48 hours remaining in Maine.
And it really looks like this outside -- the leaves are glittering in the sun, the little white houses are sitting under sweet, puffy clouds, the roads are empty, there is bird song everywhere... And here I am at the computer.
Life can be strange sometimes.
But here I am at the computer because I've been too busy cooking to blog.
The truth is I am not a very good cook. Or rather, I am a complete amateur. I don't know how to sharpen my knives properly, I've never made stock, I can't carve a chicken, and I'll take a guess at that unlabeled jar of herbs in the cupboard...thyme?
I've always loved food and I really enjoy cooking, but for most of my adult life I've had demanding jobs and lived alone. So weeknight cooking for me was: make a large quinoa salad with feta, green onions, and chickpeas (or some other vegetarian protein) that's nutritious and can be eaten for a few days. Or vegetarian tacos with a side of steamed collard greens. Healthy hippy food that tastes pretty good (in my estimation), but is far from gourmet.
Things are a bit different now.
When I first met E in SF he was eating out at least twice a day. The stove in his kitchen had apparently never been used and the only thing in his fridge was Vitamin Water and Amstel Light. And for him "eating out" didn't mean Lahore Karahi or Club Waziema (like it did for me), it meant places like SPQR or Town Hall on a weekday and places like Kokkari or Piperade on the weekend.
There has been much intense negotiation over food, as you can imagine! I come down heavily (and inflexibly) on the homemade and healthy side while he insists on restaurant-sophistication and variety at every meal. In the past two years we've both inched closer toward one another on that spectrum...
This summer I got right down to the nitty gritty of where our palates meet.
We spent two months in a remote spot in Maine as an experiment to see if we could actually live in a non-urban environment. Could I handle cooking three (E-worthy) meals every day? Could E weather my occasional lapses into hippy food with good humor? When we first got here, I was in a panic. Imagine every morning getting up and pulling a fresh-chive-and-goat-cheese-omelet-with-seeded-toast-fresh-local-butter-and-a-side-of-golden-plums-with-Maine-blueberries out of your pocket! Ok, now what's for lunch? How about dinner?
Then my mom sent me Patricia Wells' cookbook Trattoria for my birthday (thank God!).
Everything in this book was something I could cook and E could eat:
Tonnarelli with Arugula, Tomatoes, and Shaved Parmesan (p.128)
Chicken with a Confit of Red Bell Peppers and Onions (p. 221 -- I blogged about this earlier)
Pungent Parsley Sauce (p. 260)
Ragu (made with sausage meat and hot pepper -- yum, p. 268)
Tomato and Bread Salad (p. 45)
Roasted Rosemary Potatoes (p. 54)
Seared and Roasted Tomatoes (with fresh thyme, p. 13)
Rigatoni with Meat and Celery Sauce (p. 112)
Tagliatelle with Porcini Mushroom Sauce (p. 148)
Swiss Chard and Parmesan Torte (p. 32)
The Swiss chard torte was a revelation for me. Simple, earthy, intensely-flavored, satisfying... It was food that bypassed my rational brain and spoke directly to my unconscious. Yeah, yeah, I know that sounds weird, but you know those crazy concoctions you get in restaurants that are designed to "wow" you with how creative and surprising and precariously assembled they are? That's food designed for your brain. This torte is cooked, not designed. And it speaks to you on a bodily level. To start with, the crust is simply...
1 cup flour
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup olive oil
Combine the flour and salt. Stir in the water, then the oil. Knead briefly and press into a tart tin.
It's not a fancy pastry crust. It has that heaviness or slight wetness that comes with olive oil or lard. It's slightly gritty, but a little flaky. Addictive.
The filling is uncomplicated too:
1 lb of Swiss chard or fresh spinach leaves
3 large eggs
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan
Salt and pepper to taste
You take the fresh leaves, chop them in a food processor, then wilt them in a large, shallow frying pan to get the liquid mostly evaporated. Combine the eggs and cheese, stir in the greens, adjust the seasoning (go ahead and taste the raw egg mixture and it's fine, nobody dies, just use good eggs), spoon the mixture into the tin, and bake at 375 for 45 mins or until the torte is lightly browned and firm to the touch.
Simple, simple, simple.
I made mine with flecks of raisin (one of her suggested variations) and spinach since that's what we had on hand. Also, I over-baked it, but even so -- it was so good. Even thought it's a typical Italian thing, it made me think of that amazing Tom Jones eating scene in the country inn ;-)
So after that, I decided to just go for it and ordered two of Wells's other books: Bistro Cooking and Vegetable Harvest.
I've just scratched the surface of these books, but already they've been hugely helpful.
From Bistro Cooking I tried the amazing Herb-Crusted Roast Chicken Pile ou Face (p. 171) where you paint the uncooked bird with egg yolk and press fresh herbs all over it. Somehow this seals the bird, locking in all of the fats and creating an amazingly chicken-y tasting result. Also, the Warm Potato Salad with Herbed Vinaigrette (p. 106) just captures that taste of French potato salad that's anchored in my gastronomic memory banks, whereas the versions I've found from the Food Network online or Epicurious just never tasted *right*.
From Vegetable Harvest I tried the elegant Potato Gratin from the Savoy (p. 222), in its entirety: Yukon gold potatoes, chicken stock, Gruyere, and fresh nutmeg. Awesome! Also, the very nice Artichoke and White Bean Dip (p. 19), again, simple and delicious when it was very fresh.
Beyond Wells's recipes, which are amazing for their simplicity, reliability, and awesome results, her Bistro Cooking intro articulates a philosophy of eating that both E and I love:
"In bistros, people don't whisper, they shout, and diners are on a first-name basis with the harried waitress wrapped in a frilly white apron."
"And in bistros, you will often find yourself chatting across tables with perfect strangers, sharing their platter of French fries while you wait for yours to come sizzling from the kitchen at the end of the room."
"Bistro food is not just a style of cooking but also a manner of presentation. Order terrine de campagne -- usually a rustic thick pate of ground pork and pork liver spiced with cognac and herbs -- and you are not served a thin slice on a plate. Rather the waitress offers the entire terrine, and you're meant to eat your fill. Order a roast chicken and a whole golden bird arrives tableside, to be carved in front of you."
"Bistro cuisine is French home cooking at its best, a style of cooking that demands a minimal of technical skills and does not require a professional collection of pots and pans. Ingredients aren't exotic; they come straight from the local market."
"What I love most about cooking and eating bistro food at home is its sense of generosity, of wholeness, of copiousness."
"Bistro fare is not afraid to be lusty and earthy, filling the air with wafts of pungent garlic or sweet bacon sizzling in a huge steel skillet, or the sweet caramel scent of a tarte Tatin about to be released from the oven."
I will say also, that something I've started to absorb from Wells's recipes as a whole is...to back off from over-complicating any single dish. This crystalized for me the other night as I was trying to invent a menu out of the ingredients I had on hand, and I considered recipes with chicken, sage, feta, rice, onions, carrots, etc. And then I realized each dish on the plate could do just one thing. So I shot for an herbal chicken (grilled with fresh Sage pesto), a mellow-sweet carrot rice casserole (with fresh nutmeg and a little honey), and a crunchy salad with a tangy-feta dressing. Instead of trying to jam herbal, sweet-mellow, and tangy into one dish, I spread them out across the meal and gave each experience some breathing room.
Also, this meal: so-called "Asian" roasted pork loin (salty-sweet-meaty-chewy), baby onions and thyme baked in parchment (diffused sweet-herbal-delicate), oven fries (earthy, finger-sized, peppery), and crunchy salad (acidic, hard-crunchy).
The execution wasn't perfect, but it was a good dinner, and there was a real inkling in there for me about how to be a better cook.
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