Focaccia Me? No, Focaccia You

Every now and then when I want that braised flavor and some well-cooked veggies I head to Focaccia, which is on that swanky block of Sacramento near Embarcadero and probably near every swanky choad-for-hire firm in the financial district.

The place has lots of good everyday stuff like sandwiches and salads, but I appreciate the good deal that is the stew -- $5.95 for beef, lamb or chicken (although I can’t remember when they had beef or lamb) over rice, with a selection of fresh veggies like zucchini, mushrooms, asparagus and so on. Of course I never take the rice and request the vegetables instead. It’s not service with a smile, but all I come for is the stew and veg.

There are only a couple of problems. One is that I have to jostle the hoity-toity scene at Focaccia, and the other is that I have to deal with the grumpy Focaccia guy.

OK, so the economy is probably pinching this small business, especially one that takes on the overhead to cater to the upscale-professional lunch crowd. So now, apparently, swapping out the rice for the veggies is not OK.

There’s one person ahead of me. Grumps helps him out, then says "next!" without making eye contact, even though it’s just me standing there. As usual, I order the stew without rice and with some veg. He demurs. "There’s a lot of veggies already in there," he says of the stew, and asks me: "Rice?"

"No rice, veggies," I repeat. He makes a face. I stare back. Grumpaster G turns to the pot on the stove and ladles some chicken stew in a take-out container; he grabs a few string beans and asparagus with his tongs and places the order on the glass shelf. I take it.

Let the record show that a few potatoes, chunks of canned tomato and a piece of celery don’t qualify as a lot of veggies, or really as veggies as we’d call them, we who work and grab take-out and also make a point to go to the market and cook. But the last thing I’d do on this earth is quibble with a guy and his "I’m a dick all the time" attitude because he’s stuck shoveling stew to particular people like me.

Anyway, the stew isn’t as good anymore – flavor’s off, probably because they’re just throwing the above ingredients together, putting the pot on simmer and otherwise not giving a crap. Maybe we’re seeing the same funks in financial districts everywhere, among big shots and their supporting businesses. Times may be bad for you, sweethearts, and maybe that's a shame, but the rest of us are done bothering.

Salmon Chowder

It's a chilly, rainy winter night, and we've warmed ourselves up a bit with a hearty salmon chowder. The idea sprang from necessity. End of the week: our fridge is bare, but we have a pound of wild salmon from T.J.s in the freezer ready to be defrosted. That's our dinner, but we want to try something different than the usual broiled fish recipe. It's between fish soup and salmon cakes, and the chowder recipe wins out.

We start with four slices of bacon, cut into inch-long bits, in a big pot, crisped up nice. We remove the bacon, reserve the bacon grease for cooking potatoes, celery and onions until soft. We then add the broth of water, white wine and milk to the vegetables. Throw in the salmon for a few minutes, sprinkle in some fresh dill and you're ready to slurp.

The bowl is filling, creamy and flavorful. I especially like the different textures: firm potatoes, crunchy celery and soft salmon cubes. To top it off, Alex mixes up a spicy little raita of cucumbers to toss in the bowl for an extra kick. In all, an easy, fairly healthy potage de poisson I'd make again.

In Honor Of...

On the first day of life of Miss Gerencharus, first name undecided as of 10am, I sign into the Bistro and record my meal:

- French-cut bone-in pork chops, dry rubbed with cinammon, nutmeg, salt, pepper, clove, and a few other exotic powders, broiled on the lowest rung for ~8 min. each side.

- Purple cabbage and apple, slow-braised in a Central European style with caraway seeds, apple-cider vinegar, and caramelized onions. Soul food for my tribe.

- Chocolate chip and walnut cookies.

May all her meals be comforting, may she live a life both nutritious and delicious. Congratulations to the lovely parents, and we can't wait to bring you sustenance from the Bistro kitchen.

Gary Danko Wants His Umami

The video I shot recently got good play over the weekend on WSJ.com:

Yay! This was a heck of a lot of fun. My colleague Stacey Delo also makes a lot of the work look easy. Have me over for soup and ask me about it.

Review: The Pizza Place on Noriega

As promised by The Fanch, Sunday night we staked out the latest neighborhood pizza spot with a bit of buzz, the Pizza Place on Noriega (yes, that's the full name).

The pies didn't match the heights of Pizzetta 211, still the banner holder of Fancy-Pies-in-the-Hood. To be fair, that's not what The PPoN is aiming for. Call it sophisticated dude-pizza, perhaps, with names of pies like "The Spicoli" and "Meat Head." No quail egg and lamb-mint sausage on the toppings list.

We had the Rotten Robby and built a second from the basic margherita, adding spinach and caramelized onions. It's thin crust, and the toppings are fresh and generous. But the crust left us disappointed. It was thin but not particularly crispy or toothsome, more a white-bread version of a thin crust. And a couple of the toppings didn't work; the pesto on the Robby was administered in blobs; catching one in a bite was too much pesto at once. On the other pie, the caramelized onions were too cloying for my tastes, and, like the pesto, unevenly spread. A more careful hand in the kitchen would do wonders. As fellow Bistrovian BrO never fails to remind: "Attention must be paid!"

We also ordered two apps, a large mixed salad and roasted cauliflower: Well done, nicely dressed, and generous portions both.

It's nearly at the beach, Noriega and 46th, and when we walked in much of the clientele were young adults with hoodies and cold-weather knit caps drinking draft beer at the bar: a fine apres-surf setting. The room is big, full of fun (often winkingly bad) art, and high-ceilinged. It's partitioned in two by a wall that allows the kitchen/bar and dining sides to feel each other's presence but blocks some of the bar noise from the eating area. Because of its high ceilings and, as I discovered half way through the meal, an open skylight, the room was also chilly, a bit of a turn-off for what's otherwise a friendly, funky joint.

Worth going back? At less than $20 a person (two of the four in our party had a glass of wine; no dessert), it was the right price, much more reasonable than what you'd pay at Pizzetta or Gialina. And I really liked the room, chill notwithstanding. (Next time, wear the ski cap!) With a few tweaks, or perhaps knowing the strengths of the menu, it would be worth another visit. Perhaps we can ask them to leave the crust in a bit longer.

Recipes: Chron Chicken

The Chronicle this morning published a paean to the simple roast chicken, with a few not-so-simple recipes thrown in. Click through for the article and several recipes, but here's the one I'm itching to try:

My Dad's Best Ever Chicken
(from Traci Des Jardins)

* 1 large free-range chicken, whole, about 5 pounds
* 1 bunch basil, leaves only
* 2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
* 4 tablespoons Dijon mustard
* 1 tablespoon dried thyme
* 1 teaspoon dried oregano
* 1 teaspoon savory
* 1 teaspoon dried sage
* 1 teaspoon dried rosemary
* 1 teaspoon ground cumin
* -- Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
* 1 lemon

Instructions: Preheat oven to 500°. Loosen the skin of the chicken by running your fingers up under the skin of the breasts. Stuff the basil leaves and garlic under the skin, trying to distribute evenly. Combine all of the dried herbs. Rub Dijon mustard over the entire bird, and then sprinkle the herbs over the entire skin of the chicken. Season the inside of the cavity and the skin generously with salt and pepper. Finish by poking holes in the lemon with a fork and placing it in the cavity.

Place the chicken in a roasting pan and cook for 50 minutes to 1 hour, or until the internal temperature reaches 165°. You may have to reduce the temperature of the oven by 50° after 15-20 minutes if you notice that the skin is getting too dark too quickly. When the chicken is done, all of the juices coming from the cavity should be clear. Remove the lemon from the cavity and squeeze the juice over the chicken. Serve with any variety of accompaniments such as mashed potatoes, roasted heirloom potatoes and corn or parsnip puree.

Recipe: Tortilla Casserole

After a few weeks of too much of good things that are wonderful, I am downsizing a bit. It's sometimes easier on weekends to space out two meals where there would ordinarily be three, with the shift in schedules, busy work such as errands and countless snacking opportunities (such as grabbing dim sum while doing errands).

Consider the early supper of last night, which I've memorized out of the Moosewood cookbook. (Which begs the question, is there still life for Moosewood in this post-Alice Waters, Batali-Boulud-Bourdain period? You could even remake the Billy Joel song these days: "Charlie Parker, Rachael Ray, Emeril and Bobby Flay, watch Iron Chef." Something like that. Elbo?)

Start with a sauté of fine-chopped onions and garlic in a cast-iron skillet, and add a handful of diced peppers; spicy ones are fine. Season with salt, pepper, oregano and some chili powder if you like. Then throw in two or three chopped tomatoes of any color and let them soften up. Kill the heat and stir in some tortilla strips -- basically 10 corn tortillas cut into half-inch lengths -- and pour in half a pint of half and half. (The recipe calls for heavy cream, but I balk at the heavy cream.) Top it with some Parmesan or any dry cheese you can grate, and pop the whole thing into a 375-degree oven for 30 minutes.

After a half-hour, retop with a little shredded jack or cheddar and let that melt for four or five minutes more. Then pull it out and let it sit a bit while you warm the plates. Cut quarter pieces out with a metal spatula (no bending), and garnish with salsa. Enjoy.

Sexy Pleasure: Cock in Wine

When I was a kid, Sunday dinner—always ready around 1 pm, but in contrast to weekday dinners, you could eat whenever you wanted—alternated between pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions, and what I believe my mother called “standing roast,” which did not include vegetables. The former was a juicy horizontal slab, the latter a tightly grained vertical monument. Both were delicious, better than steak, barbecued ribs, hot dogs, or fried chicken, which—apostasy!—I’ve never much cared for (feh! all that greasy skin).

When I think about my mother’s Sunday standards, I realize that unlike Piaf, I cannot claim to have no regrets. My mother died when I was 29, and I’m sorry that I never learned how to make my favorite childhood dishes while she was alive.

Happily, one finds one’s way to the larger world, where I was introduced to a new favorite that never appeared on my family’s dinner table and may never have shown up on any dinner table in Atwater, California, during the 50s and 60s. Or come to think of it, maybe it did. The French girl down street, the one with the mustache who aspired to the convent, would likely have been familiar with coq au vin, variously translated as "chicken stew" (Nigel Slater in The Observer), "rooster with wine" (Wikepedia), and adding an assumed adjective, "chicken in red wine" (Julia Child, The Way To Cook).

I’ve been ordering coq au vin at restaurants and attempting it on my own for 25 years nearly, with uneven results. Whether dining out or dining in, I have never tasted a version as delicious and inspiring as that served by Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser (like the quadratic equation in Billy Collins’s celebrated poem, “Forgetfulness,” Mrs. Donhauser’s first name has packed its bag) in her country house in East Chatham, New York. Mrs. Donhauser’s son was a college classmate of my ex, and he used to invite us up for the weekend from time to time. She was Belgian, which may explain her scowl the single time I offered to help in the kitchen. The glory of her version of coq au vin was its richness of taste, the perfect consistency of the sauce, and undeniably, the enchantment of feasting in the dining room of a creaky 18th-century upstate farmhouse set amid rolling woodsy hills that looked as if they had changed little in 200 years.

Last weekend, Dan and I had six friends over for a Sunday dinner—at 6, not 1 pm. I made coq au vin (recipe below) and it turned out pretty well. It was a casual evening, and I was flattered when Alex shot up and declared, “We need more sauce! Is there something I can put it in?” Naturally, I listened for compliments on my cooking and was not disappointed. I clucked approvingly to myself after dinner when I noticed that all the bread—two loaves, one a sweet baguette, the other ciabatta, both heated in the oven before serving—had been entirely consumed, evidence of rampant sauce-sopping. I joined in the accolades for Dan’s dessert, a rhubarb cobbler topped with homemade vanilla ice cream.

Our dinner was a social and gustatory success.

But I’m no Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. My coq au vin, though improved from efforts in other decades, was decent, tasty, appreciated, but not memorable. While I don’t ever expect to equal Mrs. Donhauser’s achievement, I do want to move in that direction.

So I’ve been reading up, and there seem to be several key opportunities for my future efforts:

• Use more wine
My recipe, a simplified version from Martha Stewart’s monthly digest, Everyday Food—a useful source, by-the-way, of accessible recipes—calls for a cup and a half, but most recipes call for more, up to a full bottle.

• Use good wine
Shyamala tells us, “Don’t cook with wine you wouldn’t drink.” Sure. But I drink a lot of cheap wine. Not bad wine, mind, just ordinaire. And that’s what I used in last Sunday’s coq au vin. Next time, I’ll reach for “a loud, inky Beaujolais,” as Nigel Slater recommends in The Observer or more broadly, “young red wine (zinfandel, Mâcon, or Chianti type)” as Julia instructs in The Way To Cook. Julia further allows for the option of 1/3 cup good brandy. Slater echoes this suggestion, advising 2 Tbs cognac.

• The pros seem to agree: The older the bird, the better the sauce. As Wikipedia, explains, “Older roosters are traditionally used because they contain a lot of connective tissue, which creates a richer broth when cooked.” And maybe, use the whole bird, not just thighs, as Martha in her role as the siren of simplicity, recommends. Further, Martha calls for skinless, bone-in chicken. Neither Julia nor Joy advocates going skinless. And then there’s the question alluded to in the quote above: Rooster or hen? I recall that when a culinarily gifted friend made coq au vin for a dinner party I attended several years ago, he used a rooster. He had to special-order it from a Mexican butcher in the Mission, pay extra, and drive across town to pick it up. I would do this too, if I knew for sure it was sine qua non. But it’s not this friend’s coq au vin I dream of, it’s Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s, and I have a feeling that her chicken was store-bought and shrink-wrapped.

• Use fresh pearl onions, the kind you have to peel yourself, rather than chopped whole onions. Or does it matter? I used chopped red onion, but next time, I'll parboil and peel the pearls. If nothing else, they’re decorativ—quaint if not piquant.

• Most recipes, but not Julia’s, call for carrots, and I agree: Carrots are a boon to this dish. And most call for mushrooms, which Martha eliminates. (Note: I did use mushrooms for my coq au vin, but I think I could’ve used more.)

• During her lifetime, Julia consistently advocated using only imported bay leaves regardless of what savory comestible you’re concocting. Though California born, she emphatically rejects leaves from Umbellularia californica, our native and lavishly abundant bay laurel (called Oregon myrtle one state north). I always have a sprig of dried local bay leaves handy, collected on one of my hikes, and have resisted her “prejudice,” as I’ve thought of it. But maybe it’s my prejudice that’s the problem. All the recipes call for thyme, though they diverge regarding fresh vs. dried or avoid taking a stand altogether.

• My edition of The Joy of Cooking (1975) informs me that “Abroad, in country places where chickens are locally butchered, the blood is often kept and added to the gravy at the last minute as thickener. After this addition, the sauce is not allowed to boil. Here in America, this effect is imitated by adding caramel coloring.” I’m dubious. I’ll bet the newest edition of Joy doesn’t include this augmentation. But sauce thickness is important and I suspect that part of the dreamy richness I recall from Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser’s coq au vin is related to a sauce thicker than I achieved. My recipe and others rely on flour. But Julia calls for beurre manié, "1 1/2 Tbs each flour and softened butter blended to a paste."

• All coq au vin recipes call for bacon or a similar ingredient. I use smoked slab bacon, though a version that claims minimum chemical adulteration. Julia warns that whether you use slab bacon or salt pork, you must blanch it to “remove its salt as well as its smoky flavor, which would permeate the rest of the food,” something I assumed was an enhancement. Joy cites only salt pork, not bacon, and makes no mention of blanching. I’ve never blanched bacon in my life and have little experience with salt pork. Nigel Slater, an advocate for staying true to traditional versions of the classics, is the most extreme, noting that “it just isn't coq au vin without some fat, juicy strips of green bacon. The rashers with which the British are obsessed are too thin—if they don't burn, they'll disintegrate. What you need is a solid lump that you can cut into thick strips. Pancetta will do nicely.”

~ ~ ~

Obviously, since the experts diverge in key respects, further experimentation is called for. Unless, that is, I get the call from an older, mellower Mrs. R. Paige Donhauser. In my delicious fantasy, she not only invites me to dinner, but allows me to hang out in the kitchen. I take notes, a digital picture or two, and promise not to get in the way.

~ ~ ~

Chicken Braised in Wine
from Everyday Food, January 2007

Listed as Coq au Vin in cookbooks and on restaurant menus, the name of this hearty French dish may sound fancy, but it’s simply chicken cooked in red wine.

- 3 fresh thyme springs
- 5 flat-leaf parsley sprigs
- 1 bay leaf
- 3 slices bacon, cut into pieces
- 12 bone-in, skinless chicken thighs, about 4 pounds total (att’n: SKINLESS!)
- coarse salt and ground pepper
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 6 medium carrots, sliced crosswise
- 2 garlic cloves, minced
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 1/2 cups dry red wine, such as a Pinot Noir or French Burgundy
- 1 can (14.5 ounces) reduced-sodium chicken broth

1. Using cotton kitchen twine, tie thyme, parsley, and bay leaf into a bundle; set aside.

2. Heat a Dutch oven or 50quart heavy pot with a lid over medium-low. Add bacon; cook until browned, about 10 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain (leave bacon fat in pot).

3. Raise heat to medium-high. Season chicken generously with salt and pepper. Working in three batches to avoid crowding, brown chicken about 4 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate; set aside.

4. Add onion, carrots, and garlic to pot. Cook until onion softens, about 4 minutes. Stir in tomato paste and flour; cook 1 minute.

5. Add wine, broth, chicken, and herb bundle. Bring to a boil; cover, and reduce to a simmer. Cook 10 minutes; uncover, and simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 10 minutes. Remove and discard herb bundle; stir in bacon. Serve with steamed new potatoes tossed with parsley.

Review: Q

A neighborhood standby that for several years I've shied away from. Now I know why. As I well remember, the noise level is unacceptable. The acoustics are not good to begin with, but the staff compounds the problem by playing The Clash (a fine band) and Cake (also fun, but not when I'm trying to hear and chew at the same time).

I was impressed by the waitress's wine help. I asked for something red, dry, not too "fruit-forward" (her words) to go with my fish. She had a couple ideas, and I don't think she was faking it. The one I chose didn't appeal to me, unfortunately, but I'll let that slide. I'm no expert.

For a comfort joint, the food was lackluster. Chili-crusted mahi on corn 'n' black bean cakes: nice idea. Tiny portion. Too fussy and kind of bland. The snow peas on the side were cold. Ugh. The Fanch's steak was undercooked; it happens. She sent it back with no protest from the waitress. She was the best part of the meal.

Another complaint, which is no fault of Q, per se, more just a cranky rant in general: Mashed potatoes are the culinary equivalent of adults talking about their favorite cartoons. Grow up, for God's sake. For $50, the Fanch and I walked away a little dyspeptic.

I haven't had a good restaurant meal in a while, and I grow weary.