In the Hands of a Chef (46 page)

C
hutney was a staple in
my childhood. We lived in England during my father’s sabbaticals, and during our first extended trip, when I was in elementary school, I discovered that we had left the land of ketchup for the kingdom of chutney. I smeared chutney on everything, including Cornish pasties. This particular recipe results in a rich, heavy condiment with concentrated sweetsour flavors of dried fruit, sherry, and vinegar. It’s a good match for venison, duck, and other dark meats, or strong cheeses like traditional farmhouse Cheddar.

T
his is the near-and-dear-to-my-heart chapter.
It returns to the question that opens this book—what am I about as a cook? If I had to boil down all of my cooking philosophy and experience to a handful of recipes, they would be the ones that appear in the following pages. They are, not surprisingly, also my most-requested recipes, whether from guests at Rialto or friends at our home.

Some items, like Soupe de Poisson or Roasted Marinated Long Island Duck with Green Olive and Balsamic Vinegar Sauce, fall into the category of signature dishes. For a young chef, a signature dish can seem like a curse. Just at the time in your career when you’re bursting to demonstrate to the world that you’re the sharpest knife in town, here comes the roast duck with green olives that everyone demands you put back on the menu, again and again and….
Do they love me only for my duck?
Later in your career, your perspective changes. Signature dishes are like familiar furniture; you learn to build a menu around them, and if somebody comes to your restaurant specifically because they depend on finding a dish that they’ve come to think of as “the duck we eat on our anniversary,” you feel grateful, not hemmed in. The other type of recipe found here might be called home-front favorites, food that I associate with family traditions (Roast Christmas Goose) or that
continues to provoke enthusiasm among our guests at home (Squash Blossoms Stuffed with Herbed Cheese in Fritter Batter).

All of this food is doable in a home kitchen—I know, because these are the recipes that I’ve given to friends most often. What these dishes demand of you is generally a little extra time, for a lot of extra satisfaction. But I also hope this chapter gives you the experience of walking in the shoes of the chef that life has made me. What is it about duck, about salt cod, about squash blossoms that makes them so satisfying to me? To be honest, I’m not really sure I know the answer, but I can give you a taste of my experience, my perspective. Cook this food.

D
eep-frying was considered distasteful in
my house while I was growing up. Not only was it unhealthy, but worse—it smelled. That the lingering aroma might be of something delicious was of no account. The silver lining to this experience is a thrilling sense of breaking a taboo every time I take out the vegetable oil and deep-fry thermometer. As a technique, it’s something I apply in moderation, but I resort to it often when preparing hors d’oeuvres or garnishes, anything that comes in small bites or portions.

Salt cod fritters are one of my favorite munchies. In this recipe, I’ve paired the cod with artichokes (another traditional combination) and added celery root for crunch and an almost applelike flavor. These are fabulous with a really spicy bottled hot sauce—Inner Beauty is a good choice—on the side.

MAKES 20 TO 25 FRITTERS

½ pound center-cut salt cod (the thickest part of the fillet)

1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

½ cup cornstarch

2 extra-large egg whites

1 cup cold beer

6 baby artichokes, trimmed (see page 85) and rubbed with lemon juice, or 6 frozen artichoke hearts (frozen artichoke hearts are often already cut in half—if so, use 12 halves), thawed

Kosher salt

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

4 cups vegetable oil for deep-frying

1 small celery root (about 1 pound), peeled, sliced paper-thin, and cut into fine julienne

¼ cup fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves

Freshly ground black pepper

2 lemons, cut crosswise in half, then each half cut into quarters

DO AHEAD:
Soak the salt cod for 12 hours in a large bowl of cold water, changing the water 3 or 4 times. When finished, the cod should be moist and should
not
be
completely
salt-free, or it will have lost its distinctive flavor. It should taste about as salty as fish that you’ve seasoned and cooked with salt.

1.
Drain and rinse the cod, then put it into a medium pot and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the fish is cooked through, about 10 minutes. Allow to cool in the liquid.

2.
After it is cool, drain the cod and pat dry with paper towels, then remove any skin, bones, or cartilage. Break the fish into 1-inch pieces.

3.
Meanwhile, to make the batter, mix the flour with the cornstarch in a medium bowl. Beat the egg whites with the beer in a separate bowl, then stir this into the dry ingredients until just mixed. If you overheat the batter, the fritter
coating will be tough. Cover and refrigerate for 20 minutes (it can rest, chilled, up to 2 hours).

4.
If using fresh artichokes, put them in a nonreactive pot large enough to hold them in a single layer. Add cold water to cover by 1 inch. Season with salt, and place a small plate over the artichokes to keep them submerged. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer until the artichokes are tender, about 20 minutes. Drain, cut lengthwise into quarters, and toss with the lemon juice. If using frozen artichoke hearts, cut lengthwise into quarters and toss with the lemon juice.

5.
Preheat the oven to 200°F. Line a sheet pan with paper towels and put it in the oven.

6.
Heat the oil in a deep pot to 350°F. Use a deep-fry thermometer to check the temperature.

7.
Toss the salt cod with the artichokes, celery root, and parsley leaves; season with salt and pepper, and stir everything into the batter. Scoop out a couple of tablespoons of batter in a single dollop and carefully lower it into the oil. Add 2 more dollops of the mixture to the oil. The fritters will bob to the surface. Don’t worry if the mixture spreads out a little bit, but try to keep the fritters separate. When they are golden brown on one side, 1 to 3 minutes, depending on how thick they are, flip the fritters and cook on the second side, another 1 to 3 minutes. As they finish cooking, transfer them to the sheet pan in the oven. Repeat until all the mixture is used. Transfer to a warm platter, sprinkle with salt, garnish with the lemon wedges, and serve.

T
he idea for this dish
arrived in a dream, hokey as that sounds. I awoke one morning and there it was, a gift, fully formed and assembled in my head out of fragments of other things I love, like a poem cobbled out of phrases whose connection had eluded you until a moment of insight. The common denominator in this dish is things-that-go-well-with-truffles-in-the-Piedmont: mushrooms, eggs, potatoes, and cheese. But I’d never seen all of them brought together, and certainly not in the form of a hollowed-out roasted potato filled with the other ingredients. Since it’s the only recipe, before or since, to come to me via whatever culinary inspiration clanks away in dreams, I don’t mind admitting its origins. It’s now one of my few signature dishes, and one of the most popular items we’ve ever served at Rialto.

If you’re fortunate enough to have a fresh white truffle, this dish is the perfect medium for a few aromatic shavings on top, either just before serving or at the table. It’s actually quite easy to double the recipe and serve everyone two potatoes as an entrée, especially if you accompany it with Fiery Garlicky Greens (page 91). If anyone politely protests that he can only eat one, there will surely be a volunteer ready to step into the breach and eat three.

MAKES 4 APPETIZER SERVINGS

4 medium baking potatoes (preferably short and fat, about ½ pound each), scrubbed

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar

1 teaspoon vegetable oil

4 extra-large eggs

½ ounce dried porcini, reconstituted in warm water (see page 271) and coarsely chopped (soaking liquid saved)

½ cup warm water

1 teaspoon unsalted butter

½ recipe Wild Mushroom Fricassee (page 101), made without the chicken stock

6 tablespoons crème fraîche

4 teaspoons minced chives

¼ cup freshly grated Parmesan

2 tablespoons truffle oil (optional)

1.
Preheat the oven to 400°F.

2.
Trim both ends of the potatoes so they will stand upright. Rub the potatoes with 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Stand the potatoes upright on a sheet pan. Roast until tender—a thin-bladed knife should easily penetrate the flesh—about 1 hour. Remove from the oven and let cool briefly. Leave the oven on.

3.
Meanwhile, bring a deep skillet or medium pot of water to a boil. Add the vinegar and season
with salt. Lower the heat to a simmer. Rub a small baking dish or deep plate with the vegetable oil. Crack an egg into a teacup. Tilt the cup and slowly lower it into the simmering water. When the egg is covered with water, tip the cup and release the egg. Repeat with the other 3 eggs. Poach the eggs until the whites are set, 2½ to 3 minutes. Scoop out with a slotted spoon and transfer to the oiled dish. Set aside.

4.
Heat the butter in a small sauté pan. As soon as it stops foaming, add the porcini, season with salt and pepper, and cook for 2 minutes. Add the porcini soaking liquid to the pan and cook until it reduces by half. Transfer the porcini, with their reduced juices, to a bowl with the mushroom fricassee and mix well.

5.
Mix the crème fraîche and chives together. Season with salt and pepper.

6.
When the potatoes are cool enough to handle, use a grapefruit spoon or melon bailer to scoop out the centers, leaving ¼ inch at the sides and
½
inch at the bottom. Return them to the sheet pan. Season the insides with salt and pepper. Sprinkle 1½ teaspoons of the Parmesan into the bottom of each potato, followed by 2 tablespoons of the warm mushroom mixture, and then the remaining Parmesan. Top each with an egg and season with salt and pepper.

7.
Return to the oven until the potatoes, mushroom filling, and eggs are warm, about 5 minutes. Transfer to warm plates, and top with the chive crème fraîche. Drizzle with the truffle oil, if using, and serve immediately.

F
or first-time diners, the experience
of soupe de poisson can be a little tough to grasp. The feel of the soup in your mouth is slightly grainy, with a light body and no visible pieces of fish. The flavor is unexpectedly intense, concentrated, almost smoky—and then it’s served with a spicy mayonnaise and grated Gruyère. How to make sense of all this?

Soupe de Poisson is a rustic dish, created by fishermen from the tiny unwanted fish left at the bottom of the net. Too small to be easily gutted and boned, they were traditionally cooked whole in the soup, pounded in a mortar and pestle—bones, guts, and all—then strained. After straining, all that remained was the flavorful liquid, with a fine residue of ground fish, the mark of properly made soup. It is also one of a handful of recipes friends and clients asked me to put in this book, threatening to boycott me if I didn’t.

This isn’t a daunting recipe, but it does take time and involves a couple of steps that don’t often take place in most American kitchens, like roasting and pureeing fish bones. This is also not a recipe that tolerates shortcuts in technique or ingredients. A few things to bear in mind: