They were the last 2 dolphin fillets at the fisherman’s stand yesterday, and just the right size for the two of us. I would go home with them of course, not just because they’re so scarce, on that day, sure, but in the local market generally, but because we love this fish.

Some people might say all fish tastes pretty much the same, that the only real difference is in its preparation. This could just as well be said of red meat, but I’d argue that both opinions depend on a very narrow idea of what constitutes seafood or meat, when compared to the range of what is available in this area alone.

The taste and the texture of Dolphin are both pretty much unique. I can’t describe its sweet mild flavor in words, but  it’s medium color, richness, and oiliness puts it somewhere between the extremes of dark, rich oily fish and dry, lean white fish; Barry and I enjoy virtually every kind of seafood, and because of the Union Square Greenmarket, we have access to the huge variety available in these waters alone.

One of the advantages of understanding the types of seafood is the ability to substitute species when deciding how to prepare a meal. One of the advantages of cooking at home frequently is the ability to substitute ingredients when you learn at the last minute that your fresh herb or seasoning vegetable has withered, or that you’ve either misplaced or haven’t replaced that spice you were going to use.

I’ve prepared several different kinds of fish in the same way I did these fillets last night, and I’ve tried several different preparations in the past for dolphin themselves. I chose this one for its simplicity, and for the fact that it wouldn’t heat up the kitchen with the oven on a humid evening. Then I realized that I didn’t have the herb I was hoping to use, but I could quickly substitute another (in fact I think the oregano worked better than the savory that I thought I had bought on Wednesday).

• two 9-ounce dolphin fillets, with skin, from American Seafood Company, dry-marinated for 45 minutes or so  with more than half a tablespoon of zest from an organic lemon from Whole Foods Market, half a tablespoon of chopped fresh oregano from Phillips Farms, sea salt, and freshly-ground black pepper, seared in a little olive oil inside a heavy oval vintage copper fish pan for about 3 minutes, skin side up, then turned over and the skin side seared for another 3 minutes, the heat lowered and the pan loosely covered with aluminum foil for a minute or two, after which it was removed, and some thin-ish slices of spring ‘Magi garlic’ from Windfall Farms and a bit of crushed dried habanada pepper were introduced and very briefly heated with the fish, which was then removed from the pan, along with the allium and the habanada, and arranged on the plates, the now richly-savory pan juices poured over the top of the fish

• thirteen ounces or so of some very small, very sweet ‘red thumb’ potatoes from Tamarack Hollow Farm, scrubbed, boiled whole and unpeeled in heavily-salted water until barely cooked through, drained, halved, dried in the still-warm large vintage Corning Pyrex Flameware blue-glass pot in which they had cooked, a little olive oil added, seasoned with salt and black pepper, mixed with some garlic mustard leaves from Norwich Meadows Farm, arranged on the plates and sprinkled with more garlic mustard, including some flowers

• one small basket of ripe Sun Gold tomatoes from Eckerton Hill Farm, rinsed, dried, each pricked at least once with a small kitchen prong, rolled around in a little olive oil inside a small skillet until they had begun to soften, seasoned with salt, black pepper, and a pinch of dried fenugreek from Bombay Emerald Chutney Company (purchased at the Saturday Chelsea Farmers Market), arranged on the plates and tossed with a small amount of chopped fennel fronds, still very fresh tasting, from a meal more than a week earlier
• the wine was a Portuguese (Beiras) white, Filipa Pato – FP Branco 2018, from 67Wine
• the music was the awesome Nonesuch After Mozart Digital MP3 Album, released as a part of the celebrations of the eponymous composer’s 250th birthday anniversary, with performances by Gidon Kremer and the Kremerata Baltica, with some of Mozart’s more playful works, plus some experimental pieces by other composers

I really love fava beans, but no matter how many I buy, it seems I always end up with only a few spoonfuls of the treat itself once I’ve removed the inedible parts.  An article in bon appétit even includes them in their list of ‘jerk vegetables’, where they’re concerned only with the amount of work they require to prepare, not the cost of purchasing a number large enough to be appreciated. In any event, their suggestion for dealing with the problem (just buy fewer fava beans) holds no attraction for me.

Since I discovered the fava bean shoot a few years ago, I almost never go back to the bean itself, because these treasures (which look a bit like giant clover leaves, how sweet is that?) offer everything the beans do, except for the texture.

I used a few handfuls of the greens in a simple meal last night. I’ve prepared them as a side vegetable and incorporated them in pasta dishes in the past, but this may be the first time I’ve wilted them for a pasta as I would other greens, and not just tossed a smaller amount into the mix at the end. The result, seen in the image at the top, looks very different this time, but it was at least as delicious as ever.

• a few loose handfuls of fava shoots from Keith’s farm, newly-returned-to-the-Greenmarket on Saturday, washed, drained, and gradually added to a large antique copper pot in which one large green or spring ‘Magic garlic’ from Windfall Farms had already been heated and softened a bit before about a quarter teaspoon of slightly crushed whole Moroccan coriander seeds from Flatiron Eataly were added, plus freshly-ground black pepper to taste, the fava greens stirred and allowed to wilt only slightly before stirring in some lemon zest (from half of one Chelsea Whole Foods Market organic lemon) and a little lemon juice, then 8 or 9 ounces of cooked and drained Afeltra 100% grano italiano spaghetti, produced in Gragnano, from Eataly Flatiron, added and stirred over a medium-high flame with a full cup of the reserved pasta cooking water, until the liquid had emulsified, the pasta then arranged inside shallow bowls and finished with olive oil drizzled around the edges, a bit of Parmigiano Reggiano (aged 24 months) from Whole Foods grated on top
• the wine was an Italian (Sicilian) white, Planeta – La Segreta White 2017, from 67Wine
• the music was the album, ‘Laurence Crane: 6 Trios 2 Solos & 1 Quintet’, by the Ives Ensemble (and another after dinner

It was Decoration Day, when most Americans pay more attention to the culture of the American cookout, on what is observed, unofficially, as the first day of summer, than the nature or meaning of the holiday, the almost silly controversies about its origins, or what I think of as its continuing problematic significance.

We cooked in.

Maybe the grumpy, second part of the first paragraph explains why my heart wasn’t really into this meal; maybe it was because we had spent the day on Staten Island (there were both sweet and sour bits); maybe it’s that I was tired; maybe it was having to rush the meal because it was getting late (my own fault), and that assembling it turned out to be more complicated than it really should have been.

Dinner was okay, but not exciting. I think much of it had to do with my under-salting the vegetables, including the Salzkartoffeln (I mean, they’re called salt potatoes!), and maybe I can blame my under-salted sauerkraut on an under-salted bottled sauerkraut (modern tastes?), but then, don’t I know about ‘taste for seasoning’?

• four links of bratwurst (one pound) from Hudson Vally Charcuterie at Raven & Boar farm, in the Union Square Greenmarket, placed inside in a pot and covered with water, brought to a boil, the heat immediately reduced and the water allowed to simmer for 10 minutes, the sausage removed from the liquid and dried, cooked above a medium flame (too high will cause their casings to crack open) in an enameled grill pan, 3 to 4 minutes per side, or until browned, removed to the plates, a dab of a classic German mustard, Löwensenf Medium, placed at the side of the bratwurst
• about one pound of la ratte potatoes from Fledging Crow Vegetables in the Union Square Greenmarket, scrubbed, boiled, along with a generous amount of salt (ideally generous, but maybe I messed up this time), drained, dried in the pan, halved, rolled in a little butter, seasoned with salt and pepper, sprinkled with chopped parsley from Phillips Farms
• one 16-ounce glass jar of sauerkraut (simply cabbage, water, sea salt) from Schaller & Weber [also here] drained and very well-rinsed in several changes of cold water, drained again and placed inside a large, heavy, high-sided tin-lined copper pot with 2 chopped small red onions and one chopped orange carrot (an apple, if I had one, would have been preferable), both from Norwich Meadows Farm, 8 or 9 whole juniper berries, and about the same number of Whole Foods Market proprietary brand peppercorns (they’re surprisingly good!), a little sea salt, one large Sicilian bay leaf from Buon Italia, and enough fresh water to almost cover the sauerkraut, all brought to a boil then merely simmered (covered) over a low flame, stirring occasionally, for less than half an hour, and then uncovered for 20 or 30 minutes more
• we shared 2 different beers: a really delicious local Montauck Summer Ale, the gift of a friend (the glass in the picture at the top), and a phenomenal smoked beer we’d first tasted in its home town, Bamberg, Upper Franconia, Helles Schlenkerla Lager, purchased at Schaller & Weber here on 2nd Avenue
• the music was the album, ‘Philip Glass, Symphonies Nos. 2 & 3’, Marin Alsop conducting the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra

The picture reminds me of how good the meal was, and I’m happy with some of the details it describes, since I could easily have just repeated much of the formula I’ve used with so many of the the goat chops I’ve served. At least some of the credit for the innovations must be ascribed to (perceived) necessity.

To begin with, while I had planned on serving roasted fingerlings, since it was warm and humid last night I decided to try something that didn’t need a hot oven. I also thought about how the only potatoes I had in the larder would go better with the very German meal I was planning to serve on Monday, Decoration Day.  Fortunately I had picked up some very attractive light green cucumbers (they were delicious, as it turns out) at the Union Square Greenmarket the day before.

I didn’t have any dill, which is an obvious accompaniment for the cucumbers, but I did have some still very fresh acting fennel fronds in the crisper, left over from a meal more than a week before. I also want to thank Persephone for the blessings of green, or spring garlic, especially welcome in a season which leaves us totally bereft of at least the local dried sort.

Another novelty was the final touch given to the chops themselves: While looking on line for garlic mustard information in order to write about it in an earlier post, I read that this herb and putative invasive garden pest alliaria petiolata went really well with goat.

• four small loin goat chops (averaging just over 3 ounces each) from Lynnhaven Dairy Goat Farm, marinated about 45 minutes to an hour in a mix of a couple tablespoons of olive oil, one sliced stem of green or spring ‘Magic garlic’ from Windfall Farms, a freshly-ground mix of black pepper and other seeds or spices (fennel seeds cumin seeds, coriander seeds, star anise, white peppercorns, and whole clove) that had been accidentally combined when I was preparing a dry marinade for a pork belly, then decided to hold onto for future use, 8 slightly-crushed juniper berries, some roughly-chopped rosemary from Stokes Farm, one medium size crushed, now-dried-but-purchased-fresh, bay leaf from Westside Market, and a little zest and juice from an organic Whole Foods Market lemon, the chops pan-grilled for a few minutes, turning 3 times, seasoned with sea salt and a little more pepper after the first turn, finished, while they rested for a few minutes on warm plates, with a bit of lemon juice and a drizzle of olive oil, garnished with roughly chopped garlic mustard from Norwich Meadows Farm [they were perfectly cooked, with not anxiety, this time

• two cucumbers (12 ounces?), described as ‘Japanese cucumbers’ by the guys at Norwich Meadows Farm where I bought them, although I can’t locate anything on line with their color (light green, almost yellow), unpeeled, sliced into rounds 2 or 3 cms thick, sautéed, along with another sliced stem of spring ‘Magic garlic’, in a little olive oil inside a large antique copper pot over a medium-high flame, turning twice, sprinkling with salt each time, each side allowed to begin carbonizing, adding slices from the stems of several small fennel bulbs from Central Valley Farm, more than half way through, seasoned with freshly-ground black pepper, arranged on the plates, garnished with chopped fennel fronds and drizzled with a little olive oil

• one bunch of purple Russian kale from Eckerton Hill Farm, washed, drained, wilted inside a medium size antique copper pot enameled in a tablespoon or so of olive oil in which 4 bruised small cloves of dry garlic from Mexico via Chelsea Whole Foods Market had first been allowed to sweat and begin to color, the greens seasoned with salt and black pepper, arranged on the plates where a little more olive oil was drizzled on top
• the wine was an Italian (Sardinia) red, Sella & Mosca Cannonau di Sardegna Riserva 2015, from 67Wine
• the music was the 2014 recording by Dennis Russell Davies and the Sinfonieorchester Basel of Philip Glass’ Symphony No.1 ‘Low’, composed in 1992

It looks like a holiday celebration. Of course I’m thinking of something that used to be called ‘Decoration Day‘, something beyond the morbid, more modern American celebration of soldiers fallen in the name of our national military fetish.

I would prefer to think of this late spring weekend as an occasion when people gather, put flowers on graves, enjoy the company of relatives and of others, both familiar and not. It’s an anachronism anyway, so I’ll add a picnic-like ‘dinner on the grounds’, one which would probably be enjoyed at about the same afternoon hour Barry and I enjoyed this breakfast today. If asked, we would probably both respond with mixed feelings about being far from our own family cemeteries.

• the ingredients of the meal, which as usual served as lunch and breakfast, were almost entirely local: some very fresh eggs from pastured chickens and bacon from pastured pigs, both from Millport Dairy Farm, the fried eggs seasoned with sea salt, a freshly ground mix of black pepper and other seeds or spices that had been accidentally combined when I was preparing a dry marinade for a pork belly, then decided to hold onto for future use (black pepper, fennel seeds cumin seeds, coriander seeds, star anise, white peppercorns, and whole clove), sprinkled with a thinly sliced bulb from a bunch of ramps form Mountain Sweet Berry Farm, and finished with thinly sliced strips of the 2 ramp leaves that had been attached to the bulb, some chopped fronds of small spring fennel bulbs from Central Valley Farm that had been a part of an earlier meal, a few small cherry tomatoes from Eckerton Hill Farm that had been heated gently in a small enamel-lined cast iron porringer, then sprinkled with a dry seasoning called L’ekama from Ron & Leetal Arazi’s New York Shuk, a small mound of micro purple radish from Two Guys from Woodbridge, and thin slices, not toasted, of 2 different rich, hearty breads, ‘Seedy Grains’ from Lost Bread Company (wheat, spelt, rye, barley, organ bread buckwheat, oats, seeds {flax, sesame, sunflower, pumpkin], water, salt) and Runner & Stone’s whole wheat seeded crescent (with toasted sesame, flax, poppy, and caraway seeds)
• the music was a morning concert album by the sitarist Nikhil Banerjee, ‘Morning Ragas Bombay 1965’

I’m new to cooking with morels (who isn’t, other than the lucky few who can hunt them in nearby fields?); I think I still have work to do on these prized and very expensive fungi, assuming I save up enough for another go: Maybe I’m too allied to Mediterranean cookery, but while this approach with a flounder fillet that I employed last night was delicious, it didn’t seem like an ideal match.

It had started at this pretty spectacular table of foraged mushrooms and ramps, or wild spring leeks, at the Union Square Greenmarket(note: the beautiful eggs weren’t foraged).

• two and a quarter ounces of perfectly clean[ed] fresh morel mushrooms (two mushrooms) from the spring foraged plants table overseen by Patrick, I think, at the Violet Hill Farm stand in the Union Square Greenmarket, sliced narrowly lengthwise (this cut may not have been a wise choice for these fungi, at least aesthetically) and added to a heavy antique copper skillet in which one spring garlic stem (the white section, and a little of the green) had first been softened in a tablespoon or so of butter, the morels immediately salted, to encourage moisture escaping, gently sautéed for several minutes until brown, a splash of Lustau dry (fino) sherry from Philippe Wines stirred in, the mushrooms seasoned with freshly ground black pepper, and kept warm while the fish, which had already begun cooking, was finished
• one very fresh flounder fillet (a total of 21 ounces) from P.E & D.D. Seafood Company, halved, seasoned on both sides with sea salt and freshly-ground black pepper, sautéed fairly gently in a couple tablespoons of butter inside a large (13-inch), thick-walled antique tin-lined copper pan, flesh side first, turned after about 2 minutes, maybe slightly more, the second side cooked for about the same length of time before the fish was removed and arranged on 2 plates, either covered, to keep warm, or, if it’s convenient to do so, placed inside a barely-warm until the mushroom sauce was completed, at which time it was spooned onto the flounder
• four medium size ‘red thumb’ potatoes and 2 ‘pinto’ potatoes (the 2 kinds remaining from larger numbers, and now assembled together as a single vegetable for this meal), all from from Norwich Meadows Farm, scrubbed, boiled whole and unpeeled in heavily-salted water until barely cooked through, drained, halved, dried in the still-warm large vintage Corning Pyrex Flameware blue-glass pot in which they had cooked, a tablespoon of Organic Valley European-Style Cultured Butter added, seasoned with sea salt and freshly-ground black pepper, arranged on the plates and sprinkled with chopped lovage, also from Norwich Meadows

• ten or eleven ounces of medium thickness (they did not have to be peeled) green asparagus from Hoeffner Farms, their tougher lower ends snapped off, rolled inside a large Pampered Chef unglazed ceramic pan with a handful of thyme branches from Phillips Farm in a little more than a tablespoon of olive oil, a little salt, and black pepper, roasted at 425º for about 20 or 25 minutes, then drizzled with a bit of Whole Foods Market organic lemon after they had been arranged on the plates
• the wine was a French (Loire/Sancerre) white, Domaine Paul Cherrier Sancerre Blanc 2017 from 67 Wine
• the music was an album of orchestral music by Hans Werner Henze, the Double Concerto for Oboe, Harp and Strings, the Fantasia for Strings, and the Sonata for Strings; the performers include Ursula Holliger (Harp), Heinz Holliger (Oboe), Paul Sacher (Conductor), and the Zurich Collegium Musicum

We had been to the theater, a stunning performance of Sam Shepard’s ‘Curse of the Starving Class’, and, both stimulated and disturbed, we’d decided to head for the comfort of our home table rather than eat out (food, and eating both feature large in the play).

We didn’t arrive home until about 10:30. Dinner would have to be assembled quickly, but I wanted it to be very satisfying, so it was ‘two bachelors pasta’ to the rescue (my appellation, my improvisation, with a nod to any number of variations on ‘spaghettata di mezzanotte‘).

I put water in the pot and set it above a high flame as soon as we got into the apartment; the rest of the cooking operation was almost as easy.

• eight or nine ounces of a one kilogram package of Setaro Neapolitan spaghetti from Buon Italia in the Chelsea Market, cooked al dente, drained, some of the water reserved, mixed into one of the simplest sauces possible: 3 thinly sliced green, or spring garlic bulbs, the white sections only, from John D. Madura Farms and a bit of crushed dried Calabresi peperoncino secchia, also from Buon Italia, heated together inside a large antique copper pot until the garlic had softened, (basically, seconds), seasoned with sea salt, almost a full cup of the reserved pasta water added and the mix stirred over high heat for a couple of minutes, or until the liquid had emulsified, some garlic mustard (not garlic, but it is a mustard) flowers and leaves, from Norwich Meadows Farm, stirred in, more of the herb later tossed on top of the pasta, which was served with olive oil drizzled around the edges

• the wine was and Italian (Campania) white, Feudi di San Gregorio Falanghina 2017, from Garnet Wines
• the music was another album by the ensemble, Il Giardino Armonico, ‘Viaggio Musicale / Italian Music of the Seventeenth Century‘, which was at least as gorgeous as the other two we’ve heard this week

While the photograph above is my favorite image of this meal, this one may really describe it better:

On Monday afternoon, the same day I had picked up the swordfish belly that I prepared that night, I had also bought one fresh duck breast. At the time I was thinking of it as a small ‘speculative’ investment: Because we had enjoyed a meal of meat only a few days before, it was unlikely that we we’d be eating more soon. I thought I’d freeze it until an occasion presented itself, but before I did, it was Tuesday, and the occasion had arrived.

It was the cool weather, but mostly it was the vegetables.

I had suddenly remembered that I had a couple of small yummy-type squash in the refrigerator, which, together with some luscious spinach I had bought the day before, almost demanded something like duck.

Forgotten however, since they had been there almost a month, was the just how small these kabocha squash actually were (they were the runts of the bucket, and the last 2 cleft in the farmer’s stall, which is pretty much why I had bought them), especially since they had become just a little desiccated over that time, and I still had to hollow out and remove the seeds and stringy pulp. I realized the inadequacy of their size only once I had begun preparing dinner, so necessity was the mother of inspiration. They had almost disappeared, but I still had sufficient warning of the problem, and I managed to find a small supporting cast: I added a little celery and a few small very spicy radishes, roughly chopped, then continued, improvising a bit, with a recipe I would have used if it had been the squash alone that I was cooking.

It was delicious, more than just a good complement to the duck and the spinach.

The spinach cooked down fast, seemed to be trying to disappear, but I put a brake on it just before it did, and its sweetness made up for the smallness of its final portion.

The duck itself was pretty small, but it’s a very intense, sturdy meat; it came with no surprises, presented absolutely no difficulties; it helps that I could almost do this recipe in my sleep; and it was superb, as always.

• one 14-ounce duck breast from Hudson River Duck Farm, the fatty side scored in tight cross hatching with a very sharp knife, after which the entire breast rubbed, top and bottom, with a mixture of sea salt, freshly-ground black pepper, and a little turbinado sugar, left standing on the counter for about 45 minutes to an hour before being pan-fried, fatty side down first, inside a small oval enameled cast iron pan over medium heat for a total of about 9 or 10 minutes, turning once, draining the oil after the first few minutes (the fat strained can be used in cooking at another time, if desired), the breast removed when medium rare, cut crosswise into 2 portions and checked for the right doneness in the center, which means definitely no more than medium rare, and maybe even a bit less, drizzled with a little juice from an organic Whole Foods Market lemon and some olive oil, the halves transferred to warm plates sitting on top of the oven

• two mini kabocha squash from Lani’s Farm scrubbed, halved, the seeds and pith removed, cut into narrow wedges, plus an equal amount each of celery from Chelsea Whole Foods Market and Korean green Mu radishes from Norwich Meadows Farm, all roughly cut into the same size as the squash, mixed by hand inside a large bowl with a relatively small amount of olive oil, sea salt, freshly-ground black pepper, and a pinch from a gorgeous (dried) hickory smoked Jamaican Scotch bonnet pepper from Eckerton Hill Farm, purchased in the Greenmarket last December, arranged on a large, unglazed, well-seasoned ceramic pan and roasted at 425º for 20 or 25 minutes, the vegetables removed from the oven and transferred to a large heavy antique copper pot in which 3 sliced bulbs of ‘Music’ spring garlic from Windfall Farms and a generous amount of fresh thyme leaves from Phillips Farms had been gently heated in a bit of olive oil

• a few ounces of loose spinach from Alewife Farm, washed in several changes of water, drained, very gently wilted (that is, trying not reduce it too far) inside a large, heavy, antique high-sided tin-lined copper pot in a little olive oil in which 3 quartered cloves of ‘music garlic’ from Windfall Farms had first been allowed to sweat, seasoned with salt, pepper, and a bit of crushed dried Calabrian peperoncini secchia from Buon Italia, finished on the plates with a little more olive oil
• the wine was  French (Languedoc-Roussillon/Corbieres) red, Domaine de Fontsainte Rouge AOC Corbières [unfortunately I didn’t document the vintage, and we don’t remember from whom we acquired it]

• the music was the Il Giardino Armonico album, ‘La casa del Diavolo’ [The House of the Devil]

It’s not tofu.

It’s swordfish belly, and, inexplicably it’s still almost invisible on the internet. This is the second time I’ve prepared it at home, improvising a separate recipe each time. This one seemed even better than the first one.

What it’s also not, is swordfish ‘bacon’, so just ignore the people describing it that way:  It won’t help in its cooking or its enjoyment.

Another factoid: The word “garlic” appears in the description of each of the 3 segments of this meal, although in one case there is no actual garlic and none of them resembles any of the others.

More interesting is the meal’s locavore slant: Although there had once been an even more local sea salt available here, the enterprise called Urban Sproule (it seems to have now disappeared), with its remarkable product drawn from neighbor Brooklyn, last night was the first time I ever blesssed a meal with a local salt; it was also one of a relatively few number of meals posted here that have featured a local citrus fruit. I’m now looking forward to the next breakthrough: local black pepper and local olive oil (just kidding).

Finally, this meal was more of a collaborative than most, as it was assembled largely through exchanges between Barry and myself (I must have felt more tentative than usual in the kitchen last night).

• one 1½-inch-thick (there’s significant shrinkage as it cooks) belly steak from a local (Long Island) waters swordfish (16 ounces) from P.E. & D.D. Seafood, brought to kitchen/room temperature, cut into 1½-inch-wide segments and the skin sliced off (although I’m still not sure that would have been necessary), briefly seared, 30 seconds on the first side, 15 on the second, inside a totally dry (no oil or butter whatsoever) large enameled cast iron pan which had been pre-heated above a high flame until very hot, the fish removed and arranged on warm plates, the heat under the pan reduced to a medium flame, a tablespoon or so of olive oil added, and 3 small chopped spring ‘Magic’ garlic bulbs from Windfall Farms introduced, along with 4 halved Backyard Farms Maine ‘cocktail tomatoes’ from Chelsea Whole Foods, the vegetables pushed around inside the pan until they had softened, then arranged on and around the swordfish, everything seasoned with local Long Island sea salt, also from P.E. & D.D. Seafood, finished with a squeeze of a small local Persian lime that had been raised by David Tifford of Fantastic Gardens of Long Island, a farmer (mostly of decorative plants, which he sells in the Union Square Greenmarket, garnished with roughly chopped fresh oregano from Phillips farms
• just under a pound of pinto potatoes from Norwich Meadows Farm in the Union Square Greenmarket, scrubbed, boiled whole and unpeeled in heavily-salted water until barely cooked through, drained, dried in the still-warm large vintage Corning Pyrex Flameware blue-glass pot in which they had cooked, then halved, and a tablespoon or so of olive oil added, the potatoes tossed with sea salt and freshly-ground black pepper, arranged on the plates, sprinkled with chopped fresh garlic mustard from Norwich Meadows Farm
• the second half of the bunch of baby cavolo nero, lacinato kale, or black kale, from from Migliorelli Farm, remaining from a meal on Friday, briefly wilted with olive oil and 4 smallish garlic cloves from Mexico via Whole Foods Market, the garlic first having been heated in the oil until almost beginning to brown, the greens finished with salt, freshly-ground black pepper, a squeeze of lemon juice, and a drizzle of olive oil
• the wine was a wonderful surprise, a French (Corsica) rosé using the native Sciaccarellu grape, Domaine Eric Poli Sciaccarellu Rose Île de Beauté, from Foragers Wines
• the music was a new, absolutely gorgeous album, ‘La Morte della Ragione‘ (The Death of Reason), in which the brilliant Italian ensemble Il Giardino Armonico performs 15th through the 17th-century instrumental music

I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew it would taste great, for one thing, because it was water buffalo, but also because it was a chuck steak. What I wasn’t sure was how I should cook it.

Buffalo is leaner than beef, and so it needs less time and lower heat on the grill pan. Also, the color is and remains a lot redder than beef, so when it looks like an almost rare beef steak buffalo is actually medium-rare.

Then there was the fact that chuck steak, while really delicious, can be pretty tough if not cooked properly, and knowing what that means is key. I’m definitely not an expert, but I do know that the chuck comes from the large muscles of the shoulder, which do a lot of work, meaning they have a lot of connective tissue. This means that normally these cuts do best with slow, moist heat, like braising in the oven, or, if steaks, with a very quick cooking, like broiling, pan-frying, or pan-grilling.

It was a warm and humid evening, so I had decided against doing a reverse sear, which would seem to have been another possibility.

In the end, perhaps too optimistically, I chose to treat it more or less as I would usually cook a steak. That by itself may not have been a mistake, but I think I did make a mistake in not slicing it into sections once it had been cooked, to at least suggest a tenderness it was not expected to possess, but also for an aesthetic reason, since the steak, while delicious, did look just a little irregular on the plates.

• one 14-ounce water buffalo chuck steak from Riverine Ranch, washed, dried, covered in olive oil, sea salt, freshly ground black pepper, covered loosely in wax paper, allowed to rest on the counter for 2 hours, then dried, pan grilled above a medium-high flame, loosely covered with foil, for 2 and a half or 3 minutes, turned over, cooked for another 2 and a half minutes, removed with a finger test and an instant read thermometer suggested it was rare to medium rare, halved, visually checking for doneness, and a little thawed gorgonzola/fennel butter remaining from a previous meal spread on top, the steaks allowed to rest for 6 to 8 minutes, garnished with chopped garlic mustard from Norwich Meadows Farm

• seventeen thick asparagus spears (just under 22 ounces before heavy trimming) from John D. Madura Farms, their tough stem ends snapped off and most of the length of their stems peeled with a vegetable tool, rolled in a couple tablespoons of olive oil, a little salt, ground black pepper, and a large handful of thyme branches from Phillips Farms inside a large rectangular enameled cast iron pan, sautéed over medium high heat while continuing to frequently roll or turn them until they were beginning to brown (about 15 minutes), finished on the plates with a drizzle of Chelsea Whole Foods Market organic lemon

• three Backyard Farms Maine ‘cocktail tomatoes’ from Whole Foods Market, halved, seasoned with salt and pepper, placed inside a small tin-lined copper pan in a little olive oil above a medium flame until they had softened,, turning once, arranged on beds of olive oil-drizzled fresh lovage [image above], the last in the bucket at Norwich Meadows Farm a few day before, next to the steaks, the tomatoes sprinkled with slightly crushed, incredibly fragrant dried Semi di Finocchietto Ibleo [wild Sicilian fennel seed] from Flatiron Eataly
• the wine was a Portuguese (Bairrada) red, Sidonio De Sousa, Bairrada 2015, from Astor Wines
• the music was the album, ‘Johann David Heinichen: Dresden Concerti‘