Bringing the Mountain to Mohammed

It is Labor Day, and I have had really not much of a summer. Admittedly, that was by choice. I started a new business this year–the Astoria Bookshop opened its doors on August 21st!–and it’s the kind of enterprise that doesn’t really allow for picnics in Central Park or weekends spent at the shore. Thankfully, I’ve been too happily busy with work and customers to dwell on my lack of a tan, or the fact that I didn’t swim in the ocean even once this year.

Even so, Connie and I decided that we needed a bit of an end-of-summer feast. So we are having catfish tacos with cabbage slaw, fresh tomatoes, and ricotta salata, with tinto verano and stuffed clams.

These are not just any clams, though. These are Clams Tomasso, my dad’s (superior) rendition of clams casino, one of the first dishes I learned to cook as a child. They are tightly bound up with my conception of summer. Until tonight, I had never made them anywhere except the kitchen at my family’s house at the Jersey shore. But I decided that if I can’t get myself there, then I can bring a little piece of the shore to the Upper East Side.

Start with a bunch of cherrystones. These are usually the largest variety available. Scrub them and stream them open, and hope you didn’t get any duds. Each whole clam makes about one stuffed clam, so think about how many people you’re feeding and that will let you know how many to buy.

When they are all open and cool enough to handle, cut out the meat and put it in the food processor. Pulse together with some roughly chopped onion and bell pepper, plus a little garlic, a couple handfuls of breadcrumbs, some olive oil, and any seasonings that seem appropriate (cayenne, old bay, or whatever you like). Our usual ratio is 18 clams to one pepper and one onion, but do it up the way you like it. Just don’t go too heavy on the breadcrumbs or it will taste like a cheap crabcake.

Once everything is to your liking, break the clam shells in half and spoon the mixture into them. You’ll probably only need half of them, depending on how much or little you bulked up the filing. Top each one with a small piece of bacon and bake on a cookie sheet at 350F for 25-30 minutes.

Finish under the broiler for another 5. Be sure to let them cool slightly before digging in.

These clams are ideally eaten in your neighbor’s front yard while drinking wine from a plastic glass with a fish on it and watching the sunset over the bay. But in a pinch, your couch will do.

Frittering Away

The CSA season for Stoneledge is over. Nevertheless one must eat dinner. Capitalism may stop for inclement weather, but I do not. Even as the storm was coming in, a similar one was being cooked up in my kitchen (sorry–some puns are too easy to pass up). While essentially housebound, I had homemade pizza with oven-candied tomatoes, and some molasses-buttermilk muffins from a Deborah Madison recipe, and a few other things, some of which might show up here eventually.

But I was really just waiting to get to the store so I could replenish my parsley & cilantro and make a couple of Ottolenghi recipes I’d been lusting after, the second of which is these leek fritters. The header note on the first recipe (tk) suggested them as an excellent accompaniment, and as always, Yotam knows what he’s talking about. Except that he says you can skip the sauce, which is idiotic, because it is very very easy and so amazingly good. Even if you don’t make the fritters, you should make this sauce. But you should also make the fritters.

All you need for the sauce is a blender (a stick blender would probably be fine). Into it go equal parts Greek yogurt & sour cream, a couple of cloves of garlic, lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and lots of parsley and cilantro. 

My only complaint about having the UK edition of Plenty is that so many quantities are done in weights instead of volume. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my kitchen scale but WEIGHING fresh herbs does not seem to be the most efficient way to go about things. Do you have any idea how long it takes to pile up 30 grams of cilantro leaves? Long enough that the scale’s energy-saver mode will kick in and it will turn itself off. But don’t be put off by that. You just need a big handful of parsley, and a bigger one of cilantro. Whiz it all up, and give a taste.

Then onto the fritters. Cut up some leeks into biggish chunks, and clean them (or do it the other way around, though I find that it’s easiest to get them clean after cutting, using a salad spinner). Finely chop some shallot or red onion, and saute in olive oil until everything is soft.  

While they are doing their thing, measure out even MORE parsley, and toss it in a bowl with a sliced hot chili pepper, coriander, cumin, turmeric, cinnamon, sugar, & salt. When the leeks & onions are cooked, mix them into the herb/spice mixture and let it cool down some.

Mix together some flour, baking powder, salt, milk, an egg, and a little melted butter. Whisk up an egg white, and when the leek mixture is cool enough, fold it in. Then stir in the flour mixture. And now you are ready to make your beautiful fritters.

4″-5″ across seemed to be about right, frying 2-3 minutes on each side, in olive oil over medium heat. They are surprisingly fluffy, given all the leeks, and they are indeed excellent with the bulghar pilaf pictured below. Just try not to drink the sauce straight from the blender before the fritters are ready.

And although they are certainly best eaten piping hot straight out of the pan, it turns out they heat up quite well in your office’s toaster oven the next day, wrapped in foil.

Spicy Hippie Cabbage

Remember last summer when I finally found a cabbage recipe to get excited about? (A non-cole slaw recipe, I mean.) Well, we made that the other week, and it was pretty awesome. And then I got another head of cabbage, and no longer had any spare oranges in my fridge, so I had to branch out. After rooting around in my stash of cookbooks, I settled on a recipe for Cabbage with Indian Spices from the hippiest book I own*, Farmer John’s Cookbook: The Real Dirt on Vegetables (aka, the one with the dude in an orange feather boa on the cover). I used the heirloom variety we got, Early Jersey Wakefield, but any kind will do. 

 

In addition to a pound of cabbage, you’ll need quite a lot of onions, a big tomato, fresh ginger, turmeric, cayenne, and coriander. Chop the onion and saute in vegetable oil over medium-high heat, with some minced ginger and a hot pepper if it suits your tastes. I used dried, because that’s what I had, but in any case you want it whole (or halved lengthwise if it’s fresh), not chopped up. Cook until the onion starts to brown, 15-20 minutes.

 

Then in goes the shredded cabbage, the spices, and a few tablespoons of water. Stir it up, and simmer, covered, about 10 minutes.

 

Then the tomato, chopped (and peeled, if you have more patience than I do), and a little salt. Cook another 5 or 10 minutes.

 

Serve over rice, after removing the hot pepper. Ideally basmati rice. My cabinets usually have a very diverse selection of rice, but this day, basmati wasn’t available, so I did long-grain white rice cooked with a bay leaf and called it a day. A most delicious day, at that.

 

*That is a lie. The hippiest book I own is Rise Up Singing: The Group Singing Songbook.

A Yankee Looks South

I am really, really not southern. I was raised in the suburbs of Philadelphia by parents who had grown up further north along the eastern seaboard. Okra was not a part of my vocabulary, let alone my diet. Nonetheless, when the optional okra was consistently all gone by the time I arrived at Lenox Hill to collect my share, I was a little miffed. The farmer’s note about the okra was that they used to grow it in large quantities, and it always ended up in the swap box, so they stopped. But now okra seemed to be experiencing a revival of sorts, because the smallish bag they sent (“take it if you like”) was disappearing immediately, thwarting some of our dinner plans. Eventually, the farmer got hip to the situation and changed the instructions to “take it if you like–no more than 3 pieces.” Which I did. 

J. is a genuine southerner (by blood, and now also by residence). Her advice, when I asked what to do with okra, was to make gumbo. So after 2 weeks of purposely choosing very large pieces, I had just enough to make a variation on Paula Deen’s gumbo, her recommended starting place. 

According to J., in order to count as gumbo, the dish must have sausage, shrimp, okra, and onions. The roux is important, too, but those ingredients are the bare minimum. So I raided my fridge & freezer, bought a few extra things at the Italian market, and did my best. Personally, I’m very happy with the results, though I’ve yet to share them with a known gumbo authority, so a real verdict is still to come.

First, I browned some sliced andouille sausage in vegetable oil. 

After removing the meat to a plate, I added some lard to the remaining oil, and some flour, and stirred over low heat until the roux was nicely browned. I was a little afraid that I was burning it, but it turned out ok.

The instructions are to let the roux cool before continuing, and while I don’t entirely understand why that’s necessary, I followed Ms. Deen’s advice. I let it sit while I chopped some vegetables, and then turned back on the heat and added the rest of the lard, an onion, a lot of minced garlic, a bell pepper, and a stash of chopped celery I had in the freezer. 

Then some Worcestershire sauce (I won’t tell you how long that bottle has been hiding in my kitchen), a big handful of chopped parsley, and some crushed red pepper, because a little spice sounded like a good idea. (C. is slowly influencing my cooking, even when she’s not in the kitchen.)

That was followed by four cups of vegetable stock (brought to a simmer in a separate pot), and the sausage. I brought the gumbo to a boil, then let it cook, covered, for about 45 minutes. I took that time to run out and get shrimp and white rice.

Then I added the chopped tomato and sliced okra. Next time I will probably slice the okra thinner, in addition to seeking out smaller pieces. This simmered for another hour, which was plenty of time to make the rice, and watch an episode of True Blood to get myself in a southern mood.

I decided that rather than cook the shrimp separately, I’d add it at this point, and cover for another minute or two–just long enough for it to cook through. Then it was just a matter of adding the chopped scallions (and theoretically some more parsley if I hadn’t used up my entire stash already).

Serve in soup bowls, with a big spoonful of white rice.

As I said, I declared this a success. It does make me wonder, though, why so much of southern cuisine involves dishes that must simmer or braise for hours and hours. I would think that a climate that allows for a very long growing season and sweltering summers would drive people to a raw foods diet, just to keep the kitchen as cool as possible. Not that I’m complaining about the existence of gumbo, mind you. 

Yankee Gumbo
adapted from Paula Deen

1/4 c vegetable oil
12 oz andouille sausage, sliced into 1/4″ rounds
1/2 c flour
5 tablespoons lard
1 large onion, chopped
8 cloves garlic, minced
1 bell pepper, seeded and chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
1/4 c Worcestershire sauce
1/4 bunch Italian parsley, chopped
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper (optional)
4 c vegetable stock, simmering
2 medium tomatoes, chopped (about 12 oz)
2 c okra, sliced 1/4″-1/2″ thick
1/2 pound small shrimp, cleaned
4 scallions, sliced

Heat the vegetable oil in a big heavy-bottomed pot (or Dutch oven) over medium heat. Add the sausage rounds and cook until they’re lightly browned. Remove to a plate and turn the heat to low.

Add 2 Tbsp of the lard, and the flour, and cook for 8-10 minutes, stirring constantly, until you have a deep brown roux.

Add the remaining lard, the onion, garlic, bell pepper, and celery. Cook 10 more minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the Worcestershire sauce, parsley, and red pepper. Cook 10 more minutes. Add the stock and the cooked sausage. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat & cover, simmering for 45 minutes.

Add the tomatoes and okra, and cook covered for 1 hour.

Add the shrimp, stir, and cook 1-2 minutes, until the shrimp are cooked through. Turn off the heat and stir in the scallions. Serve with long-grain white rice.

You Ought to Give It a Try-Oh

I honestly took my recipe for this from song lyrics from a folk-rock duo that plays kids music. My coworker, S., tragically developed allergies to stone fruit in her early 20s, and offered to trade me some of HER CSA bounty in exchange for some tomatillo salsa, a.k.a. pico de gallo. It turns out a pound of tomatillos doesn’t make quite the quantity of salsa I had expected, but there was still plenty to share.

So without further ado, Pico de Gallo, by Trout Fishing in America, available on the album Big Trouble:

“It’s got jalapenos, I reckon y’all have seen those.
They’re kinda hot for gringos and probably flamingos.

Just add some tomatillos,

onions and cilantro,

Lime juice and tomato [tomato omitted on account of blight],

you got pico de gallo!”

I’m seriously considering having nachos for dinner tonight.