Ottolenghi Roasted Vegetables & Tahini Cookies

Had friends over for dinner last night and sous-vided (that's a verb by now, right) a pork tenderloin for the second time.  That may become my go-to main course for company.  So simple, cooks perfectly, and it gives me an excuse to show off the immersion circulator.

Anyway, to balance the easy main, I broke out Plenty and made Ottolenghi's roasted vegetables with vinaigrette.

I had an mild disagreement with a friend recently who complained that his recipes are too involved and she finds herself cutting corners when she makes them, with results that are just about as good. To which I say, is that a criticism or a compliment?  In my mind, if a recipe inspires you to combine flavors you might not have otherwise, or try a new technique, then it's done its job. 

I expect that any of us who are good cooks automatically adapt or alter just about any recipe we make.  Add more of a favorite vegetable, substitute away from an herb we're not partial to or don't have on hand. Reduce the salt or butter or whatever. Or change it if something doesn't quite make sense--for example this dish called for 4 red onions, which can't possibly be right--are American red onions way bigger than British ones? Ottolenghi encourages adaptation and alteration -- he usually suggests ways to change or simplify himself in the recipe intros.

Anyway, red onion overload notwithstanding, this is a terrific recipe. I roast vegetables just fine, thank you (in addition to red onion, this combined sweet potato, parsnip, cherry tomato, and a whole head of garlic along with sprigs of rosemary and thyme). But I've never bothered making a dressing for them before. Ottolenghi tosses these with olive oil, lemon juice, capers, maple syrup and Dijon mustard. Which I almost certainly would not have thought to combine on my own, but wow.  So much flavor, and yet without overwhelming the inherent flavors in the vegetables.  I can't wait to try this again, and I'm actively looking forward to tweaking it.  And as with so many of his dishes, it's beautiful--great color and gusto and verve, and half a head of garlic always adds visual as well as flavor appeal.  And it combined super-well with the pork, too.

I did a variation on his spinach salad with dates, nuts, and pita croutons, which I've made so many times I don't even look at the recipe anymore.  At this point, I think I can claim it as my own, or at least a "Joetolenghi" creation.

Finally, because I was feeling ambitious, or maybe because I opted not to bake bread, I also whipped up a batch of his Tahini Cookies, from Jerusalem.

 

Exactly as one might expect, they are peanut butter cookies meet halva, a very shortbready sort of crumb with a really nice sesame flavor. About as simple as could be to make, and yet impressively unusual and tasty just the same.

Sous Vide Pork Tenderloin

Greetings campers.  The unpromising shrink-wrapped thing to the left of this text is a sous vide-d pork tenderloin.  A little seasoned salt, some olive oil and not much else in there with it.  The bend in it is a little weird, I'd be the first to admit, but I don't have super long bags, and I didn't want to cut the raw tenderloin in two.

Anyway, as with all things sous vide (and all things pork tenderloin, too), it's not the most exciting thing in the world to watch it cook.  But here's a shot of it cooking just the same.

Eagle-eyed readers may note that I'm using Celsius on the immersion circulator.  I was feeling European.

And below is the finished product.  One of the sides is a little roasted butternut squash I made myself, topped with some seasoning mix from Kyoto.  The other is some gratineed cauliflower, frozen from Trader Joes.  Not bad, though I'm not sure I'll run out and buy more of it.

Anyway, of all the things I've cooked in a bath so far, pork tenderloins are second only to chicken breasts as far as this is really the only way you should ever ever cook them.  It didn't take a huge long time, the meat came out perfect, and it was quick and easy to get a nice sear going via a quick visit to the skillet.  Total and unqualified success.

I am really looking forward to making another one of these!

First New York Poké

There is no doubt that New York is in the grips of a poké craze at the moment, and not the Pokémon one.  Or maybe in addition to the Pokémon one. Poké in this sense is the Hawaiian answer to ceviche, raw fish that's been marinated in soy and usually citrus, and often mixed with some seaweed, sesame seeds, or other flavorings.

In my native land, you can get it by the pound at the deli counter at supermarkets, and it's usually eaten straight, as-is.

In the current NYC Poké craze, it's most often served in a bowl over rice, sometimes with other ingredients.  Sort of like chirashi-zushi.  

It's a great idea, and the better places, in addition to having impeccably fresh fish, devise bright and interesting combinations of flavors and textures.

As a self-proclaimed poké expert, it's odd that I haven't sought out any of the city's poké options yet, but it's true.  Today however, I found myself at the new, subterranean TurnStyle development at the 59th street subway station, and Yong Kang Street there offered them, so why not?

My initial verdict, with a single bowl under my belt, is it's not terribly authentic as a dish. That is, I certainly never had anything quite like it as a kid. But the flavors separately do remind me of home, and they go well together.

I like TurnStyle, too, by the way, though I've only eaten there twice.  When I've been there with other people, they say it feels un-NYC to them, like it should be in Melbourne or Hong Kong or a European City.  I think they mean it's clean, eclectic, well-designed, and compact?  NYC developments don't often hit all of those.  Hope it's successful, it's a model I hope gets emulated in other blank and underused spaces in the city.

Nomadic Lunch

Lunch. An underrated meal, sometimes. And too often eaten hurriedly at one's desk. But my very good friend M. was in town from LA for work and asked about having lunch. Normally in my work neighborhood that would be Curry Hill, or Dos Caminos, or Hillstone.  Or Resto if I'm feeling conventionally decadent.  But as it was a Friday and I could escape and I was feeling splurge-y I suggested Nomad, Chef Daniel Humm's restaurant at, well, the NoMad Hotel, which is located in, well, the NoMad District.

If this was a real estate blog I'd be talking about how fascinating it continues to be to me that a neighborhood that used to be just chockablock with tawdry wholesalers is being transformed by a whole set of very cool boutique hotels and their associated shopping and dining venues.

But that's not my story today.

My story today is my three-course lunch at the Nomad, which included the most decadent, wonderful, memorable burger of my life, and it was a chicken burger at that.

I started with the salmon; a sort of terrine or pate, with a mustardy sauce, a quail egg yolk, and rye crisps (and some greens--pea and lettuce).  This was fantastic. Rye and salmon go so well together, and this was an incredibly refined way to combine those flavors.  And the egg yolk added just the right amount of heaviness to what was a very light terrine.  Just great.

But nothing compared to what came next.  Nomad is famous for a spectacularly expensive whole roast chicken, which is enlivened by foie gras and truffles under the skin while it's roasting. For frugal lunch diners, they make a burger version of that.  Yes, this is the chicken burger at Nomad:

I realize, retrospectively, that you can't actually see the burger in this picture.  You'll have to take my word, it was beautiful, and the ground chicken includes a fair amount of skin, along with the foie and the truffle, which should be gross but in fact made for the moistest, most flavorful burger imaginable.  And the fries were top-notch as well.

This is one of those dishes that I ate it and I was full and content and yet I still immediately wanted to eat it again, just so I could keep tasting it. 

I mean.  Really.  Go eat this burger sometime in your life.  Hopefully soon.

Followed that with an espresso and the light and terrific "milk and honey" dessert, with shortbread crisps, crunchy milk bites, and the distinctiveness of buckwheat honey.

 

I can't say enough good about this lunch.  Though full disclosure, wine was involved as well.

Speaking of which, the guy taking care of us was terrific.  I had mentioned I kept an eye out for Corsican wines ever since my trip there last year, and M and I were drinking a Corsican white they ahd, and so he brought me over a taste of their red from Corsica, just so I could give it a try. So nice!

Actually the whole staff was wonderful.  M and I were both late for our reservation, and yet they could not have been more accommodating.

And you may note that the lighting of these photos is amazing (I mean, if I do say so myself).  Partly, that's just lunches--natural light is around in general in the daytime--but mainly it's because the Nomad dining room is under an opaque but very bright skylight.  It's a beautiful room.

So, in conclusion, go have this burger!  And I need to go back for the whole chicken.

Taste of the Old Country: Haupia

There are a few foods from the land of my childhood that instantly take me home, and that I'll even admit to craving once in a while. Spam is the stereotypical Hawai'i food; I don't crave that very much any more, but who can resist once in a while?

Malasadas (from Tex's Drive In, not homemade), the Portuguese fried dough, do it to me too, even in these carb conscious times. Boiled peanuts, kalua pork, a good poké...

The other day, I got a craving for haupia, Hawaiian coconut pudding. And rather than ignoring, I decided to take action.  Here's the ghostly white result.

 

I don't understand why I've never made this before.  Sugar, cornstarch, a little water, and a can of coconut milk.  It's pretty fool-proof, and if not the healthiest, not the unhealthiest, either.

It definitely reminded me of my native land, in a good way.  And it drove home to me what a good canvas haupia would be for other flavors.  I'm thinking I should make it again but add some crushed cardamom pods during the simmering phase...  Maybe middle-eastern/Hawaiian is the next big fusion cuisine?

Breakfast in Vegas

Last week I spent a few days in Las Vegas, where I spoke at a conference.  On the advice of a friend who knows these things, I stayed at the Golden Nugget, downtown, well away from the Strip.  In retrospect I'm not so sure of the wisdom of that advice (though the Carson Tower, recently renovated, has great rooms very affordably).

However, it was an opportunity to put to a test the mythical Las Vegas breakfast buffet.  And sure enough, for $14, I had one of the most epically weird meals I've ever had.  Feast your eyes:

 

In case you need a guide, there's some breafast potatoes with chorizo, an egg scramble with smoked salmon, a cheese blintz with strawberry sauce, a biscuit with gravy, a slice of spam (here's to Hawai'i nostalgia), and off to the side, a quarter of a waffle with a chunk of fried chicken on it.

Not pictured is some assorted fresh fruit.

The only thing that would've made it weirder would've been if they'd had Japanese breakfast items to mix and match; a bit of grilled fish and some sticky rice or miso soup.  Probably they did have those things and I just overlooked them. And probably that's a good thing.

Still, I couldn't have asked for better fuel for a long day of meetings, conference sessions, and racing around a very large convention show floor.

 

Fancy Persian Rice

It's rare to say that you've had an adventure making rice.  Wait, that's not true.  There's plenty of pilafs that are neat, and paella is about as adventuresome as rice -- or any dish-- can be.

But "normal" rice is usually pretty straightforward.  Yesterday I tried out a Cook's Illustrated recipe for chelow, a fancy Persian rice dish famed for its mix of textures--it develops a beautiful, golden crust to contrast with the extra-fluffy, soft, well, normal rice.

The CI technique was interesting--you soak basmati rice in hot water to parcook it a bit. Then mix half of it with some yogurt and press it into the bottom of a Dutch oven, and gently mound the rest of the rice over the top and poke some butter into it.

It certainly worked--I probably overcooked the crust a little, but it was crispy and tasty.  Great texture.

Like so much of Cook's Illustrated, it's a bit of a fussy recipe, and I like just plain old regular basmati rice, too. 

Is it worth the extra time and effort? Probably not, usually. Still, if the right occasion presents itself, I'd definitely make it again.