While strolling through the Whole Foods after work last night (I have a horrible habit of spending an hour there every time I try to go shopping. They have a wine section, but more on that later.), I discovered whole wheat frozen pie crusts. While the idea of whole wheat in my blueberry pie is a bit odd to me, I thought it would make a great savory pie. With all of the lovely produce in the Chesapeake and neighboring regions right now, I came up with a super-simple, really easy dinner.
Ingredients:
1 whole wheat pie crust, frozen
3 regular sized or 5 plum tomatoes (I used New England vine ripened)
1 Vidalia onion
Chevre or other soft goat cheese (I used a fresh Chevre from MD's Cherry Glen Goat Cheese Co.)
Olive oil (the quality type)
Salt and pepper
A glass of wine (This is just for drinking. It has nothing to do with the actual pie.)
Preheat the oven to 350. Using a fork, poke holes in the bottom of the crust. Pour a very little bit of olive oil into the bottom of a skillet (just shy of coating) and place over a medium flame. Chop the Vidalias and add the the pan. Cook until they start to become transparent, about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. While they saute, thinly slice the tomatoes into rounds. When the onions are done, add them to the pie crust. Spoon the goat cheese over the onions, then place the tomatoes on top of the goat cheese in a pinwheel pattern. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and place the pie on the middle rack. After 30 minutes has passed, turn the oven up to 400. Wait 10 minute or until the edges of the tomatoes are just beginning to brown. Remove, drizzle with a very little bit of olive oil, let it cool slightly, and eat. You can shave some Parmesan on the top too, if you like.
This is a great light dinner, especially with a farm fresh, lightly dressed arugula salad. It tastes pretty dang good heated up for lunch the next day as well.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Word to the Wise
If you aren't a fan of Chardonnay (and granted, very many suck-- I won't touch a reasonably priced Australian Chardonnay with a ten foot pole), I urge you to give French Burgundies a chance. They tend to be citrusy rather than sweet. Grapefruit is very often a key note. For beginners I would recommend a Macon-Villages, maybe in the $12-15 price range.
Bacchus in a Box: An Ode
I flatter myself to think my knowledge and taste in matters oenophilic are rather more than sufficient for a lady my age. I’ve sampled vintages from nearly every continent and clime, I can pair wine and cheese like it’s my job (mostly since it was once my job), and can choose a suitable bottle for even the most finicky of palates. Based on volume of consumption alone, I’m sure I’ve qualified through some back-door loophole for the Court of Master Sommeliers or at least a thank you card from several of the world’s vintners. I tend to take a liberal reading of Julia Child’s recommendation of a glass a day. After all, she lived to the grand old age of 91; why not hedge my bets by upping the intake a bit?
My history with this storied beverage does not begin with long sojourns in my parents’ wine cellar, however. I’m a mutt of largely French and Irish pedigree, so the sacramental liquid was surely no secret growing up—my grandparents still will stop you mid-sentence if the clock chimes four to indicate that it’s “happy hour” and to take your drink order—but its form as I understood it was rather different from how I enjoy wine most frequently today. Simply, I believed that wine came in a box. Further, I believed it was always pink. What is more, I thought it was served in a disposable plastic cup. With an ice cube.
I never watched as my parents cut the foil from the mouth of the bottle or listened for the squeak of the corkscrew as it plunged into the cork or the satisfying pop when that cork was removed from the bottle. I did, however, watch as my mother carried the white box from the liquor store via its convenient built-in handles, as she used the back of a butter knife to punch in the perforated window at the bottom of the box, as she pulled the black spigot through that hole, hoisted the box onto the bakers rack in the kitchen, and fill her plastic cup, the ice crackling as the wine was poured over it. Toward the end of the week when the wine was nearly depleted and no tipping of the box would liberate the dregs left inside, mom or dad would extract the shiny silver bag from the cardboard and squeeze it to eke out the last few drops.
The first time I ever felt the effects of alcohol was from a box of wine. My father had recently redone our basement and included a bar in the renovation. This was really just a countertop held up by a pole, but at seven or eight years old it was about the height of my chin. A box of white zinfandel had been left at the edge and fascinated by the tap, my brother and I stood under the counter with our mouths open and poured the wine straight down our throats. This was clearly the beginnings of my becoming the classy bird that I remain today.
Anyone who spent their best years in New York City will have at least one story about the Chablis at Silk Road Palace, more frequently known by the handle “China Wine.” This renowned venue serves very forgettable-to-bad Chinese food for the price of good Chinese food, but offers unlimited boxed wine. Due to this fact, there is frequently a significant wait on a weekend night--but no worries! Silk Road Palace provides you with box wine while you wait. Resultantly, many an undergrad never makes it to the actual meal before having to repent to the porcelain gods. A friend from my alma mater told me a story just this week about a buddy of his who enjoyed his Chablis so much that he lost his shoe on his way home, convinced the NYPD that they must drive him over the Brooklyn Bridge, and then had to cross back over to Manhattan diddle-diddle-dumpling style whist sobering up and beginning to regret his Dionysian experience.
I’ve thus far given boxed wine short shrift. No, it’s not considered the most au fait beverage. Even my mother—she of the plastic cup and ice cube—once said to me, “Perhaps I should stop drinking wine from a box. The radio announcer just made a comment that after Celebrity Deathmatch, Tonya Harding and Paula Jones would probably go split a box of wine. I think it might be considered trashy.” Well, to you Mom, Tonya, and Paula I say: drink away! There are several wonderful aspects of box wine:
First and foremost: Volume. As a mother of three, my mom was certainly not going to be running to the packy each evening to find the perfect pairing for shake and bake chicken. With box wine, she always had what she liked on the ready and could minimize visits. This works equally well for parties.
Second: Storage. The boxes are quite the perfect size to fit in fridges of both mini and full size. They can be stacked. They don’t roll around in the back of your car and they don’t require all sorts of protective waste in shipping, so you’re making an environmentally sound decision as well.
Third, Freshness. As there’s no cork, you don’t risk corkage. Also, I’ve heard that people sometimes find themselves in situations where there is some wine left in a bottle they’ve not finished. If this isn’t drunk reasonably soon, it will spoil. In box wine, the internal bag contracts as the wine is finished, thus keeping the air out and the liquid fresh. Ditto to the tap.
Fourth, Quality. Yes, quality. Gone are the days where Rossi and Franzia are all that come in square. Increasingly vintners are choosing to package wine in boxes, often cutting the size down a bit from the more classical varieties of boxed wines to a smaller “premium” 3 litre. Whole Foods, for example, offers a box in their line and Three Thieves makes small juice boxes of vino which are not only drinkable, but excellent for summer concerts, outside plays, and your lunchbox at work.
Hopefully we’ll be adding some reviews of the best boxes of Europe and the Americas to help you expand the horizons of what you imbibe and begin to think inside the box. Check back soon!
My history with this storied beverage does not begin with long sojourns in my parents’ wine cellar, however. I’m a mutt of largely French and Irish pedigree, so the sacramental liquid was surely no secret growing up—my grandparents still will stop you mid-sentence if the clock chimes four to indicate that it’s “happy hour” and to take your drink order—but its form as I understood it was rather different from how I enjoy wine most frequently today. Simply, I believed that wine came in a box. Further, I believed it was always pink. What is more, I thought it was served in a disposable plastic cup. With an ice cube.
I never watched as my parents cut the foil from the mouth of the bottle or listened for the squeak of the corkscrew as it plunged into the cork or the satisfying pop when that cork was removed from the bottle. I did, however, watch as my mother carried the white box from the liquor store via its convenient built-in handles, as she used the back of a butter knife to punch in the perforated window at the bottom of the box, as she pulled the black spigot through that hole, hoisted the box onto the bakers rack in the kitchen, and fill her plastic cup, the ice crackling as the wine was poured over it. Toward the end of the week when the wine was nearly depleted and no tipping of the box would liberate the dregs left inside, mom or dad would extract the shiny silver bag from the cardboard and squeeze it to eke out the last few drops.
The first time I ever felt the effects of alcohol was from a box of wine. My father had recently redone our basement and included a bar in the renovation. This was really just a countertop held up by a pole, but at seven or eight years old it was about the height of my chin. A box of white zinfandel had been left at the edge and fascinated by the tap, my brother and I stood under the counter with our mouths open and poured the wine straight down our throats. This was clearly the beginnings of my becoming the classy bird that I remain today.
Anyone who spent their best years in New York City will have at least one story about the Chablis at Silk Road Palace, more frequently known by the handle “China Wine.” This renowned venue serves very forgettable-to-bad Chinese food for the price of good Chinese food, but offers unlimited boxed wine. Due to this fact, there is frequently a significant wait on a weekend night--but no worries! Silk Road Palace provides you with box wine while you wait. Resultantly, many an undergrad never makes it to the actual meal before having to repent to the porcelain gods. A friend from my alma mater told me a story just this week about a buddy of his who enjoyed his Chablis so much that he lost his shoe on his way home, convinced the NYPD that they must drive him over the Brooklyn Bridge, and then had to cross back over to Manhattan diddle-diddle-dumpling style whist sobering up and beginning to regret his Dionysian experience.
I’ve thus far given boxed wine short shrift. No, it’s not considered the most au fait beverage. Even my mother—she of the plastic cup and ice cube—once said to me, “Perhaps I should stop drinking wine from a box. The radio announcer just made a comment that after Celebrity Deathmatch, Tonya Harding and Paula Jones would probably go split a box of wine. I think it might be considered trashy.” Well, to you Mom, Tonya, and Paula I say: drink away! There are several wonderful aspects of box wine:
First and foremost: Volume. As a mother of three, my mom was certainly not going to be running to the packy each evening to find the perfect pairing for shake and bake chicken. With box wine, she always had what she liked on the ready and could minimize visits. This works equally well for parties.
Second: Storage. The boxes are quite the perfect size to fit in fridges of both mini and full size. They can be stacked. They don’t roll around in the back of your car and they don’t require all sorts of protective waste in shipping, so you’re making an environmentally sound decision as well.
Third, Freshness. As there’s no cork, you don’t risk corkage. Also, I’ve heard that people sometimes find themselves in situations where there is some wine left in a bottle they’ve not finished. If this isn’t drunk reasonably soon, it will spoil. In box wine, the internal bag contracts as the wine is finished, thus keeping the air out and the liquid fresh. Ditto to the tap.
Fourth, Quality. Yes, quality. Gone are the days where Rossi and Franzia are all that come in square. Increasingly vintners are choosing to package wine in boxes, often cutting the size down a bit from the more classical varieties of boxed wines to a smaller “premium” 3 litre. Whole Foods, for example, offers a box in their line and Three Thieves makes small juice boxes of vino which are not only drinkable, but excellent for summer concerts, outside plays, and your lunchbox at work.
Hopefully we’ll be adding some reviews of the best boxes of Europe and the Americas to help you expand the horizons of what you imbibe and begin to think inside the box. Check back soon!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
RECIPE: Easy, Calorie Friendly Couscous
It's only natural that our daily food choices are influenced by what's most available to us. In New York, for instance, my diet consists mostly of Asian food: sushi daily, and steamed or lightly stir-fried Chinese when I'm trying not to induce Type 2 Diabetes (liver failure, however, is a guarantee-- I'm past worrying at this point). I've always liked couscous but it wasn't until this most recent stay in France that I made that tasty grain a staple. I plan on continuing this habit back in NYC. It's a perfect food, really: extremely satisfying and filling but with only traces of fat and generally low in calories (depending on portion size, of course).
For the record, I would like to say that I don't tend to measure things out when I cook, thus these "recipes" can more appropriately called guidelines, unless I steal them from elsewhere and take credit.
For the couscous broth, which turns out to be something like a homemade vegetable soup, chop up carrots, potatoes and zucchini. For a large pot, three carrots, two zucchini and five medium size potatoes should be sufficient. You can vary up the quantities, but be sure no one ingredient is more predominant than another (unless you like it that way, in which case I won't judge). Put the vegetables in a large soup pot, add water and a bit of salt and bring to a boil. Let the vegetables boil for about ten minutes, then reduce the heat.
In France you can buy tablets for "couscous" stock, but elsewhere it should be sufficient to use vegetable broth tablets and coriander, ginger, garlic and cumin to taste. Just a half teaspoon of each should be fine (I made that up because I haven't tried it yet but it sounds reasonable). For 2-3 liters of boiling water, add two couscous or vegetable broth tablets and two beef broth tablets. Make sure the tablets are blended well and don't stick to the bottom of the hot pot. Let the vegetables and stock sit for about twenty minutes.
Next add one can of chopped tomatoes (unflavored, unseasoned) and a small can of tomato paste to thicken the stock. At this point you might want to lower the heat a bit more. After adding these basic ingredients, let the stock continue to simmer for an hour, maybe more or less depending on how soft you like your vegetables. About 5-10 minutes before serving, add a can of chickpeas, drained.
That should have required very little effort, and there's not much more to do. Cook some unflavored couscous according to the directions on the box. 1 cup dry is usually more than enough for 1 person. The grain itself makes up the majority of the calories, but one cup cooked is only 176 calories and 0.3 grams of fat. Crazy French diet programs that require you to drink rosemary detox water claim that couscous is a green light food, while pasta is a red light no-no.
If you haven't figured it out already, you pour the vegetable stock onto the couscous grain and let it soak in. If you need to indulge your carnivorous side, couscous is best accompanied by chicken, lamb kebabs or, my all time favorite, merguez, a lamb and beef sausage. Make sure that you have some harissa to add some spice. Harissa is a North African hot sauce, and it is damn spicy so be cautious.
For the record, I would like to say that I don't tend to measure things out when I cook, thus these "recipes" can more appropriately called guidelines, unless I steal them from elsewhere and take credit.
For the couscous broth, which turns out to be something like a homemade vegetable soup, chop up carrots, potatoes and zucchini. For a large pot, three carrots, two zucchini and five medium size potatoes should be sufficient. You can vary up the quantities, but be sure no one ingredient is more predominant than another (unless you like it that way, in which case I won't judge). Put the vegetables in a large soup pot, add water and a bit of salt and bring to a boil. Let the vegetables boil for about ten minutes, then reduce the heat.
In France you can buy tablets for "couscous" stock, but elsewhere it should be sufficient to use vegetable broth tablets and coriander, ginger, garlic and cumin to taste. Just a half teaspoon of each should be fine (I made that up because I haven't tried it yet but it sounds reasonable). For 2-3 liters of boiling water, add two couscous or vegetable broth tablets and two beef broth tablets. Make sure the tablets are blended well and don't stick to the bottom of the hot pot. Let the vegetables and stock sit for about twenty minutes.
Next add one can of chopped tomatoes (unflavored, unseasoned) and a small can of tomato paste to thicken the stock. At this point you might want to lower the heat a bit more. After adding these basic ingredients, let the stock continue to simmer for an hour, maybe more or less depending on how soft you like your vegetables. About 5-10 minutes before serving, add a can of chickpeas, drained.
That should have required very little effort, and there's not much more to do. Cook some unflavored couscous according to the directions on the box. 1 cup dry is usually more than enough for 1 person. The grain itself makes up the majority of the calories, but one cup cooked is only 176 calories and 0.3 grams of fat. Crazy French diet programs that require you to drink rosemary detox water claim that couscous is a green light food, while pasta is a red light no-no.
If you haven't figured it out already, you pour the vegetable stock onto the couscous grain and let it soak in. If you need to indulge your carnivorous side, couscous is best accompanied by chicken, lamb kebabs or, my all time favorite, merguez, a lamb and beef sausage. Make sure that you have some harissa to add some spice. Harissa is a North African hot sauce, and it is damn spicy so be cautious.
REVIEW: La Grille Montorgueil [PARIS]
La Grille Montorgueil
50, rue Montorgueil
75002 Paris FRANCE
+33 01 42 33 21 21
Old school bang for the (euro)buck
Highly recommended
Cuisine: Traditional French bistrot fare
Best Bets: Magret de Canard, Steak Tartare, Tarte Tatin, Crème Brulée
Price Range: Entrées 13-20 euro; Appetizers and desserts 5-10 euro; Extremely reasonable wine selection starts at 13 euro
Although an influx of chain establishments has slowly eroded the traditional charm of the oldest market street in Paris, la Grille Montorgueil remains among a handful of cafés and restaurants that stand the test of time, offering consistently good food at reasonable prices to a mostly local clientele. Service is quick, unpretentious and usually attentive. On the weekends the bistrot offers continuous service throughout the day, a rarity in Paris and perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon. Try to get there a bit early or make reservations during the warmer months to snatch a coveted outside table.
While the appetizers tend to be strong, no one stands out. As far as main courses go, the magret de canard (duck filet) is truly unforgettable, prepared in a apricot-pistachio sauce and served with a terrine of potatoes au gratin (gratin dauphinois). It is best ordered à point (medium-rare/medium). Runner-up is the steak tartare, freshly minced beef mixed with the perfect blend of mustard, cream, relish and worcestershire, served with frites and salad. Lamb, veal and steak are all good choices. The restaurant offers various fish options. A whole dorado, commonly a plat du jour, is a nice change of pace.
Desserts are all made in-house and prove to be spectacular. One finds most of the classics (and from time to time profiteroles show up on the specials' board), but nothing beats the tarte tatin, the classic soft-cooked apple tart with vanilla ice cream.
The house wine is perfectly quaffable, but the restaurants also offers a nice Pinot Noir from Alsace for about 19 euro, which complements most of the menu's options.
50, rue Montorgueil
75002 Paris FRANCE
+33 01 42 33 21 21
Old school bang for the (euro)buck
Highly recommended
Cuisine: Traditional French bistrot fare
Best Bets: Magret de Canard, Steak Tartare, Tarte Tatin, Crème Brulée
Price Range: Entrées 13-20 euro; Appetizers and desserts 5-10 euro; Extremely reasonable wine selection starts at 13 euro
Although an influx of chain establishments has slowly eroded the traditional charm of the oldest market street in Paris, la Grille Montorgueil remains among a handful of cafés and restaurants that stand the test of time, offering consistently good food at reasonable prices to a mostly local clientele. Service is quick, unpretentious and usually attentive. On the weekends the bistrot offers continuous service throughout the day, a rarity in Paris and perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon. Try to get there a bit early or make reservations during the warmer months to snatch a coveted outside table.
While the appetizers tend to be strong, no one stands out. As far as main courses go, the magret de canard (duck filet) is truly unforgettable, prepared in a apricot-pistachio sauce and served with a terrine of potatoes au gratin (gratin dauphinois). It is best ordered à point (medium-rare/medium). Runner-up is the steak tartare, freshly minced beef mixed with the perfect blend of mustard, cream, relish and worcestershire, served with frites and salad. Lamb, veal and steak are all good choices. The restaurant offers various fish options. A whole dorado, commonly a plat du jour, is a nice change of pace.
Desserts are all made in-house and prove to be spectacular. One finds most of the classics (and from time to time profiteroles show up on the specials' board), but nothing beats the tarte tatin, the classic soft-cooked apple tart with vanilla ice cream.
The house wine is perfectly quaffable, but the restaurants also offers a nice Pinot Noir from Alsace for about 19 euro, which complements most of the menu's options.
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