April 2012

A few years back, New York magazine announced that eating goat was starting to become a trend. A reader wrote into its website, saying, Here are white people again!!!! Acting like they invented goat meat. That's pretty funny, and also painfully true. Goat is actually the meat most consumed around the world. We're behind, people.Goat is not only delicious, it's sustainable, higher in protein than beef and lower in fat than chicken. This leanness makes it particularly good when braised or steamed so it doesn’t dry out. Fresh goat is still hard to find in New York City markets, so I imagine it's not readily available from your average grocer. Try farmers markets or Halal butchers, or look for it on the menus of hip, locavore-friendly restaurants.

 

At Scarpetta, Scott Conant is known for his roasted capretto—that's Italian for baby goat aka kid. At Girl and the Goat in Chicago, chef Stephanie Izard—who got into goat (and named her restaurant for it) when she discovered that izard is a breed of Pyrenees goat—uses it in a homemade sausage on pizza and in a ragú with gooseberries and rosemary that she tosses with homemade pappardelle. Now she buys her goat from a local farm (as do I) and goes through seven whole goats each week (I do not).

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"She's really let herself go." When I hear someone say that about a woman—usually in a pitying or disdainful tone—it gets my hackles up. First of all, how often have you heard this said about a man? And secondly, shouldn't letting yourself go be a good thing? Doesn't it sound wonderfully liberating? Turns out it means she's no longer living up to the stringent standards of female beauty. She doesn't tweeze her eyebrows, wear lipstick, starve her body into submission or dye her hair. She's "showing her age." To be perfectly honest, I'm usually quite careful about the pictures I post of myself, but today I deliberately chose one in which I'm not wearing a speck of makeup and in which, frankly, I look like what I am: a happy 49-year old who doesn't smoke or sunbathe, and who gets Botox a couple of times a year. Yep, full disclosure.
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A quick post today, just to share with you some new purchases that have brought a bit of freshness into my home. I love these kantha quilts! Each one is a unique combination of colors and patterns, and they can be used as bedspreads, to cover a couch, wall-hangings, even tablecloths. Kantha is a type of embroidery popular in Bangladesh and West Bengal, India, that originated from the way housewives mended old clothes by taking out a strand of thread from the colorful border of their saris and making simple designs with them. Old sari fabric is used to create these hand-stitched quilts, commonly known as nakshi kantha. The decorative running stitch is similar to Japanese sashiko quilting.
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Remember "Singles," Cameron Crowe's 1992 film about young love and indie music in Seattle? No? I'm not surprised. It really wasn't that good. But I'll never forget how Bridget Fonda's character, who was hopelessly in love with Matt Dillon's indifferent rocker, waited in vain for him to say "Bless you" every time she sneezed. In my family we always said "Salud" whenever someone sneezed. To not say it was unthinkable. Like a jinx. What with spring allergies kicking in and everyone getting those changing-season colds, there's lots of sneezing going on nowadays. If you've got a scratchy throat, runny nose or just a general malaise, try this therapeutic treat. It's a sorbet—from Jeni's, of course—packed with vitamin C, soothing honey and a fiery combination of ginger, bourbon and cayenne. It feels restorative and it will definitely clear a few things right up.
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I still haven't found any ramps, but it has begun to rain at long last and this is a promising sign for foragers. The forecast includes some nights in the 20s this week, though, and with everything in full bud, I fear for some of the less hardy plants. It was a strange winter and is shaping up to be a very strange spring indeed. Still, for some people it's ramp business as usual, as you can see by the bunches I brought home from the local farmers market. Here are some ideas for how to use them if you, too, have access. Green garlic or slim scallions would also work with these recipes.
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Is it really Friday again? I've been up to my ears in work and trying to get on top of things before we leave for our trip to Venice. We're going for the black-tie 50th birthday celebration of a dear friend, and have rented a charming little garden apartment in Dorsoduro for the first week of May. To say I'm looking forward to the time away would be the understatement of the century. But I'm also praying for rain at home (it's been bone-dry here) and hotly anticipating a summer of gardening and foraging (more on the latter next week), both of which are off to a pretty good start. I want to share with you a few of the early beauties that announce spring, as well as a bunch of links I've been saving up for things to eat, do, ponder and buy.
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We've scarcely had any rain up here in the hinterlands. I've even considered doing some sort of little dance in an effort to placate the gods. A winter without snow means no melts to form the vernal pools where frogs and salamanders spawn, and it can also lead to precious few mushrooms. (And this was to be my year of tracking down morels!) But driving home late the other night, we came across a yearly event that would seem to indicate that things are mostly proceeding according to plan: smashed frogs on the road. Yes, every year they make the trek from the ponds behind our house to the ones across the way. I know not why as it seems like a dangerous endeavor. A good number give up their precious lives along the journey to greener pastures. Out in the woods, we found other signs of spring, too.
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The Pavlova is a truly historic dessert. I first posted about it way back in the Early Bloggian period, here; and it made another appearance at an Eastover celebration a couple of years ago, here. It's truly one of my very favorite desserts, so texturally complex, light yet satisfying. And I also adore its provenance: created in honor of the Russian ballet dancer, Anna Pavlova, during one of her tours to Australia and New Zealand in the 1920s. The nationality of its creator has been the cause of controversy between the two countries for many years, though formal research seems to indicate that New Zealand is the original source.

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The main course for our Eastover celebration was this bacon-wrapped halibut and I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out. I had originally wanted to serve local trout but there was none to be had. Those few days of exceedingly warm temperatures had me (and many of my plants) fooled into thinking spring had actually arrived, but the sad reality is that it's been dropping to the 20s at night. G is outside right now building two new raised beds and we're itching to start planting...but I digress. I arrived at the fish market last week, firmly intending to buy 17 whole branzini (sea bass), but changed my mind when I realized how much work that would be for some of my guests. Instead, I came away with two enormous, thick and gorgeous wild-caught Pacific halibut filets. (Need to know which fish are sustainable and thus a better choice? Go here.) My plan was to wrap them in bacon and roast them in the oven.
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Let me just say, that picture does not do them justice. Quenelle is a generic term for a mixture of creamed fish, chicken or meat, sometimes combined with breadcrumbs and lightly bound with egg. Essentially glorified dumplings, they are usually poached and were often used as a garnish in traditional French haute cuisine. Quenelle has also come to refer to the gently rounded shape, made by passing the mixture from one spoon to the next, until it resembles a tiny football. I'm not sure where I tasted my first quenelle de brochet, the pike mousseline version that is a classic of Lyonnaise cooking, but it remains one of my favorite treats. Rarely seen on menus at this point (and when they are, you'd better be at a reliably good French restaurant), you'd have to go to France to sample one—or man up and make them yourself. I envisioned them as the perfect replacement for the much-maligned and rejected gefilte fish—essentially a cold, butter-&-creamless version of the quenelle.
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