Author: zora

I spent the night with Jamie Oliver!

Well, OK, really: Last night Tamara and I shot a segment for a new TV series the Estimable J.O. is currently working on, a tour around the US. Jamie attended one of our Sunday Night Dinners in Astoria…which, for once, was actually on a Sunday. Just like old times.

And despite there being a celebrity of world renown and a whole camera and sound crew there, and the lights turned up way too bright, it was a great deal like a regular SND. What we’d been planning to make (a whole roast lamb) was axed, because it was pouring rain all day. So we had to wing it, and even used a recipe we’d never tried before, as per usual.

As per usual, we had to chase the chatty people (well, Jamie) out of the kitchen in order to finish the food.

As per usual, half the food made it to the table before the other half, and then people were so ravenous they didn’t really notice the second half or care what its backstory was.

But the beauty of blogging is that I can tell you what I didn’t get to say last night about the food, and more:

Yesterday morning, we had a 66-pound lamb killed at our behest at Astoria Live Poultry. I got to pet it on the head, and thank it, and then later I got to direct just how its steaming carcass got cut up. I probably wouldn’t have mentioned the gorier details for the TV cameras, but I thought you’d want to know. (Sorry, no pictures, though it was highly photogenic.)

And can I just point out that this lamb is all organic and humanely treated? And it costs $3 a pound (live weight)? It drives me crazy that organic-whatever-certified meat has been built up as this unattainable elitist thing, while Mexican immigrants, devout Muslims and me are all just popping over here to pick up our tasty chickens?

Anyway, then I got to process all that meat further at home. There’s something delightful about cutting up a piece of meat and having it suddenly resemble something you’ve seen at the butcher’s: So that’s how a lamb loin chop works!

We put the boneless lamb roasts in pomegranate molasses with a garlic-herb paste (a recipe from the coming cookbook). We put the shoulders and shanks in a braise with saffron and a few warming spices, with some celery root (a recipe made up on the spot). And we took the loin chops and the little riblets and dunked them in a tempura batter and deep-fried them, and then topped them with fried rosemary and garlic (a recipe from Olives & Oranges, a cookbook I recently picked up because a friend of Peter’s co-wrote it).

We also served the terribly obvious but always satisfying salad with candied bacon. And rice pilaf with cherries. And there were baked apples with honey-nutmeg ice cream for dessert–my first time making ice cream since I gave away my ice-cream maker to Karl many years ago, and it turned out well. Vaguely made me want the appliance back, but I sobered up. Karl has done ten times more good with that thing than I ever would.

Anyway, Jamie was delightful, and I felt honored to feed him a hot meal–just a tiny bit of payback to the guy who encouraged me to make my own pasta, and find out that it really is easy. And every time I turn around, he seems to be doing something new and smart for food education–the genius Ministry of Food, most recently.

But I do want to end with a toast to the lamb, which the little guy didn’t get last night. And a toast to Astoria, my microcosm of New York, where I’ve found so much new to cook with. And to all the SND guests, including Jamie, for being such enthusiastic eaters. Many thanks for a fine evening.

Like I’ve Been Saying: Marcella Hazan in the NY Times

In an op-ed called No Chefs in My Kitchen, Marcella Hazan is in fine form: concise, pointed and just a tad crabby.

First she takes issue with the growing tendency to call home cooks “chefs”–it would be just quibbling over words if she didn’t also point out that “chef” suggests a field “where food is often entertainment, spectacle, news, fashion, science, a world in which surprise — whether it’s on the plate or beyond it — is vital.”

This ignores the value of a good home cook, who feeds and nourishes family and friends, often with the simplest food. And the ascendant “chef” also points to an increase in eating in restaurants–to the detriment of our health and bank balances.

Her kicker is something I’ve been thinking for years, but have never managed to express so concisely:

Like other forms of human affection, cooking delivers its truest and most enduring gifts when it is savored in intimacy — prepared not by a chef but by a cook and with love.

Actually, Barton Rouse said it more concisely: “Food = Love.”

Hunts Point Fish Market

Photos are up over at Flickr. Not a lot of them. But still–such pretty, pretty fish. Even if the setting is now totally dull and industrial–no Brooklyn Bridge twinkling in the night. Perhaps saddest of all, there’s no bar nearby to warm up in before the big shop, as we did in 2005. We loaded up on shellfish for our Election Day Cafe oyster roast.

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Pantry Magic: Nuevo Pistou

It’s freakin’ cold. At this point, most people start waxing lyrically about hearty winter soups.

But I don’t really like soup. Or most soups.

The trouble with most soups is that every bite is the same–this is the huge flaw in the one-dish meal. It’s totally boring. Somehow, even if it’s jam-packed with a bunch of ingredients, it still winds up tasting essentially the same.

I like variety–I like to be able to put together each bite in a new way. If I’m going to be eating a one-dish meal, I still want it to taste like I’m eating at least two things.

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Cookstr launches!

Have I mentioned? Book publishing is impossibly slow. It makes my life as a guidebook writer infuriating, knowing that the book I worked so hard on is deteriorating as it sits at the printing press, and then bobs its way back here, on the slow boat from China. And yes, publishers are now actively choosing cheaper presses, in China, even though it slows down the production process.

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