight honeyed apricot undertone that comes across especially clearly when prepared simply in coulis or jam.

The recipe, as usual, is a modified version of one written by Christine Ferber. In this case, I used Madame Ferber's basic Red Raspberry Jam recipe on page 72 of Mes Confitures, a book that is consulted so often around these parts (especially in the summer) that it never leaves the kitchen anymore and by now has been almost memorized by me.

Frankly, the more jam you make the easier it gets and soon enough you turn to books for inspiration, for fruit, spice and flavouring combinations, but the measurements are pretty much in your head. Soon enough, just going by taste and a little adjusting (more or less sugar or lemon juice), jam making becomes almost second nature.

I like my jam (which we used on bread, croissants, brioche and to top our morning yogurt) with a little tartness. Since I make smaller batches (this is key for me) that are kept in the refrigerator and used up within a month, I reduce the amount of sugar.

As with all of Christine Ferber's recipes and all jams and preserves made in our home, there is never any commercial pectin involved, only fresh squeezed lemon juice.

On Salumi, Batalis and Gina's Unscotti

A couple months ago a friendly little bird, well connected in the Seattle food scene, sent me an invite to a private event at Salumi (thanks again A!). The party was being offered by publisher Harper Collins to celebrate the publication of Mario Batali's new book, Molto Italiano.

I was tickled pink with the invite--lucky me--and really touched by her generosity but initially even I had my qualms about going because author book signings have never been my cuppa. I avoid standing in long lines as much as possible and as much as I love books I'm not really into autographs.

But this event was taking place at Salumi, one of my top places to eat in Seattle and the Batali family was cooking for the occasion--recipes from the book and from Salumi's repertoire. Knowing all the good food that is to be had at this place was incentive enough for me to go so of course I happily sent in my RSVP and looked forward to the day.

It was to be an hour reception and we were encouraged to be prompt. At 5:30 I was one of around 10 people waiting for the door to open (the next 40 or 50 arrived soon after). We were told there would be three tables with three themes in three rooms. We were also told there would be 45 minutes to eat at our hearts content and have a book signed for us.

"Eat and drink as much as you can. It has been a long day for all of us (there had been a few sold-out signing events earlier that day). At 6:30 we will close shop."

Most of the attendees were people in the book business, buyers from Amazon, Costco, etc, shop owners in the city, booksellers, food industry people, food critics even. After greeting Mr. Batali (the father) I walked to the end of the shop to greet Mr. Batali (the son) who had a few tall stacks of his book, an orange Sharpie pen and was chatting and signing copies of his book for the guests.

While waiting in line, I bumped, once again, into one of my favorite food writers, the PI's Hsiao-Ching Chou (HCC: Haven't we met before? Was it at the Giada De Laurentiis event? V: Actually, it was the day of the Ruth Reichl podcast interview") who was wearing a lovely silver and pearl necklace that caught my eye, made by a local jeweler and that I was told by the owners of Capers in Freemont--whose owners were also in attendance--is available at their shop. But I digress...

Pleasantries were exchanged and a book was signed by the author. I quickly and giddily moved aside, book in hand and headed towards the front of the back room, where the food platter laden tables had been set up. I sat my book on a corner, grabbed a glass of red wine and a plate and proceeded to taste--over the next 40 minutes or so-- a little bit of at least four or five of the dishes served for the crowd.

Oregano Sausage with Broccoli Rabe, Salumi Aglio e Olio, Cotecchino in Jail, Spicy Pepper Stew, Pork Loin Porcetta. What fabulous food, wine and great conversation! There was even an opera singer by the name of Steve Thoreson whose voice was so mesmerizing I had to ask who he was, where he sang and why he was not with Seattle Opera. This guy can sing like nobody's business and his rendition of the Act I duet of La Bohème had me absolutely verklempt.

It was only after finishing my Cotecchino in Galera, one of the tastiest things I've ever had in my life, that I noticed these lovely confections sitting in the table in front of me. There was a tray piled mile-high of what seemed to be lovely biscotti which I was sure had been just baked for the event.

I had one for dessert. Then another. They were much softer than a biscotti but with the same appearance and size. When I asked what  they were I was told they were called Unscotti. A single baked biscotti. Anise flavored. No need for a cup of coffee to dunk them in.

While I savoured my cookie I wondered if Molto Italiano included the recipe. But a quick browse with my slightly oily fingers left me hankering for a recipe. When I asked one of the Batali's who happened to go by, cheerfully walking around filling wine glasses, I was told that it was Gina's (Mr. Batali's daughter and co-owner of Salumi) recipe and she would not share it with anyone. It was a secret!

So I did what any food lover would have done in my place: at 6:25 I took one last cookie on my way out the door, wrapped it securely in a napkin, walked to Elliot Books to pick up a copy of Sunset and then walked the rest of the way home from there.

Mr. C never tasted or even saw the cookie crumbs. In my heart of hearts I just could not stop thinking about them. They were so delicious and soft and delicate that I fantasized of getting a hold of the recipe to make them at home.

But I figured it was a family heirloom none of the Batali's would part with. I was wrong. Not only are these wonderful people great hosts and cooks but they are truly generous with their food knowledge and know-how.

All it took was taking advantage of a recent lunch at Salumi to ask Gina for the recipe and permission to print it. Ms. Batali said to use anise oil and not anise extract. A quarter teaspoon. That is all you need. She gets her anise oil at Pike Place Market. She also mentioned that the key to these treats is to undercook them. 25-27 minutes, no more. They should taste as if they are a little raw.

I baked mine yesterday, to have for dessert with the Yogurt Gelato I had just purchased from Bottega Italiana (you have not lived until you taste their Pear Gelato). The tray went untouched for all of 5 minutes. The chicken was not even cooked and we were eating these already as an appetizer.

There were a few compliments (even when mine half as pretty as Gina's) and more cookies were polished off with gelato and dessert wine. More compliments. By the end of the evening, the tray was empty.

Make these. You will love them too.

Chocolat chaud with a view

Yesterday, it was a sunny and gorgeous spring day in Seattle perfect to be out on the terrace grilling with friends and sipping on a chilled Washington Riesling.

While putting away the heavy coat I took with me to Paris, I found in one of its pockets one of the many chocolates we were served with our coffee at Lenôtre. You can imagine the rest. The sight of the tiny chocolate sent me back less than a week ago to Paris.

Almost automatically, I walked to the kitchen, chocolate in hand and made myself a cup of chocolat chaud, a sort of mid-afternoon treat before walking to Restaurant Zöe for a scrumptious dinner.

The chocolate, made with whole milk, a bit of cream and premium Forestero cocoa--inexpensive and ordinary-- was accented with cinnamon and vanilla to give it a kick.

I'll have to try this recipe with Scharffen Berger or  Valhrona Cocoa Powder with a little ground Manjari or Guanaja and perhaps add a little ancho powder to it.

The cocoa was served on a quite minimalist and modern yet very cute and slender white Limoges cup and saucer combo we picked up--for a few Euros-- at a great Limoges outlet on the way back to our hotel from Christian Constant's rue d'Assas chocolate shop.

This shop, of which I'll talk about at a later date, is not far from the gorgeous flat a friend of mine and I rented a year and a half ago, at 75 rue de Rennes.

With the beautiful sunlight filtering through the windows and while I looked outside at the boats on Lake Union I felt really content and happy to be back home enjoying the best of both worlds, thick hot chocolate--more Mexican spiced cocoa than Parisian chocolat chaud--with a gorgeous Seattle view.

Kardemommekager: An Encore

Dessert tonight was a small bowl of the last of the Snoqualmie Pistachio Gelato, served with a cookie. These Kardemommekager  were baked yesterday, a third variation of the recipe I used for ZarahMaria's SHF#3.

This time the nuts used were pecans instead of almonds, my currants were even more sloshed that the first time and had been nuked for a few seconds in the microwave to speed the macerating process (the cookies were made last minute) and were also a tad less spicy.

One thing I noticed was that perhaps because I used a smaller organic egg instead of extra-large egg and King Arthur's flour instead of my lovely White Lily--which I had run out of the day before--and since I had also creamed butter and sugar together, the resulting dough was drier and more compact.

The batch required hand rolling and flattening with my finger just like the original recipe had said to do. The cookies were smaller, thicker, chewier and less smooth than the previous two efforts but were very tasty too.

However, regardless of how popular these were with Mr C--who ate three in one sitting-- I liked my original smoother, larger and flatter ones better. I also prefer the drunked currants to stay whole and small, as opposed to plump and tender to the point of dissolving in the dough.

I'll try to bake some more next Saturday--using White Lily flour, skipping the creaming step and a larger egg-- to see if I can replicate last December's results. Stay tuned...