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.

Recipe: Italian Egg Rolls

This is adapted from, um, Dom DeLuise:

Slice up a couple of eggplants, lengthwise, into thin slices, no more than 1/4 inch thick. (Save the odds and ends. See below.) Put them down on cutting boards or something and sweat them out with salt for about 10 minutes. In the meantime, prep your station: Beat a couple of eggs, and get your bread crumbs on a plate. Grease a couple of cookie sheets. Preheat the oven to 350.

Dab the moisture off the eggplants with a paper towel, and then take the slices one by one and dredge them in egg and then in bread crumbs and lay them on the cookie sheets. Once they're all done, pop them in the oven for 15 minutes so they get tender.

Take what's left of your setup and bread the odds and ends; you'll fry these as a appetizer for later or save them for sandwiches.

Mix 15 ounces or so of ricotta in a bowl with some fresh-cut parsley. I also added a chopped garlic clove and cracked in some fresh pepper. Slice up a half-pound ball of mozzarella, again in thin slices. I used fresh mozz, since that's what they had at 22nd and Irving.

Now that you've gone through the prep, you're ready to assemble. Put a bit of cheese on a slice of baked eggplant, and top with a spoonful of ricotta. Roll it up and place it seam side down in a baking pan. When you've got them all rolled up and nestled, ladle some marinara sauce on top. (You have some of that marinara you made last time, don't you?) Grate a little Parmesan or whatnot on top and pop the pan or pans back in the hot oven for 30 minutes.

At the end of the evening, you won't exactly look like Dom, but you'll be well sated so you can do all the dishes.

Bargain Bites Riposte: Lime Tree

The Chron has published this year's Bargain Bites list. I'd like everyone to weigh in on the picks. Feel free to span more than one per post. I'll go first:

Lime Tree, 6th and Irving. Cheap, sure, but not even worth the bargain price the several times I've stopped in. My heart breaks to write this, as the owner is the sweetest man in the Inner Sunset. Perhaps he's finally gotten it together, but I visited at least four times in its early days, each time coming away disappointed with the eternal wait for fairly straightforward food (even with no other customers in sight), and with the middling quality. With the Chron's blessing now bestowed, maybe I'll give it one more shot.

Review: Oliveto

Like Chez Panisse, Oliveto has two floors, two menus and two price ranges, the social stratification made visceral by a staircase. Is this what John Edwards is talking about? While a privileged few in America are upstairs eating stuffed Jones Ranch rabbit, the rest of us are downstairs scraping by on pizza con pancetta, fennel and dandelion? No justice, no peace!

We opted for the lower realm, mainly because we didn't have a reservation but also because of our sneaker-ish footwear, which the hostess assessed with an obvious glance as we stepped inside.

Let's get this out of the way first: it still wasn't cheap. Nearly $90 for two people, and it teetered on the edge of "worth it." Here's why:

I started with a negroni to slake my summertime thirst. It was too sweet, and the waitress spilled a few splashes as she set it down. At $10 a cocktail, that's no small loss.

We ordered three apps, two of which were spectacular, a summer squash carpaccio and a wild-greens soup. The salumi plate was uninspiring, with two of the salumis very similar in taste and texture (what's the point of doing a sampler?) and the third, a pate on crostini, basically pure fat and salt. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, but it was far from sublime. So 2-for-3, and high hopes for the entrees...

The Fanch had lamb shoulder daube, I had the grilled squid piled on a large crostino and drizzled with aioli. Both were flavorful; both were salty. Again, salty's not necessarily bad, but when you're paying $15 for mini-entrees in a house of excellent repute, you hope for a bit more subtlety, a few more well-played notes. With a bit of the grill's char riffing off the deep-sea brine, my squid worked better toward that goal than Fanch's lamb.

We skipped dessert.

Sometimes I sound like a broken record. It's just not worth it. I won't go quite that far this time; in fact, the upstairs menu, which changes frequently, was adventuresome enough to lure me back for a big splurge, but it would have to be a very special occasion.

As for downstairs, which is more along the lines of a trattoria with pastas and pizzas and salads, I would do it again, especially if it were a choice between that and the Pasta Pomodoro down the block.

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.