Ruth Reichl's Blog, page 37

Things I Love

 

A surprising new product for the Hudson Valley.

This is from the farmstand at Etcetera Farm, in Harlemville. 

The Chocolate Babka!

So rich it drips chocolate and butter on your fingers when you cut it. So flaky it's more croissant than a cake. And so delicious... it is irresistible.
Mimi Sheraton told me that the babka from Breads (on 16th Street) was the best babka in New York. And I agree!

Notes from the Road: Seattle

Had a lot of great food in seafood city, at restaurants with wonderful names. We had drinks, warming our hands by the fire as we ate lovely beef tartare, sparked with cod roe and tamed with asian pear at Joule. Then on to The Whale Wins, where we ate an entire array of vegetables, roasted marrow bones and a most fantastic piece of pork shoulder (among other wonders).  A great night of crudo and pasta at Anchovies and Olives.  But what I’ll remember most is an early afternoon feast at Taylor’s Shellfish in Melrose Market.

The Olympia oysters are superb right now: small and plump, with that coppery flavor that resonates in your mouth like a bell.  Shigokus - their deep shells so filled with oyster liquor that you slurp them down as both food and drink. Dungeness crabs - so sweet. So rich. So satisfying.  And finally a little dessert of geoduck sashimi, the only seafood I know that’s crisp enough to chew.  

All I could think, as we sat there, eating with our hands, was this: If I lived here, I could do this every day.  Reason enough, I think, to live in Seattle. 

Notes from the Road: Los Angeles

Here for a panel on California Cuisine.  Interesting multicultural, inter-generational conversation.

Later I had dinner at Bucato, in Culver City, with a big group of friends. We sat outside, surrounded by huge heaters shooting flames into the air.  To a New Yorker, just  being here is a kind of Los Angeles dream: the chic people walking in, the balmy air, the fantastic fire.

But the food here is a surprise. The best dishes are all carbs. Superb breads, some crusty, some soft, warm and pliable, served with a variety of fats: goat butter and whipped lardo both make an appearance.  I could happily spend an entire evening munching on these. 

But that would mean missing the pastas, which are in a class by themselves. Portions are small, the hand-rolled shapes strangely soft and seriously sexy.  My favorite was macaroni di busa, a sinuous Sardinian shape, dotted with pungent little crumbles of white ragu that make it clear the starring role belongs to the pasta.

Afterward we had a serious hunk of ribeye, and I spent the rest of the evening chewing happily on the bone.

 

 

Things I Love: Small Wonders

 

They're tiny - maybe two and a half inches high - and I use them for everything.  To hold olives on a cocktail table. As a perfect little egg cup. Or a vase for wild flowers on the kitchen window (or the dinner table.) To stash a few sprigs of parsley in the refrigerator.

And of course, they' feel so wonderful in your hand that they're perfect when I want a little sip of wine. 

The potter, Daniel Bellow, calls them "babies." I just call them useful. 

 

Things I Love

A Perfect Salad Bowl

This vintage Dansk salad bowl was one of the best gifts I've ever received. It's a majestic creature - ten inches in diameter - and large enough to hold greens for a dozen people. But even if there are only two of us for dinner, the sight of this beautiful bowl sitting on my table is enough to make me happy. 

You can often find bowls like this on EBay. But my favorite place to shop for vintage Dansk kitchenware is Neven and Neven Moderne, a wonderful antique shop specializing in mid-century modern furniture, in Hudson New York. 

 

The First Time I Met Marcella

All the obituaries seem to mention how prickly and uncompromising Marcella Hazan could be - and I later learned how true that was - but the first time I met her she was incredibly kind.

It was 1998, and I’d just published my first memoir, Tender at the Bone.  We’d both been invited to participate in a large cookbook signing event, and we’d been set up at the same table. Beneath the table was one carton of my book, and dozens of hers. My box remained full while hers quickly ran out. But still her fans arrived, carrying armloads of sauce-stained books, eager to see her, touch her, just bask in her presence.

Who could blame them?  This was a woman who was as important to American cooks as Julia Child, offering us an alternative to the red sauce Italian food we’d come to consider authentic.  Marcella’s food was superbly spare and completely delicious; it you followed her recipes you ended up with food that was truly Italian. And unlike Julia’s often complicated recipes, Marcella’s are simple to make and unfailingly reliable. To this day if I could have only one cookbook for the rest of my life, it would be one of hers.

But back then, sitting miserably at that table, engulfed by Marcella fans I could only think how humiliating the situation was. Engrossed in signing and talking, Marcella didn’t notice that I had no line;  hers stretched out the door. Then she looked up, and a frown crossed her face. “Go buy her book,” she ordered the woman standing in front of her. Marcella could be imperious. 

Marcella’s fans were loath to disobey her, and by the end of the evening I’d sold all my books. When the last one was gone Marcella rose and put on her coat. “You’ll see,” she said kindly, patting my arm in a farewell gesture, “it will get better.”

I think about that every time I make her famous tomato sauce. It’s the epitome of Marcella: three ingredients, 45 minutes, and a recipe for total happiness. Nothing smells better as it cooks, and no food is more comforting.

Thank you Marcella, for everything. 

Things I Love

Have any idea what this is?

It's a faffer.  At least that's what Richard Bertinet calls this indispensable tool. Longer and narrower than a wooden spatula, it started life as a crepe spatula. But in my house it stirs the pasta when it's deep in the pot, tosses the spinach, flips the pancakes in a pinch. I lke the way it feels in my hand, and I find myself reaching for it almost every time I cook. 

I got mine in France, and they're not easy to find on this side of the Atlantic.  But here's one source.

 

 

Today's Surprising Find

The last thing I expected to find in a Columbia County market was fresh local ginger. But there it was, sitting in the produce section, demanding that I take it home.
What will I do with it?  
Everybody around me seems to be getting colds, so I'll make a tisane by chopping the ginger, and steeping it in boiling water for twenty minutes. Strained and sweetened with a bit of brown sugar, it is said to make an extremely potent cure for the common cold.  It's also soothing to sore stomachs, warming when you're feeling chilly - and extrmely delicious. 

One Amazing Thing

This is Amazonian vanilla, which Alex Atala brought to yesterday's conference on "Seeds: Cultivating the Future of Flavor."

The conference, at Stone Barns, brought together many of the world's greatest chefs and was astonishingly instructive. As soon as I've had a moment to go through all my notes, I'll post about it.  

But here's a small taste. Alex Atala brought these extraordinary vanilla pods along, as an example of the sort of diversity found in Brazil. I put the peach there for a size comparison; they're the most enormous pods I've ever seen. The fragrance was intense - a bit of cinnamon, a bit floral, very vanilla - and I think every chef in the room wished he could get his hands on some.