Cook Here and Now

Making sausages!

Warning: The following may not be suitable for vegetarian viewers.
Oh, and no, it's not porn.

OK, now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's get down to some meaty business.
Ah, sausages ... carnivores are especially fond of them. We like their spice-laced, succulent, savory meatiness anytime, any way: on warm, sunny days and cool, rainy evenings, solo on the end of a pier or at a ball park with thousands around, washed down with a mellow amber ale or a peppery zin.

So that much you meat-lovers already know -- but one thing you may not realize is that they're fairly easy to make. The variations range from venison to seafood, and once you know the basics, experimenting is easy. Also, they keep frozen really well for up to two months, and are always a hit at BBQs. Who can resist these homemade, custom-spiced pudgy bundles of delight? (That, fellow meat eaters, is a rhetorical question.)

Essential ingredients

The meat
You could go lean, but a little fat goes a long way for flavor, consistency, and that fantastic burst when you first bite into the sausage. For my pork sausages I like to use pork shoulder (also called pork butt), which is rich in flavor, tender, and quite affordable. Just don't eat six of them (burp).
I had a few misadventures trying to get free-range meat, even in San Francisco. A week back I bought some a vendor sold to me as free-range, but after a little online research I realized the claim was untrue -- and this was a very reputable store. I strongly advise you to get it from a reliable, knowledgeable butcher like Prather Ranch or Golden Gate Meats in the Ferry Building, or Avedano's on Cortland Avenue.

The casing
I like to use natural casing, made of pig intestine. Quit whining: if you're squeamish about natural casings, you probably won't enjoy making sausage. Most commercially-produced sausages are cased in artificial collagen casing, but natural casing gives a great snap to the sausage when you bite into it and  has a delicate savoriness that complements the meat beautifully. I buy mine salt-packed from the Syracuse Casing Company. A pack of casings is called a Hank (I'm not making that up) and it will last up to several months in the fridge.

How do I do it?
Here are some great recipes from Sausagemania and About.com. If you're serious about making sausages, I recommend Bruce Aidell's book. It's thorough and it has some excellent recipes and explanations of every step of the process, including smoking.

Once you've got your recipe and ingredients ready, start by pulling the casing out of its container. Each casing will be packed in salt, and wrapped around a plastic guide. One casing makes about forty sausages.

Soak your casing about ten minutes in cold water, without removing it from its pink plastic guide. You will use that guide to slide the casing onto the meat grinder feeding tube. After soaking, rinse your casing under running water for a minute to make sure there's no salt left on it.

While the casing is soaking, grind your free-range meat with the fat according to your recipe. Don't freak out if the recipe asks you to add fat: much of it will melt away in cooking, leaving just the flavor behind. Look at that beautiful red and white streakiness .... mmmm, marbling...

When the meat has been ground with the fat, prepare your spices. I like to grind my spices fresh whenever possible with a mortar and pestle for a stronger, fresher flavor ... plus I like to kick it old school style.

Add the spices to the meat, and when they're all in...

... you mix it all together by hand, making sure the spices are evenly distributed in the meat. This part is totally sexy.

Test-cook a few small pieces of sausage so you can adjust for spices and salt. If it seems a little strong, remember that after sitting in the fridge, the flavors will round out and make nice with each other. Needless to say, you don't need to add any grease to the pan.

Once the proportions are right, let the meat rest a few minutes while you prepare the stuffing tube. I use the Kitchen Aid attachment, which works pretty well. You can also use a hand-cranked meat grinder and sausage stuffer, though it's quite a workout.

Slide the pink plastic guide onto the tube, and push the casing onto the tube. While holding the casing firm, pull out the guide, leaving the casing ready for the stuffing. If you've done it right it should look like a Sharpei puppy's tail.

Tie the end of the casing, so the meat won't fall out once it starts being extruded from the tube.

With a fork, pinch a few small holes at the end of the casing, so that any air is pushed out of the casing. Otherwise, it will inflate like a balloon.

Hold the casing onto the tube with one hand, and stuff the meat into the grinder with the other hand. As the meat fills the casing, let it slowly inch forward and keep cramming meat into the grinder.

Make sure the casing is not stuffed too tightly. The stuffed casing should feel like a balloon that has lost some air, and gives 1/4 of an inch when you squeeze it. You'll need that latitude to divide the sausages, tie them off, and prevent bursting while cooking.

Once all the meat has been extruded, tie the other end of your casing. You should have one obscenely long sausage. Make sure you give yourself about an inch or two of casing extra at the end to leave room for adjustments.

Now you're ready to tie off your sausages. Begin where you started, at the end you stuffed first. Decide the length of your sausage, and gently slide the meat forward from that spot until you've formed an hourglass shape. Then give the sausage a turn where you want to tie it off, and at that spot, use food-quality string to tie two knots about 1/4 inch apart from each other. Later, you'll cut in between these two knots to divide your sausages into single servings.

Once they're tied, your sausages should be plump, but still give a little when you poke them. But before you eat or freeze them, they need to rest about 24 hours in the refrigerator so the flavors mellow and blend. (If you must have sausage NOW, go ahead -- I know the feeling. Otherwise, you can fry up a patty of the leftover meat filling.) Make sure to cover your sausages tightly with plastic wrap or place them inside a tight container, or the surface of your sausages will dry up and break.

The next day, you can either cook your sausages or freeze them in freezer bags. Usually I put one or two in a bag, so I can defrost only what I need for pasta sauce or lunch. Be sure to thaw them for 2 hours before you cook them, or put what you need in the refrigerator the night before you use them. In a defrosting pinch, the microwave does the trick on a low setting.

If you think these babies look good, wait until you smell them hit a hot pan. Enjoy!
Marco Flavio

 

Andalusian style gazpacho - from our August dinner

Buongiorno,
here's Lina's recipe for the gazpacho she made at our August group dinner. After receiving quite a few requests for it, she kindly wrote it down for us.
Thank you, Lina.
Enjoy,
Marco Flavio

Andalusian Style Gazpacho         

Makes four, 1 cup servings

2* cloves garlic, sliced (see note below)
1 large green or red bell pepper, seeded and roughly chopped (I used a combination)
A piece of a red jalapeño chile, seeded (to taste)
1 and a 1/2 lbs. of very ripe, red tomatoes with thin skins; juicy salad tomatoes work best for gazpacho, cored and cut into large chunks. If you use thick-skinned tomatoes, blanch & peel them.
3 inch piece baguette sliced and allowed to dry out overnight (or you can dry bread in a 250º oven)
1/2 cup good quality extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp sherry vinegar; more to taste
2 tsp. kosher salt; more to taste
A dash or two of Tabasco, to taste
Ground black pepper, optional (I did not add any)

Place garlic, peppers, tomatoes, bread, olive oil, sherry, and salt in a food processor. Pulse a few times until the bread breaks up, then process until the mixture is as smooth as possible, about 3 – 5 minutes. Taste, add Tabasco if desired, and possibly more vinegar, salt, or garlic. You may also add a little water. Chill thoroughly, or serve over ice cubes.

Garnish:
1 cup peeled, finely chopped Japanese cucumber or conventional cucumber, seeded and 1cup diced onion (sweet variety preferred)
Fresh ground black pepper
You can also garnish with fresh corn kernels, shrimp, crab, lobster…..

*It is easy to disrupt the balance of flavors by using too much raw garlic; you can always add more after tasting. Some people like to blanch or toast the garlic first.

Grand Marnier Soufflé recipefrom the CH&N Master Class

Buongiorno,
Here's David's remarkable recipe from the CH&N Master Class.
Thank you David!
Marco Flavio

Grand Marnier Soufflé
Ingredients:

• 2 cups of milk (whole is better, you can use fat free if you want)
• 1 cup of regular sugar
• 1 stick of butter (8 tbsp or 120 gr)
• All purpose flour (half the weight of butter, about 60 grams)
• 7 eggs whites
• 4 eggs yolks
• 4 or 5 oz of Grand Marnier
• 1/8 tsp vanilla extract
• Confection sugar

Prepare all the ingredients, take a soufflé dish (preferably metal), butter it completely, and sugarcoat the inside of your soufflé dish with regular sugar.
Preheat your oven at 410ºF.

Step 1, 2 and 3 should be ready simultaneously

• Step 1: In a pot, mix the milk and sugar, bring to a boil
• Step 2: Beat the eggs white to medium peak (for better you can add a tbsp or warm water and a pinch of cream of tartar)
• Step 3: in a larger pot, melt butter then add flour to make a roux over medium heat
• Step 4: Add boiling milk and sugar to your roux, and steer constantly until the mixture is boiling again.  You have now a sweet béchamel
• Step 5: Take the pot off the stove, wait about 30 sec and add the egg yolks one at a time while continuously stirring
• Step 6: Add the vanilla extract and the grand mariner
• Step 7: Fold the medium peak egg whites in the mixture (no need to over stir)
• Step 8: Pour the mixture in the soufflé dish and sift the powdered sugar (a.k.a. confection sugar) to cover the top with a thin coat
• Step 9: Bake at 410ºF  for about 23 minutes (look at the color of the soufflé, it should be medium brown)

Enjoy immediately!

Tips:
Have your eggs at room temperature before you begin.
Use a very clean metal bowl to beat the egg white. A drop of fat or egg yoke will prevent the egg white from emulsifying properly.
Put a pizza stone or bricks in your oven to prevent temperature fluctuation.
Do not open the oven during cooking; it will generate too much temperature fluctuation and you may end up with a sweet omelet.
You may want to purchase an oven thermometer to really understand how your oven behaves and what is the exact temperature.  You may have to play with it until you find what works...  I know, frustrating, but all ovens are not created equal, trust me...
Serve the top crust first, then dig in the center of the soufflé dish (should be almost liquid), then serve the side and bottom of the dish which should have a different crust. You will enjoy the 3 different parts of a soufflé!
Have a taste of the left over “raw” mixture after you put the soufflé in the oven, it tastes fantastic!!!  It is even better with your fingers!
Tell me what your experience was.

Life is Great!
David

Easter and Passover: Free-range lamb sources

Buongiorno,
For those of you about to celebrate: Happy holidays! For a proper feast, here are a few Bay Area sources for excellent lamb. If you're not near the Bay, don't despair: Most of these places will ship.

Prather Ranch Meat Co.
Their store is located at One Ferry Plaza, Shop #32, on the Embarcadero in San Francisco, or you can find them at the following farmers' markets:

San Francisco Ferry Plaza
Saturday 8am-2pm
Sunday 10am-2pm
Tuesday 10am-2pm

Marin Civic Center, San Rafael
Thursday 8am-1pm
Sunday 8am-1pm

Oakland Grand Lake
Saturday 8am-2pm

Golden Gate Meat
Golden Gate Meat Company
@ The Ferry Building Marketplace
One Ferry Building, Shop 13
San Francisco, CA
415-983-7800

Niman Ranch
Stores all over the Bay Area
Trader Joes carries it, but call first to inquire about availability.

Ciao and enjoy,
Marco Flavio

Cross-pollinate your pantry.

I've always resented the annoying cable TV chefs that introduce an elaborate
dish or a 3-page recipe by saying: "I just go to the market and let the
ingredients speak to me." Yeah, I've tried that. I listened, but usually
what I hear is the sound of garbage trucks whizzing past on the freeway and
children clamoring for Kettle corn. Not quite the perfect ingredients for
the dinner party I had in mind.

When I'm really lucky at the farmers market, the ingredients speak to me in
a language I don't even understand yet. You know how it is: The fog of sleep
has barely lifted when you're greeted by the sight of some vegetable that
seems newly arrived from Mars. The lumpy item is a weirdly luminous shade of
green, smells vaguely of ginger, and hey, is that fur?

No, it's not an alien: it's a local crop of some vegetable that may already
be wildly popular in some other part of the world, and we're only just now
catching on. Cleaned and prepared a certain way, this vegetable may be a
staple of some diet half a world away, just as rice, potatoes or wheat are
in California. It could be the magic secret ingredient for an entire
cuisine, like tomatoes brought from the New World are for us Italians. But
how do we learn to speak its language?

At first I decided total immersion was the way to go. I boned up on cuisines
as far flung as Ethiopian, Cantonese and, obviously, Italian -- and soon
learned that I had to keep an incredibly expensive stocked pantry of elusive
ingredients to make many recipes work. I would use a teaspoon of tamarind
from a jar the size of a Slurpie and let the rest sit for a while. Then
awhile would turn into a year, and my industrial quantity of tamarind would
go into the trash. That was terribly wasteful and unsatisfying. It was like
learning Esperanto: I expended a lot of effort covering the basics of many
cuisines without ever really becoming fluent in any one.

Then I tried learning cuisines the way I learned English: by repeated trial
and (ahem) occasional error. As long as I was constantly changing recipes in
the search of a better one from a worldwide repertoire, I wasn't really
taking the proper time to work up a recipe I could make my own. But before I
could present it to the oohs and aahs of my dining companions, I needed to
give myself time to experiment and make mistakes.

The good news is that it doesn't take as long as you'd think to get your
basics down. All you need to have guests over are three solid dishes. A
great place to start is from what you like, be it sushi, Thai noodles or
French soups. Buy a book, ask kitchen-savvy friends, and go from there.

To build culinary fluency even faster, build from what you already know.
Even in my immigrant eagerness to embrace my newfound home country, I hadn't
completely forgotten the simple guiding principle of my native Italian
cuisine: In the right proportions, a few basic ingredients can transform
into truly complex flavors. So I started mastering some traditional Roman
recipes -- bucatini all'amatriciana, rustic pagnotta, risotto, pizza
margherita -- and noticed how the flavors worked together in different
combinations. Soon I started having many recipes to offer to my guests I
could feel proud of, because I knew they were far more personal and
distinctive than you'd find in restaurants churning out meals to please the
masses.

Like knowing the Latin roots of English words, those basic flavor
combinations gave me a basis to learn from. Once I felt comfortable with the
Roman basics, I started adding ingredients that were completely new to me. I
hit the books to learn about Asian and Latin American ingredients, and
started buying and incorporating them one at a time in the dishes. One of my
recent favorites is a Pacific Rim dish: bok choy and champagne risotto with
lime-poached scallops. Last week I made calzones with sauteed organic mizuna
(Japanese mustard greens) and California-made mozzarella cheese. Not a
common dish in Trastevere, but let me tell you: They're missing out.

So these days when I encounter some utterly unknown ingredient at the
farmer's market, I instinctively begin to salivate -- my tastebuds know
they're in for a journey. Mind you, there will still be some missed
connections and lost luggage along the way, but there's no better way to
initiate a meaningful appreciation of our human differences than through
something as primal as food. The letter of cuisine no longer interests me:
it's the spirit that matters.

Enjoy,
Marco Flavio

Eating: Once more, with feeling

Right about now, people start ditching their New Year's resolutions -- and I say good riddance to all those diets that turn food into a form of punishment. In case you hadn't noticed, it's winter out, and the weather only looks bleaker after a meal that's all nutrients and no flavor. Think about it: If you are what you eat, who wants to be a cardboard-flavored Lean Cuisine? Whether it's piping hot pho from your local Vietnamese place, a (more and more elusive) home-cooked meal, or a piece of heaven otherwise known as 72% dark chocolate, a tasty morsel can add warmth to a bone-chilling day.

Evolution gave us the gift of having to eat frequently: Let's not treat it as a chore. Sure, we all have to watch our waistlines, especially in an edible landscape littered with trans-fats, high-fructose corn syrup and 39 grams of sugar in a can of Coke (that's over 12 teaspoons, in case you never did the math). But that doesn't mean that we must have in the back of our minds a caloric accountant reproaching us for every tasty bite, three meals a day. In a time when fad diets get debunked as fast as they become popular, all good things in moderation sounds like a much smarter idea. In Italy (as in France), we love our health, but we love our food just as much. We rarely give up something completely; we just balance our diet so that every indulgence is permitted, hopefully on a regular basis.

How much we enjoy our food can actually affect what we absorb from it. In a renowned 1970s study, a group of Thai women and a group of Swedish women were fed Thai food. The Thai women absorbed almost 50% more iron from their food. When the experiment was repeated with the same food pureed, the Thai women absorbed 70% less iron then they had when the food was whole. Researchers concluded that looking forward to what you're about to eat prepared the body to absorb more nutrients, increasing the production of saliva and gastric juices.

In these days of strange weather and stranger news around the world, food can provide a reassuring constant. Eating isn't just a reflex but a conscious effort to reconnect with our humanity, when essentials are remembered, flavors savored, vision refocused. We all deserve to enjoy our food. That's what tastebuds are there for.

Especially in winter, my strategy is to turn meals and preparation into a way of detaching from the demands life imposes, and connect to more basic pleasures. First there's a homemade breakfast with cappuccinos for two and hearty bread (my favorite meal of the day: Bring on the world!), then a sit-down break at midday, then espresso when afternoon energies wane, and finally dinner. If it's a particularly bad day, there's a snack at 10. Each meal gets my full and undivided attention. I believe that when we devote attention to what we do, we feel more satisfied and satiated by it. Choosing the best ingredients from what's in season locally, preparing the dishes from scratch as often as time allows, and keeping in mind who's sharing them -- it's all gastronomical foreplay that creates the emotional build-up released in a delightful meal.

And despite what you may have heard, bigger isn't necessarily better (at least in meals).  Binges can be nauseating, especially if you're eating mechanically. It's not about quantity, it's about appreciation. Complexity has nothing to do with it either: Familiarity and fondness bred by time and circumstances is what makes food genuinely heartwarming, not exotic ingredients.

Food is neither a need to be fulfilled, nor something to fear. That's why so many extreme diet resolutions fail -- we don't fail them, they fail us. Energy bars can keep you working, but they'll rarely give you the pleasure of your chosen comfort food when you're down, working late hours, children misbehaving, or just tired of the dark days and cold weather. An extra pound (or three) are not the worst thing that can happen to a person, although millions are spent to convince you otherwise. Just own what you love, and enjoy it. You know all too well how rare these moments of solace can be.

Enjoy,
Marco Flavio

From our January dinner: Braised Chicken Thighs and Legs with Porcini Mushrooms and Gorgonzola cheese sauce

Buonasera,
this was Nick's outstanding recipe from our January dinner.
Enjoy!
Marco Flavio

Braised Chicken Thighs and Legs with Porcini Mushrooms and
Gorgonzola Sauce over Orecchiette Pasta Finished with Truffle Oil

Ingredients:
2 oz dried porcini mushrooms, rehydrated in 3 cups hot water
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 each chicken thighs and legs, trimmed of excess skin and fat
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tsp kosher salt and 1 tsp fresh cracked black pepper
4 cups onion, medium dice
2 cups celery, medium dice
2 cups carrots, medium dice
1/ 4 bunch fresh thyme, more for garnish
1/4 bunch fresh parsley, more for garnish
4 bay leaf
4 cloves garlic, mashed
12 whole black pepper corns
2 cups fruity medium body red wine, Carneros Pinot Noir , more to finish sauce
2 cups reserved porcini liquid, more to finish sauce
chicken stock, more to finish sauce
6 oz mountain gorgonzola cheese, broken into 1/2” pieces
juice of 1 fresh lemon
kosher salt and fresh cracked black pepper to taste
1 lb orecchiette  pasta, cooked al dente
truffle oil, optional

Method:
Rehydrate porcini mushrooms for 30 min, strain and reserve liquid. Rinse chicken and pat dry. Season chicken with flour, salt and pepper, remove excess flour. In a heavy skillet heat oil over moderately high heat until hot (not smoking); brown chicken pieces, transfer to plate as browned.

Reduce heat to moderate and add onion, celery and carrots, sauté until onions are translucent. Add thyme, parsley, bay leaf, garlic and pepper corns; heat until aromatics begin to release aromas.
Top with browned chicken pieces.

Add wine, porcini liquid and chicken stock to cover chicken 2/3. Bring liquid to a boil, reduce  heat to a simmer. Cover and cook for 45minutes, or until tender. (May  be cooked on stove top or in 350F oven). When chicken is tender remove pieces to a plate and cover.

Strain cooking liquid through a fine sieve. Reserve liquid discard vegetables and aromatics. Deglaze skillet with wine, return liquid to pan. Taste then balance mixture with additional porcini liquid and chicken stock. Return liquid to a simmer. Add gorgonzola pieces and mushrooms, incorporate by  gently swirling sauce in pan. Then taste and adjust sauce with lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste.

Reserve some sauce for chicken pieces. Add  orrchetti pasta to sauce and cook until pasta is heated through. Place pasta on a large serving platter, add chicken pieces and sauce. Garnish with thyme, parsley and truffle oil.

Serves: 4

Yes, it's been a harsh winter for California produce.

Buongiorno.
Without a doubt, this has been a difficult winter to eat local and seasonal produce in California. The worst freeze here in decades began January 11 and lasted several days, making $1 billion worth of California crops worthless.  What I've heard from farmers, vendors, and consumers in these past weeks has been very sad. Apparently unaware of the warming trend enveloping the globe, inclement weather brought to our sunny state freezing temperatures that have affected our economy and our meals. Very few vegetables have been spared, and the effects of this freeze will have economic and gastronomic repercussions that may last into summer and beyond.

For a few lucky West Coast farmers the freezing temperatures haven't been all bad: Peaches, cherries, apples and grapes are maturing nicely thanks to the chill. Something to look forward to!

Meanwhile, the cost of locally produced vegetables have gone up as supplies become scarcer, raising local produce to prices you find in parts of the country where produce is mostly imported from sunnier regions in winter. All that fuel doesn't come cheap, and we wind up paying for it with a premium on our produce.

The flavors and textures of frost-damaged vegetables are noticeably inferior to what they are when the weather behaves. Damaged produce may look damaged or stained, the texture will be dry and mealy, and flavors will tend towards the bitter or bland (or both, argh!)

But if consumers feel frustrated by all this, think how tough it is on producers. The people who are the backbone of our agricultural sector in California are migrant workers with very little job security, and thousands of families rely on the incomes from seasonal jobs harvesting and processing produce. For a month, these jobs have been lost to the freeze. What would you do without a month's pay?

At a time like this, I would urge you more than ever to continue buying local and seasonal food. It still has the highest probability of being flavorful, satisfying, and nutritious, since it doesn't spend weeks in transit. At our house we've been enjoying a gratifying variety of squashes, pumpkins, chard, bok choy, mushrooms, blood oranges and kiwis -- none of which (with a little discerning) have failed us -- and we feel great about supporting the people who work hard to provide us with the best the fields have to offer.

In these harder times, I'm realizing that eating according to the seasons isn't just about varying ingredients with the ebbs and flows of time: it means coming to terms with the unpredictability of the world, and finding a way of incorporating it in our lives.

Buon appetito!
Marco Flavio

Here's the breakdown of our current situation, crop by crop:

Citrus fruit
The crop has been decimated by the freezing temperatures, especially oranges and tangerines. You can easily figure that out by going to the markets and paying $1 to $1.49 for a navel orange, only to find it's fairly dry and tasteless. Some crops were picked early and stored, so citrus is still available -- but texture and flavor are highly unpredictable. Before buying a few pounds of something, buy one, taste it, then commit to more. You can also count on the price of orange juice going up soon, as some of our oranges are used for juice along with Florida ones.

There is one saving grace: Although the lemon crop was damaged, a new, undamaged lemon harvest scheduled for March could offset the 80 percent loss of the lemons in the Central Valley.

Avocados
It seems we've lost 20%-30% of our crop, with the possibility of damage to the buds for next year's crop. We'll have to wait and see on this one.

Strawberries
There will be a delay on the current crop. If there's frost damage to the crop, we may have to wait a few weeks for new ones to be harvested.

Winter Vegetables
They've taken the freeze especially hard. We've had extensive lettuce and artichoke losses, and the temperature fluctuations may have altered the flavors. I was talking to an organic farmer from Fresno who explained that some of the affected produce is on the markets now, because they already fronted the costs to grow it, and need to sell it to recover at least some of the money. Buyer beware! As always, taste before you buy ... that's what farmers' markets are for.

Spring Vegetables
Sweet corn, bell peppers, lettuce, cantaloupes and watermelons have been affected. We'll have to wait and see how they develop.

Artichokes
Castroville-area artichokes are gone until March. There may be a few available from other regions, but they too are damaged. The California Artichoke Commission says we'll be getting new ones  mid-March.

Olives
We'll have to see about the damage, but a similar freeze in 1990 cut production by half. I'll ask around, but it all depends on the location of the trees.

Flowers
Flowers that were being grown for Valentine Day have been affected. Most flowers will be flown in or from greenhouses. (Chocolates, anyone?)

Other Crops and Bees
The freeze appears to have destroyed small blocks of tropical fruits such as guavas and cherimoyas grown in San Diego County.

Beekeepers are providing sugar water to their bees to make sure they have enough nourishment to sustain them through the cold weather.

Data is from the California Farm Bureau Federation.

From our January dinner: Moroccan Squab Bastilla

Buongiorno,
this recipe from our January dinner is from Sharif and Korey.
The seasonal ingredient we requested as an entree was any poultry except chicken, free range and organic, whenever possible.

Enjoy,
Marco Flavio

Squab Bastilla

8 saffron threads
3 squabs (about 3 lb total). You can use cornish game hens, if needed.
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
5 teaspoons finely chopped seeded fresh jalapeño chile
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 cup dry Sherry
1 1/4 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth
1 cup water
3 large eggs
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh cilantro
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1/2 cup sliced almonds (1 1/4 oz)
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
6 (17- by 12-inch) phyllo sheets, thawed if frozen, (then unrolled)
1 1/2 teaspoons confectioners sugar

Make filling:
Heat a dry 12-inch heavy skillet over low heat and toast saffron 1 minute, then transfer to a small dish and crumble. Reserve skillet.
Cut off wings from squabs with a sharp small knife and discard, then cut off legs with thighs. Using kitchen shears, cut out backbone and ribs and discard. Cut breasts in half lengthwise with shears. Pat legs and breast halves dry and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Heat olive oil in skillet over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking, then brown squab in 2 batches, skin side down first, turning over once, about 6 minutes total per batch, transferring as browned to a platter.

After second batch is browned, return all squab pieces to skillet along with onion, garlic, jalapeño, cumin, ginger, saffron, and 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, then sauté, stirring, 1 minute.

Add Sherry and boil 30 seconds, scraping up any brown bits. Add broth and water and simmer, covered, turning squab over once or twice, until tender, about 40 minutes.

Transfer squab with tongs to a platter and reserve cooking liquid in skillet. When squab is cool enough to handle, discard skin and bones and finely shred meat, then toss with 3 tablespoons cooking liquid and cover loosely with foil.

Boil remaining cooking liquid in skillet (without straining) over moderately high heat, stirring
frequently, until sauce is very thick and reduced to about 1/2 cup, 12 to 15 minutes, then transfer to a 1 1/2- to 2-quart heavy saucepan. (Do not skim fat from sauce.)

Whisk together eggs and 1/4 cup sauce in a bowl until combined, then whisk into remaining sauce in saucepan and cook over moderately low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or heatproof rubber spatula, until eggs just set into very soft curds, 5 to 7 minutes. (Mixture will have the consistency of very soft oatmeal.) Immediately transfer egg mixture to a bowl and stir in parsley and cilantro. Cool to room temperature, stirring occasionally.

Assemble and bake bastilla:
Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 375°F.

Heat vegetable oil in a 10-inch skillet over moderate heat until just hot, then fry almonds, stirring frequently, until golden, 2 to 3 minutes. Drain almonds and cool on a paper-towel-lined plate.

Brush a 9-inch round cake pan with some of butter.
Cover stack of phyllo with plastic wrap and a dampened kitchen towel. Keeping remaining phyllo covered, place 1 sheet on a work surface and brush with butter. Fold in half crosswise and butter again. Repeat with another sheet, buttering, folding, and buttering, then place over first sheet crosswise. Repeat with 2 more sheets, buttering, folding, and buttering, then
placing each sheet on top of the previous one in a star pattern to form a round. (Sheets should not align.) Lift stacked phyllo and gently fit into bottom of cake pan and halfway up side.

Sprinkle almonds over phyllo, then stir squab into egg mixture and spread evenly in phyllo shell.

Put 1 of remaining sheets of phyllo on a work surface and brush with butter. Fold in half crosswise and butter again. Fold in half (to quarter) and brush with butter. Repeat with remaining sheet phyllo and lay over first sheet crosswise. Place over center of filling. Bring edges of phyllo from side of pan up over filling and quartered top sheets.

Bake bastilla until golden brown, 20 to 30 minutes.
Cool in pan on a rack 5 minutes, then invert onto a platter and let stand 5 minutes.

Sift confectioners sugar over top of bastilla, then remaining 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon. Cut into wedges.

Bread: Tastes like home.

Part of me remains tied to a city some 13,000 miles away from where I chose to live my life -- and that part happens to be my stomach. Memories battered by time and distance come flooding back at the table.

That connection is essential. Even with the best intentions, gaps in communication grow, until the time difference and all those miles seem impossible to overcome. Though living abroad is choice I gladly make, I can feel detached, distant, a bit lost, like a bee without a hive.

Anyone who loves food knows it not only keeps you alive, it keeps you social, creating memories and strengthening ties through shared gastronomic bliss.

The one food I miss most from home is bread, not only as the building block of the Italian diet but as a shared point of reference. Yes, (deceptively) simple, (never) plain, (always) thick-crusted, (truly) essential bread. Endless Italian proverbs and sayings revolve around it. My favorite: Non e' pane per i tuoi denti (It's not bread for your teeth) meaning you're telling someone they can't handle something. But my beloved Neruda says it best in his Ode to Bread. (Grazie Pablo: Where would I be without you to explain what matters most?)

Even while Michelangelo was painting the Sistine Chapel, we know he mostly ate rustic bread, some fragrant sheep's cheeses and (quite) a few bottles of hearty red Roman wine from the areas surrounding the city  -- that's when he wasn't risking the the Pope's ire by running off to Florence.

If you've been to Rome and had our rustic pagnotta (loaf) you understand why. Of all the extraordinary food we have in the United States, bread is still rather bland, though getting better. Let's face it: Even when paying $3-4 for a (supposedly artisanal) loaf, the crust is unsatisfactory and the flavor rather mild or yeasty. Perhaps that's to be expected from a culture where sandwiches reign supreme, and pre-sliced bread a paragon of excellence: the greatest thing since sliced bread. Then again, when a loaf is so soft that any attempt at slicing it yourself results in an accordion-like abomination, maybe that makes sense.

For anyone born in Italy or France -- where bread is an accompaniment to every meal and not just a platform for cold cuts -- bland white bread is quite a disappointment. I am cursed with that lineage.
That's why 10 years ago, in a stubborn search for what I craved, I decided: If I can't buy it, I'll make it.

I was determined to bake something that would cover the distance between here and there with its aroma alone ... a different kind of air travel. I'd read Proust's Remembrance of Things Past, which captures the connection between our sense of smell and our memories, and studied enough science to know that most of the flavors we taste comes through the nose (remember having that cold and not tasting anything?) So I was ready to open the floodgates of flavor and memory, yet the how-to was unclear.

Two main hurdles stood between me and the bread I craved. First I had to acquire the technical expertise, and then I had to learn the patience. Guess which took longer? Right in the middle of the process, you have to step away and allow the yeast to slowly break down the carbohydrates and feast on the sugars that releases. The byproduct of the yeast feast is carbon dioxide, which the gluten in the flour catches, making the loaf rise like an air balloon. It's so primal, so simple... and so time consuming.

You can speed the process up by increasing the temperature in the room to help the yeast work faster, or increase the amount of yeast, so that more carbon dioxide is expelled and and the loaf rises more quickly -- but the result won't be the same.

To taste and smell right, I found that my rustic loaves need to rise for about 24 hours (about three rises). They are made from only five ingredients: organic flour, yeast, water, salt, and time. And you can't skimp on any one of those ingredients. Now when I let the yeast loose on the flour, I give it the time it needs to transform the dough from a sticky unmanageable mass into a crackling loaf.

These breads are finally the connection I was missing: From home, to me, to all the friends and neighbors who broke bread with me -- a benefit I hadn't considered at the beginning of what I thought would be a solo quest. Turns out this bread is best with a bottle of Zinfandel, a slice of Point Reyes blue cheese, and other wanderers like me.

This bread came from my roots, but it developed where I live. Maybe it's a little different from the original, but then so am I.

A presto, and eat well.
Marco Flavio