In the Hands of a Chef (2 page)

For the first part of my career, as the chef of Michela’s in Boston, I specialized in carefully
researched dishes based on regional Italian food. This had the obvious advantage of giving me, a new chef, a framework. When writing a menu, for example, and thinking about new seafood entrées, I had someplace to go. Instead of having to ponder the terrifyingly open-ended question of, “OK, let’s see, we need a few fish dishes—what can I do?” I could take a page from the experience of cooks in Tuscany or Puglia. But over time, I found myself less and less bound to the idea of reproducing dishes exactly as they might be cooked in their place of origin. By the time I left Michela’s, I had come to regard regional cuisine as a resource (one among several), a library of particular techniques and ingredient combinations that might be visited for inspiration. What about all the wonderful ingredients indigenous to New England—and not found in France? I am grateful for my grounding in regional cuisine, perhaps the way a jazz musician appreciates his classical training—it all gets put to use. But my cooking now, at Rialto, is looser. I rely on my instincts more (that kitchen in my head). I’m willing to let my cooking be inspired by dishes I’ve tasted while traveling, but not dominated by them, and I always try to take my first cue from what’s best in the markets accessible to me. Who knows where my instincts will take me? Probably France or Italy or Spain, but some items on my menu found their inspiration in Tunisia or Guatemala—or just around the corner in Maine.

C
ooking isn’t magic—except to
those who can’t cook. Success may not be instant, but it is almost always certain, especially with practice. Every recipe in this book has been tested at least twice, once by me and once by my friend and recipe tester Pam Krueger. Pam is not a culinary professional, she’s a home cook, and as we worked our way through this manuscript, she encountered many new taste combinations and more than one unfamiliar technique. When she didn’t understand a recipe, we rewrote the recipe to answer her concerns; we talked about potential pitfalls and how to avoid them, and we tried to incorporate as much of this information into the recipes as possible, often testing recipes another third time. In the course of this process, we discovered a few guidelines for increasing your chances for a happy experience in the kitchen.

This book is about my taste and experience, the places my hands and palate naturally go, and I encourage you to follow me there—even if it’s not your first instinct. The idea of a particular dish is often more forbidding to home cooks than the actual preparation or taste of the dish itself. For instance, there is a recipe for Rabbit Soup with Garlic and Peppers (page 58). Try making the recipe with rabbit, as it’s written, instead of automatically substituting chicken. You may discover tastes you never knew you had. While writing this book, I farmed out recipes to friends, watching to see which (if any) of the preparations survived beyond the OK-we’ll-make-it-once-for-you-because-you’re-our-buddy stage. My friends were often surprised that they liked previously unfamiliar dishes like brandade and roast goose, but I was not. Even more satisfying to me was how much they liked making the food.

Read each recipe through before making a shopping list. Some of the recipes have several components; cooking all of them for the first time can be quite challenging. The Roasted Marinated Long Island Duck with Green Olive and Balsamic Vinegar Sauce, for example, explains how to roast the duck as well as make a duck stock and use the stock to make a green olive sauce. If you want to try everything your first time out of the gate, by all means go for it, but if not, your pleasure (or that of your guests) in a slow-roasted duck will make up for your reservations about skipping the sauce. A dish that you can comfortably make in an hour or an hour and half is no fun to make if you try to compress it into forty-five minutes. When you have time, with slow-roasting under your belt, you can try the stock and sauce.

A good carpenter never blames his tools for poor work, but it is difficult to do great work with poor tools. Investing in a few heavy-bottomed pots, decent knives, and a sharpening steel will more than repay the cost of their initial outlay. Almost every other piece of equipment is optional, but knives and a couple of serious pots are essential. It is almost impossible to sauté properly in a pan that won’t conduct heat evenly. By the same token, knives that can’t hold a sharp edge (which can be restored before each use by a few good strokes on the steel) make chopping and slicing a dangerous chore, instead of the pleasure it should be.

Finally, have fun. If you can’t find a particular herb (or you
really, really
like an alternative), feel free to make substitutions; if a particular substitution is problematic, I’ll warn you. This book should enhance your confidence, not tear it down. I want the recipes to contribute to your overall store of happiness, not deplete it. Make it your business to cook just
a little
beyond your abilities and you will soon find yourself in the lamentable position of all great cooks—wishing you had more time in your life to spend in the kitchen.

M
y favorite style of entertaining
is to invite guests for around four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, which allows plenty of time for everyone to hang out and catch up before sitting down at the table. I usually offer one—at most, two—homemade dishes for nibbling with wine, and everyone is encouraged to serve himself. Little treats—whether called tapas, canapés, or meze—encourage guests to slow down and savor the moment, especially if it’s on a cocktail napkin right in front of them.

My repertoire of predinner food falls into two categories—items I prepare ahead and those that can be done while friends are standing around relaxing with a glass of wine. With the exception of Grilled Clams on the Half-Shell with Garlic Crostini—they absolutely have to go on the grill at the last minute—all these recipes in this chapter can be made in advance if inviting friends into your kitchen makes you uncomfortable.

This chapter is one of the few places in the book where I indulge in deep-frying. Health-conscious friends who would never order (or make at home) anything deep-fried feel free to try Goujonettes of Sole if they know they’re only going to consume a few mouthfuls. People love small tastes of fried things, especially if there is a sauce to go with them.

Supplement whatever you’ve chosen to make with simple items like olives or cheeses or breads. My aim here isn’t to replace any of these—just to expand your repertoire into the memorable, the special. If you’re the sort of person who can’t bear to serve anything unless it’s homemade, of course, feel free to do so—and invite me over.

A
visit to Peck’s, the famed
food emporium in Milan, inspired this dish. I came across a display of their torta cheeses—bricks of cheese layered with different ingredients, including one with smoked salmon and mascarpone. The combination is fabulous. Mascarpone’s subtle sweetness doesn’t overwhelm the flavor of delicate smoked salmon. The bundles can be done a day ahead, minus the arugula, and kept refrigerated. Before serving, push
3
arugula leaves into the top of each roll. You can elevate the rolls from finger food to a full appetizer by using a more elaborate presentation. Arrange 4 rolls each atop portions of a simple arugula salad and accompany with Parchment Bread (page 21).

G
rilling clams turns into culinary
theater—everyone soon gathers around to investigate the aroma of the clams sizzling in a little olive oil seasoned with white pepper. The clams can be opened several hours in advance as long as they’re kept chilled and covered, and care is taken not to spill any of their juice, called “liquor.”

T
he easiest way to learn how to open a clam is to ask the shucker at a raw bar to demonstrate the technique—it’s not really difficult, just difficult to describe. Once you’ve mastered the technique, you can open clams with almost any knife, but using a clam knife, with its sturdy, blunt-edged blade, is the easiest and safest way to learn. Hold the clam on a folded towel in the palm of your hand; the towel prevents the clam from slipping while protecting your hand. The hinge of the clam should point toward your wrist, the outer rim of the clam toward your fingers. Keeping the clam level so as little juice as possible spills during opening, work the thin side of the blade into the outer rim of the clam between the edges of the shells. This is usually just a matter of placing the knife edge against the seam and squeezing the blade into the clam. Once the knife blade is between the shells, a simple twist of the blade will pry the shells apart. Carefully detach the meat from the upper shell with the knife. Twist off the top shell and discard. Place the clam in its half-shell on a platter spread with kosher salt so the shell doesn’t tip.

T
hese tasty strips of sole
are named for their resemblance to
goujons,
tiny members of the minnow family, which the French love to dredge in flour and fry whole. Goujonettes are prepared the same way, then served with lemon or a flavored mayonnaise. You can prepare a lovely presentation of the sole on a platter, but I have to admit that this is one of my favorite friends-hanging-out-in-the-kitchen dishes. Goujonettes are perfect right out of the pan and everyone loses whatever inhibitions he may have had about using his fingers to dip the tasty strips of sole into a bowl of rémoulade.