Papas Arrugadas

A few months back, my husband and I ventured into a tiny Spanish restaurant in Bozeman, MT—Over the Tapas—and at his insistence, we ordered the papas arrugadas. These sublime little salted potatoes were reminiscent of nothing I’d ever before tasted, and I made a mental note to hunt down a recipe for both the delightful morsels of potatoes, and the mojos verde and rojo.

Interestingly enough, my Latin husband who was raised in Bogotá, Colombia, has an abundance of memories of being served papas arrugadas (without the mojo) throughout his childhood. His eyes lit up with excitement when I expressed an interest in replicating the dish at home.

It turns out that these spuds are super easy to prepare. Had I known, I would have made them long ago…

Dump an unfathomable amount of salt into a pot of cold water—seriously, you may easily dump half a cup or more into a few quarts of water. Then toss in a bunch of scrubbed small potatoes (such as new, fingerling, or purple) and bring to a boil. Boil for 20 minutes, and then drain almost all of the water out. Put back over a moderately low flame and toss the potatoes around in the water to coat with the mostly invisible salt (for the uninitiated, it’s invisible because it’s wet). Heat until the water’s completely evaporated, then roll the spuds around in the residual salt a bit. Cover with a clean dish towel for a few minutes off heat. Eat!

By the way, my husband swears that the accompanying mojos are unnecessary, though they truly are delish. I have yet to find a recipe for mojo verde that doesn’t taste like a cilantro-based vinaigrette, but I guarantee that any fresh Indian cilantro chutney will serve as a fabulous complement to the papas arrugadas. Bon appétit!

A Crumpled Chiffon Cake

Writing about both my friends’ culinary talents, as well as their mishaps, has been at the forefront of my mind as of late. Particularly noteworthy was Heather’s incident with a chiffon cake last week, which I have been pondering till this very moment. Heather is a dear friend, perhaps because we both are graduate students at the same university, have daughters the same age (who also happen to be good friends), love exploring wine, and adore sharing food with each other. Though our culinary backgrounds differ somewhat—recall that I am a recovering vegan who is only beginning to explore meat, while Heather swoons over visions of succulent roasts—our individual escapades with food tend to complement the other’s.

Over the past few months, Heather has been wildly romanticizing chiffon cakes. Though I concur that a well-made chiffon cake is indeed delicious, I am at a loss when it comes to understanding her current obsession over them. Regardless, I felt nothing but the utmost empathy when I received her heartbreaking email (complete with photos) about how her beautiful cake, which was to be a gift to her ill mother, crumpled upon falling out of its nonstick pan. The disappointment, the despair!

Because I’m such a good friend, I tried to console her—“You could make a trifle or a bread pudding, and no one will ever know!”—but my efforts were made only half-heartedly, for I knew that it truly was a travesty of an event. However, Heather is a true warrior and in the spirit of never accepting defeat, she left work early and made another chiffon cake. This time, however, she was careful not to be silly enough to drop it on the floor.

The subsequent email, also complete with photos, simply stated, “After taste testing to an audience of 8, we determined the lemon chiffon cake was a success!” And there you have it. 

Balsamic Vinegar

I'm on a mission--that of determining whether the balsamic vinegars in my pantry are authentic, and whether it even matters if they aren't. I'm not a total dumb-ass when it comes to recognizing that any "balsamic" vinegar that contains any ingredient other than grapes is not the real-deal. But it wasn't until I was flipping through one of my cookbooks just the other day when I realized that perhaps what I  had always  been treating as authentic were potential imposters. After all, I've never paid more than $35/bottle (and only once), and I typically buy bottles in the $15 range. 

Of course, my taste buds could care less if the bottle cost $100 or $15. Flavor is key. But what does REAL balsamic vinegar taste like? Since I don't even know whether I've ever tried the real deal, I don't know if I know what it tastes like. If this sounds complicated, I can assure you that it is.

For the record, the "balsamic" vinegars currently in my pantry are: Napa Valley Naturals Balsamic Grand Reserve Vinegar and Organic Balsamic Vinegar, Lucini Gran Riserva Balsamico, Spectrum Naturals Organic Balsamic Vinegar, and Rapunzel 100% Organic Balsamico Bianco. All claim to be produced in Italy, though some are actually bottled in the States. Upon quick inspection, however, it's apparent that three of the five are imposters--after all, they contain both wine vinegar and must. Agghhh!!!!!!!! I am embarrassed to admit to having been a fool.

So now I'm looking at the remaining two contenders: the Lucini and the first of the two Napa Valley Naturals. Are they for real? From what I've read about authentic balsamic vinegar, the real deal boast their authenticity in a myriad of ways, and it would appear that given this, my contenders , simply put, are fakes (http://oilandvinegar.cruets.com/finding-the-right-balsamic/).

Do I really care? I don't know. I NEED to try the real thing. I need to taste the standbys with the best of the best. And if Lucini holds its own, then I will pride myself on only having to spend $15 for a decent balsamic. It's worth noting that while some product "fakes" taste as good or better than their authentic counterparts, many do not (perhaps a future post will delve into the attributes and uniqueness of real Parmigiano-Reggiano). Since I'm an unemployed graduate student (on sabbatical), it may be quite a while until I will be able to afford to perform such a tasting. But perhaps during my upcoming three-week escape to Italy, I will be able to snag a few bottles to report back on to myself and my two other readers.

The French Culinary Institute

I'm so dreaming of attending the French Culinary Institute in New York. How could I not, now that I'm in possession of its instruction manual, which it claims represents a quarter of its actual course? So, tuition is a wee bit cost-prohibitive at $40+ for a 6-month intensive. However, the mere fact that for the first time ever in my entire 33 years I have found the idea of consuming kidneys appetizing speaks volumes of my enthusiasm to study amongst the culinary elite. I am now considering cooking my way through this masterpiece in order to learn a thing or two about being a real cook, and if I maintain this enthusiasm post-move (btw, I am in the process of moving, which is why I've been a lazy nincompoop and haven't posted anything for over a week!), I will undoubtedly blog about my adventures. Oh, and if you have either seen or read Julie and Julia, you must be forewarned that this book contains an entire section on aspics, complete with photos.

Day 7: Ponderings on Monday’s Coq au Vin

At around 9:30 on Monday evening, the heavens opened and the seas parted as I experienced the first bite of my very own coq au vin. Not only was the sauce delectable, but so was the coq itself! Actually, it was a poulet because I didn’t have an old rooster just waiting around to be butchered and subsequently simmered in wine, but since when would you ever expect a recovering vegan to be technically correct when it comes to meat, anyway?

As I poured through my 98+ cookbooks in search of the perfect coq au vin recipe, I quickly realized that though I possessed about a handful that would (presumably) be delish, none called out to me as being “the One.” So, I did what any irrational carnivorously-challenged individual would do and I combined attributes of three of the best recipes with a healthy dose of my own ideas in order to create my very own unique recipe for a French classic that deserves to be left alone by the culinary-challenged home cook. And thank God I did!

Here’s the deal: recipes for coq au vin tend to fall into two categories—those that reduce the wine prior to adding the chicken, and those that do not. Julia Child’s falls into the latter category, while Cook’s Illustrated and (most of) James Peterson’s versions fall into the former. Each has its attributes, though not reducing the wine prior to adding the bird will leave a dish with a distinctively raw wine flavor, since the chicken will finish cooking before the wine is adequately reduced. There may be more to it than this, so if you are really curious about it, just google it. Anyway, when coq au vin was really coq au vin and not poulet au vin or whatever the French actually call it when it’s made with chicken instead of rooster, the poor old bird’s meat was so tough that it required larding and a good three hours of simmering in the wine to tender it up, which would have eliminated the raw flavor of the broth. Why would Julia Child—the Master Teacher—ever direct us to prepare this dish in such a way so that the resulting broth is less-than-stellar (she does call for chicken, after all)? My guess is that she does not require first reducing the wine either due to simplicity’s sake for the American housewife—her target audience, or due to possible forgetfulness that simmering a rooster for three hours will affect the flavor of the sauce differently than will cooking a chicken for 30 minutes.

That aside, I invited my friends Heather and Celeste—both fellow wine and food snobs—over for dinner, which I had planned to be ready by 7. Do not underestimate the length of prep this dish actually necessitates; I began marinating the bird around 3, and was moderately busy for the next 6 hours! Anyway, all was good, since we shared a bottle of rosé with wedges of Winey Goat and Piave Vecchio during the final prep, and since my tardiness allowed for me to pass on the job of making mashed potatoes to someone far better suited to the task (Heather). During this time, I also managed to turn out an over-baked crème brûlée, which I am blaming on a faulty oven thermometer. Heather brought over the salad of greens, pears and chèvre doused in vinaigrette, as well as the rosé and a bottle of red, which we polished off while lingering over our coq au vin and crème fraiched-mashed potatoes. By the time the overdone crème brûlée was produced, I think that we were probably too happy from the wine and the otherwise gracious culinary gods’ blessing bestowed upon us during dinner to care. Finally, Heather and I did the dishes, and it’s worth noting that if you ever move to Bozeman, you should become friends with her so that you have an excuse to cook good food and have MAJOR help restoring your kitchen to pre-meal status. All she asks for in return is good conversation and a glass of wine.

Needless to say, dinner was a hit, my kid loved the stew, and I’ve decided that because of my obvious talent for preparing a tasty coq au vin and less-than-tasty crème brûlée, I ought to author a cookbook. Lol! Till next time…Bon Appetit!