These are the cans of Maesri Thai curry paste that I have written about before. They save you so much time and you'll sacrifice scarcely anything in terms of flavor or quality. They are free of artificial ingredients and preservatives, and their 15 varieties very faithfully replicate both traditional and more unusual curries, from green to red. (The masaman curry paste, for instance, contains garlic, sugar, soybean oil, dried red chiles, tamarind juice, shallots, salt, lemongrass, coriander, cumin, cardamom, cinnamon, bay leaves, galangal, cloves, kaffir lime and citric acid.) My friend Andrée recently appealed to me for some advice on the menu for a dinner party she was hostessing for 10 friends, and a delicious masaman curry was my first thought. With sticky rice and a sweet-tart cucumber salad, this dish makes a simple but slightly exotic meal that few can resist. For dessert, I suggested an easy and supremely refreshing combination of fresh pineapple with grated ginger, chopped mint and lime juice.
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That's right, 100 notches on my blogging bedpost. Although gluttonforlife launched on Christmas Eve, I had been accruing posts for quite a while before that while we worked on the design. If you look back in the archives, you may run across my recipe for Spicy Shorties, another of my concoctions singled out on Food52's editors' picks this week. It's always an honor to be included among the many talented chefs and interesting recipes in that diverse coking community. I hope you've been enjoying the blog thus far, and always welcome your comments and requests. As Sandra Bernhard so eloquently put it, without you, I'm nothing.But, in the grand scheme of things—and I'm in this for the long haul—100 posts is just a drop in the bucket. So there will be no recipe for a torchon of foie gras here today. I'm saving the lemon soufflé for a truly special occasion. I seem to be on a bit of a seafood roll (watch your mercury intake!), so I'll stay in that vein with this easy dish of shrimp, onions and saffron. I was first served this in the home of a friend in Spain, and I remember being impressed with its simplicity, its intensity of flavor and its beautiful yellow color. It's also reminiscent of my mother's shrimp scampi, a dish requested by my sister Sarita on her birthday every year. It goes well with crusty bread (a whole wheat baguette?), or try serving it with some brown basmati rice to soak up the juices. And a glass of icy Sancerre, of course.
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I've been in Minneapolis for work the past couple of days. Staying at a rather nice boutique hotel, The Chambers, that was recently acquired by Starwood. It's known as "the art hotel," because it's actually full of paintings and installations by "real" artists. The work in my room, however, is nothing to write home about. Had some lovely mussels here today. I once threw up out the door of a cab while driving up West Broadway, after having eaten a bad mussel at Caroline's comedy club in the seaport. This was sometime in the late 80s, but I still have a deep mistrust of these bivalves. They can be strangely murky and unpleasantly chewy. But ignoring the siren's call of the thin-crust pizza, I ordered a large bowl of the creatures. They arrived, plump and velvety soft, swimming in a creamy broth, scented with wine and garlic. WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT? Not a thing. With these and a crisp green salad, I was happy. The meal put me in mind of another business trip, this one to Seattle, where I dined on a delicious bowl of Manila clams in a green coconut curry. And that reminded me that I've been meaning to share with you this wonderful recipe from Casa Mono, a Mario Batali side project where they serve delicious Spanish-influenced small plates.
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You may remember I wrote a while back about the red miso short ribs I invented, using a more classic preparation as a template. I'm please to say they were singled out among the editors' picks this week on Food52, a very fun cooking site I recommend you visit. Don't be put off by the use of slightly more esoteric ingredients like the miso, or mirin (a sweet Japanese cooking wine) or daikon (a large white radish). These can all be found at your local health food market, maybe even Whole Foods, or definitely an Asian speciality market. This is great cold-weather cooking. As with the other short ribs recipe, it's best if you plan ahead so you can have a day to marinate, and another to chill the cooked ribs which makes removing the fat much easier. So without further ado, I present my recipe.
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G went hog wild in Dickson's this week. Came home with some grass-fed beef stew meat, these two humongous short ribs (the butcher said they would be better if he didn't cut them—why?), a couple of squabs, a red cockerel and a Boston butt. Most of it went into the freezer, to be doled out over many weeks, but the short ribs will be featured at dinner tomorrow night. We've got a couple of friends coming over. That's exciting stuff up here in the boonies. I'm trying a new preparation with red miso, mirin and daikon radish. I'll let you know how it turns out. Usually, I favor a more classic presentation, the one from Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques. I first had these at her Los Angeles restaurant on my 40th birthday.

If you've never made short ribs, I suggest you start here. They are really quite simple: just a matter of assembling the ingredients, browning the meat and throwing it in the oven for 3 hours. Plan ahead, as these are at their best when you marinate them overnight, cook them, and then let them chill overnight again so you can easily remove all that fat from the pan juices. Trust me, it's worth a little forethought. So if you want to serve them on Saturday, begin the recipe on Thursday. (It's all part of my master plan to get you to start thinking about your meals in advance, planning, scheming, daydreaming, balancing your diet and getting into a rhythm of eating well...)
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Friends often suggest I go into the catering business, but the thought makes my skin crawl. I find it hard to imagine feeding people I scarcely know (and possibly don't even like). Yet nothing gives me greater pleasure than cooking for those I love. Cooking is my gift, and sometimes it can make a nice present. My last night in LA, I was lucky enough to be able to celebrate the birthday of a good friend, someone who has known my family for nearly 40 years. She let me into her kitchen (a cook's paradise, amazingly organized and well stocked) and I did my thing. Knowing that Santa Monica Seafood was nearby, I decided to make a dish that would take advantage of all that fresh, gleaming seafood. The result was this warming but relatively light bouillabaisse, the classic French fisherman's stew. It contains a mix of ingredients typical of Provence: seafood, garlic, tomato, saffron and fennel. Although some will say it’s not truly bouillabaisse without the rascasse (scorpion fish), I say hooey. Use whatever firm, white-fleshed fish you like and throw in all manner of shellfish, including scallops, clams, mussels, lobster and shrimp (in the shell, preferably). It’s about what’s fresh, and what you like best, of course.
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There's nothing better than celebrating with friends, is there? My favorite part about visiting LA is seeing my old pals, just surrounding myself with a big group of them and basking in their familiar and fabulous auras. I also love to cook for my friends so that's what I did yesterday. Made enchiladas, a dish my mother often served at large dinner parties. Although I love them with red chile sauce, I decided to make the ones with green tomatillo sauce. You can see the recipe here. I bought out all the tomatillos from the Whole Foods on Fairfax.
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You may have seen Mark Bittman's piece about eating legumes in the Times last week. He provided some excellent and simple recipes, like spiced red lentil dal, and mung bean dal with apples and coconut. He talked about the typical Indian way of finishing these dishes by stirring in an extra flavor booster—cream, butter, fried onions or nuts. (Apparently this is called a "tarka.") It reminded me of a dish I was obsessed with during our visit to India, a thick and spicy stew of black lentils enriched with cream. I first had it in Jaipur, that magical city of bazaars and bangles and precious stones and yellow marigolds. We were staying at the Oberoi Rajvilas, one of the world's most outstanding hotels. Peacocks roamed the grounds outside our luxurious "tent," and one night we collapsed into our enormous, pillowy bed to watch "Ghandi" and eat room service. What arrived was this incredible daal makhani, fragrant with ginger and chile, rich with ghee.
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I'm winding down from my juice fast. Three days seems like enough this time. My emotions were very front and center today. This can happen when you fast. You become a little vulnerable. Seriously, I'm not being a drama queen. (I'm no Saint Teresa of Ávila, performing devotions of ecstasy, but allow me my little musings, won't you?) I've been working hard on some advertising projects for Target and I may need a few more carbohydrates for brain power. But I have definitely noticed how easy it is to get by on a lot less food. A LOT less. I'm going to try and remember that the next time I'm packing in three squares. OK, yes, I am talking about calorie restriction. (Gasp!) Apparently, it helps you live longer. Not entirely sure that's what I'm striving for; I'll settle for fitting into some of my skinnier jeans. I've just made a pot of very simple vegetable soup: onion, cabbage, celery, carrot, spinach and parsley. Big hunks of everything simmered together in water with a little salt, until it all gets soft. This is the perfect way to break a fast and it's actually quite delicious, clean-tasting and a little sweet. (Also good for when you're sick as it delivers a lot of vital green nutrition and doesn't tax your system.) It's best to come off a fast gently, although I've also been known to cram a fried chicken drumstick doused with Tabasco sauce in my mouth. This time, I'll hopefully segue to a hot pot for tomorrow evening, using my new donabe and a bunch of ingredients G picked up at Mitsuwa, the mecca for Japanese cooking (and eating) in Edgewater, New Jersey.

 

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As in, cold enough to freeze the balls off 'em. Love that British expression. Somehow a bit classier than the old witch's teat reference, still hanging on from the days of the Salem trials. My point being: it was damn cold today. We were out snow-shoeing in 13 degrees. I have a deep dread of slipping on the ice, but those metal teeth really do grip into even the slickest surfaces. Realized that the large and interesting tracks we had seen the other day and were sure were from a bear turned out to be our own. How embarrassing. Now I'm finally convinced that the bears are hibernating and so I can stop imagining Werner Herzog-worthy scenarios where one chases me into a snowdrift and mauls G who has run to my defense. Tromping on crusted snow, I could almost see the North Wind puffing out his cheeks and blowing an icy blast our way. It sent the delicate top layer of powder gusting through the air, like a frigid version of the apocalyptic ash that's always drifting down in Cormack McCarthy's brilliant The Road. (Read the book; skip the movie. Sorry, Viggo.)
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