Rarely do I post about lunch, mostly because we don’t usually make much of a deal about midday meals at home, but when I assemble something out of leftovers and other things I might have on hand – especially if there may be some lesson in it, for me at least – I’m tempted to share it.  For it to happen, of course, the picture also has to be presentable.

I started out only wanting to put together a quick meal for the two of us, but the soup which resulted was even more delicious than it deserved to be under the circumstances.

I know that I’m supposed to cook everything from scratch, and as much as possible with local ingredients, but this was just lunch.  Never underestimate the usefulness, or goodness, of Knorr leek mix.  I’ve had a soft spot for the company, founded in 1838 to make a coffee substitute, since I was living in Hanover in 1961.  I think part of my fascination with the rudimentary German supermarkets at the time might have been the discovery that there was such a thing as Ersatzkaffee, but I’m not certain it was Carl Heinrich Theodor‘s product I knew then.  Today the Knorr brand is owned by Unilever.  I go for long stretches not thinking about it, but then I’ll  spot the tidy icon in a store, and I melt just a bit.  I don’t know what I had in mind when I bought the firm’s leek mix packets perhaps a couple years ago, but the last one came in very handy today.  The fact that the dry mix tasted as good as it always does/did probably helps explain it’s usefulness – and popularity.

• a package of Knorr ‘Leek recipe mix’ I had found in the larder, simmered for five minutes and with two and a half cups of chicken broth made with Better Than Bullion chicken base (another kitchen savior, as are the company’s beef and vegetable versions), after which I added some wilted Golden Beet greens which I had left over from a dinner I made three days before
• slices of a crusty loaf of Trucio from Sullivan Street Bakery
• the beverage was a cold pitcher of still New York tap water

Both Barry and I have a soft spot for good traditional German cooking.  My own obsession goes back to 1961, and my first trip to Germany, although much later I realized that I had actually grown up with it by way of my mother’s cookery, which was a combination of Franconian tradtions and an enlightened modern American kitchen.

This particular meal employed the simplest preparation of a smoked pork ‘steak’, purchased in our local greenmarket from an Amish* farm in Pennsylvania, and an extraordinarily delicious red cabbage grown in Vermont, also picked up in the greenmarket.  I had never used this particular recipe, from Bon Appétit I found on line some years back, and it’s not entirely German (I mean, fennel and balsamic vinegar?), but the dish was very quick to assemble, incredibly delicious, and, in the end, pretty German after all.

The wine was absolutely wonderful, and a perfect accompaniment to the meal;  it was what I dream of finding in German wine pairing.  My excitement was probably not unrelated to the fact that the fruity and slaty riesling originated in a vineyard not that far from my father’s family’s family’s Heimat southwest of Trier, on the Saar. We don’t know where we had purchased the bottle, but we know we had had it for several years.  I’m hoping that we can find its equivalent again, and that it wasn’t just the extra bottle aging in the wine rack inside our apartment that made it taste so good.

• a smoked ham slice from Millport Dairy, dried, then seared in butter and olive oil before being buried for fifteen minutes in a large pot of onions, sweet-and-sour red cabbage and fennel after it had already been cooking for about 45 minutes, placed on plates with the vegetables, and sprinkled with a generous amount of chopped fennel fronds;  the onions came from Hawthorne Valley Farm, the cabbage was a cone-shaped ‘Red Beefheart from Tamarack Hollow Farm, and the fennel bulb was from Eataly
• the wine was a German white, Urban Riesling 2011 from das Weingut St. Urbans-Hof

 

* Only in the last decade or so have I come to realize that the Amish culinary traditions are actually not unrelated to my own family’s, in spite of our Catholic fanciness.

Continuing the special holiday wild theme (which has featured oysters, smoked bluefish, Scottish hare, and squid ink pasta for starters), on Saturday night we enjoyed smoked eel, seen here in a prominent role within a pasta dish which also included salted anchovies.  The recipe is an adaptation of the one found on this site, although I was unable to find spaghettini this time, and none of my usual sources had any fresh long red peppers.  Also, the last time I cooked this dish, because I had no chives, I had substituted chopped scissored scallion tops and chopped parsley;  I think I prefer the scallion/parsley version, unless it just that the chives were a bit too distant from their origins.

• garlic from S.&S.O. Farm, sliced and heated in a pan along with crushed dried pepperoncini, where they were followed by pieces of boned smoked eel from P.E.&D.D. Seafood and some savory pangrattato (here, homemade breadcrumbs toasted with olive oil in which S.&S.O. Farm garlic and anchovies from Buon Italia had been heated for a short while), the mix then tossed, some pasta water added, and served in bowls, where it was finished with scissored chives from Eataly
• the wine was an Italian white, le Salse Verdicchio di Matelica 2013

Wild.

• smoked bluefish fillet from Pura Vida in Cold Spring (north of New York City), skinned, chopped, and mixed with a little chopped shallot from Keith’s Farm, plus a tablespoon of lemon juice, four ounces of cream cheese from Murray’s Bagels (on 8th Avenue), and a generous amount of scissored fresh chives from Eataly, served with thin toasted slices of fourth-day Antica Classica from Eataly
• the wine was a Canadian white, Henry of Pelham Riesling 2013

 

Still wilder.  The treatment of the hare was a more rustic version of the recipe, “Pappardelle alla Lepre”, in the Rogers Gray Italian Country Cook Book.

• one small Scottish wild hare (the FDA does not allow us to buy any form of game bagged inside the US, but apparently trusts the Scots) purchased through Fossil Farms, briefly marinated with cognac, then braised with onion, carrot, celery, garlic, canned San Marzano tomatoes (drained), half a bottle of a good red wine, several cloves, and half of a cinnamon stick
• the egg noodles were Pappardelle Antica Madia, from Eataly
• golden-beet tops from Eataly, wilted with olive oil
• the wine was a great Italian red, Conti ‘il Rosso della Donne ‘Boca’ 2008

 

We’ve been enjoying this recipe for so many years that I’m no longer certain of its origins, although I suspect it started with, Mario Batalli, even if the details may have been altered.  The original specified fresh pasta, but I’ve never hesitated to use dried, especially if it is of the highest quality.

It may seem to be an unlikely combination of ingredients, but it’s definitely an inspired one.

• a thick piece of pancetta from Buon Italia, chopped into 1/2 inch cubes, sautéed in a large pan until browned, the fat rendered, the pancetta removed and replaced by a small amount of butter and some parsnips from Norwich Meadows Farm, peeled, halved and cut into half-moons, also sautéed, then seasoned, followed by parsley from Stokes Farm, chopped, the pancetta which had been removed earlier now returned to the mix, along with boiled and drained dried pasta of Cuttle Fish Spaccatelli from Spoglini (purchased at the New Amsterdam Market), everything finally tossed together with the addition of some of the pasta cooking water, placed in bowls, and finished with grated Parmesan cheese from Buon Italia
• the wine was an Austrian white (in a nod to sone of the more Germanic elements of the entreé), Huber Grüner Veltliner ‘Terrassen’ 2013 from Traisental

This is warm meal preparation reduced to almost a bare minimum.  The recipe comes from Mark Bitman’s list, Summer Express: 101 Simple Meals Ready in 10 Minutes or Less”,   but the catalog is not just for summer.

We’ve enjoyed this fragrant dish many times.  It’s delicious, the ingredients can always be kept on hand (and I do) for ’emergencies’, making a last-minute trip to the market unnecessary, and it really does take only ten minutes, unless you slow-heat it as I did this time, which I really recommend.

The only thing I added to Bittman’s formula was the parlsey, from Stokes Farm, chopped and sprinkled on top of the bowl.

• Mark’s instructions for his number 40:  “Put a large can of chickpeas and their liquid in a medium saucepan. Add some sherry, along with olive oil, plenty of minced garlic, smoked pimentón (I used dulce) and chopped Spanish chorizo. Heat through.”   Note: I used chorizo from Millbrook Farm, and it was wonderful.
• the wine was a Portuguese red, Casa de Santa Eufemia Perene Tinto Douro 2012

[only a little bit of] assembly is required

This entrée, as with others involving the assembly of similar well-made filled pastas (as, Agnolotti, pansotti, tortelli or tortelloni, to name a few) purchased commercially, is so easy to put together that it’s downright embarrassing, especially since it, and others like it, can be incredibly delicious – and also incredibly quick.   Because it takes so little time, it’s best to turn on the heat under the pasta water as soon as you’ve even thought of making this dinner, then pour a glass of wine and bring out the breadsticks, because it will only take five minutes or so to prepare the rest of the ingredients.

These meals are also almost impossibly pretty, something I think is important in presenting a meal.

Note:   Last night we had already sat down and begun eating before I realized I hadn’t shaved some good Parmesan cheese over the pasta after it had been placed in the bowls (it had been a while since I had served mushroom-filled pasta, and I may just have been out of practice).  I didn’t go back to the kitchen, but I promised myself I’d remember the next time; I believe Parmesan cheese tends to appear on Italian dishes more often than it really should, but this is one of those ‘should’ times.

• torn leaves of a head of radicchio from Eataly, warmed in a broad sauce pan with olive oil and a small chopped shallot (Keith’s Farm) it had softened, and joined by toasted pine nuts just as a package of Rana mushroom-filled ravioli from Eataly had finished boiling in a large pot of water for two minutes, been drained and moved into the pan, where everything was stirred together with some of the reserved pasta water,  the mixed pasta and sauce placed in shallow bowls and sprinkled with lovage from Two Guys from Woodbridge, chopped
• the wine was an Italian red, Tenuta Rapitlà Nero d’Avola Campo Reale 2013

 

This meal and the first evening of winter made a perfect pairing, although there wasn’t any snow, and the temperature never got anywhere near freezing (I think).  The recipe is from the first of the terrific Gray and Rogers cookbooks, “Rogers Gray Italian Country Cook Book“.

I just now noticed that the recipe appears all over the internet, in most cases without crediting Ruth Rogers and Rose Gray.  This site furnishes both the recipe and a proper attribution, but I heartily recommend buying all three of their books; I refer to each of them regularly, and find some of the simple recipes indispensable.

• lamb shank from 3-Corner Field Farm, braised with red onions from Norwich Meadows Farm, chopped garlic from Migliorelli Farm, chopped fresh rosemary from Phillips Farm, and a significant amount of both balsamic vinegar and a decent red wine
• coarse polenta, stirred with milk and water, finished with butter and Gorgonzola cheese from Eataly
• brussels sprouts taken home on a stem from Oak River Plantation, roasted in the oven with olive oil, salt, and pepper
• the wine was a superb California red,  Mazzocco Sonoma Cabernet Sauvignon 2011 from Dry Creek Valley

I love flounder anyway, but I have no idea why Barry and I both found this fillet even more delicious than usual.  I’d even say it was the best I have ever had.  It was serious, with an intense flavor which included a hint of shellfish.   Flounder is normally a delicate fish, easily filleted and easily prepared, but I now have serious respect for the flavor alone.

The fillet I bought from the fisherman that afternoon weighed in at slightly over one pound.  That in itself was unusual for our table, but was it the reason it tasted so grown-up?  Or was it the fact that I sautéed it in both butter and, my usual choice, olive oil?  Maybe it was that tiny bit of Chianti white oak-aged vinegar.  Wait, I just did a web search, and found suggestions that Winter Flounder itself, a local species, is particularly desirable for its flavor.

I used a recipe I found on the LA Times site, and made only a few adjustments.

•  Long Island flounder fillet from P.E.&D.D. Seafood, divided into two parts, seasoned, cooked in a pan over high heat for a few minutes, turning once, then placed on plates, a couple of spoons of ‘tomato butter’ [see below] placed on top.
• tomato butter made by cooking in butter a tiny amount of shallot from Keith’s Farm, then letting the flavored butter cool slightly before being poured over fresh large cherry tomatoes, ‘Cocktail Tomatoes’ from Maine via Whole Foods, chopped, which had been combined  with torn basil, seasoned with salt, pepper, and drops of red wine vinegar
• cavalo nero (Racinato kale) from Keith’s Farm, braised with garlic, finished with salt, pepper, and a bit of olive oil
• the wine was a California white, Rock.Face Chenin Blanc Clarksburg 2012

if it’s art, is it a grid?

Sometimes you don’t miss tomato, even when it’s about pizza.  In fact, until I thought of writing this post, I don’t think it occurred to me that one of our favorite pizzas is never kissed by the red fruit of the nightshade.

Pizza is our usual go-to, emergency, fast food alternative whenever there’s absolutely no time to cook, meaning when there’s a performance, protest, or other event which lasts until late in the evening.  Rocco’s Pizza Joint, which is only a few blocks from us, has a ‘Broccoli Rabe & Sausage Pizza Pie’, and it is often our preference these days – when we can get it. It’s a rarity on our table because Rocco’s usually closes before we have a chance to order, but I think that means it’s appreciated even more when we are able to enjoy it.

It may be at least as rare on other tables as well, and not just because rapini, or broccoli di rapa, may not be to everyone’s taste: Our particular favorite pie doesn’t actually show up on the shop’s site.  It can be found on Seamless.com however.

One of the charms of ‘pizza night’ for us is the opportunity it gives, not only to pick out a wine appropriate to each of the pie’s variants, but for a low-key, unhurried appreciation of the wine and the pairing.  Also, pizza leftovers are always a good thing, and there are always leftovers, sometimes with the wine as well.

One more note.  I will never confuse Rocco’s product with my own white pizza outing some five years back, either for convenience or taste.  Mine wasn’t delivered, and since it took longer, it was no solution for a late supper.  I humbly confess however that if I can remember it correctly, I preferred my ramps and guanciale version, with a crust I had rolled out from dough bought at Whole Foods.  It was beginner’s luck, plus, really, ‘ramps and guanciale”?  How can you go wrong?

• Rocco’s Broccoli Rabe & Sausage [white] Pizza, seen here as a rectangular pie in its box, lying on top of the covered burners of our range; later there would be chile flakes
• the wine was an Italian red, Mirafiore Dolcetto d’Alba 2011