Baked Eggs

Happy Easter. For me, Easter is about celebrating with food and a bit of shmaltz. I love a chocolate egg or two and an silly egg hunt around the apartment. So, this Easter G decided to make a Bo Ssam. It was truly wonderful and weird. Admittedly, around holiday dinner times, I get very particular about whatever I might think is traditional and I do get nostalgic for foods I have had throughout my life. So, I thought we should have a traditional old ham, I think a gammon here in the UK. I haven't had a ham in at least 5 years and here the tradition is lamb or beef, I think. Neither of us like lamb and whatever beef. So, G said we might slow cook a joint of pork and have bo ssam served with ginger scallion sauce, a pickled fennel relish and some kimchee wrapped in lettuce leaves and eaten in a messy and fun style. What a good idea.

Our Easter table.

I also wanted to add a couple of more traditional elements but with a twist. Mashed sweet potatoes and asparagus. I love making these mashed sweet potatoes with butter and white miso. The miso gives a lovely salty snap to the sweetness of the vegetable and the butter is, the butter. I thought I would dress the asparagus a bit too and looked up a recipe with pancetta, pine nuts, leeks, and some orange zest. If I ever made this again, I would leave out the zest and maybe the leeks. So, to the lady who put this recipe online and called it the 'best asparagus ever' or something like that. I give you an eternal raspberry of the tongue variety. I admit, I may have adjusted some quantities for our small amount of asparagus but, not good stuff.

The bo ssam though, that was the bomb. Take your freshly shucked oyster and lay atop your slow cooked pork, layer on your toppings, a bit of each and wrap and munch away. A truly great experience for your mouth. Hearing about it does not do it any justice, though. It made me wince to think about trying. Now, I may dream about it.

On Easter morning, I like to make a special holiday breakfast but, the family tradition of fried dough is really not very good for us. I decided to make a baked egg sort of dish with tomato, goat cheese, fresh spinach, shallot, pancetta and eggs.

My first baked egg casserole.

The night before we had also mugged a couple of Easter bunnies and squoze chocolate eggs out of their baskets. That was the fun part. So G asked what we were going to do with them as we ran down the trail away from the dazed rabbits and I said 'Hide them, of course'. So he did hide them. All of them. In the plastic bag. In the oven. I woke up and preheated it to bake my eggs and that is what happened.

Our chocolate eggs!

All of the larger ones deflated. The smaller ones just got soft and stuck together. I did hide some of the survivors when G went to take out the recycling. He had fun finding them and eating them immediately. I think he got a little sick on chocolate.

London Cycle

I just came back from Portobello Road. I rode a rent a bike over  on the road and back along the canal way. I brought my bike helmet over from NYC to use for this purpose. I forgot to take my bike helmet. I hit the road at Warwick Ave and was mostly afraid, thinking I would be hit by a black cab from out of no place. The cab would actually just be coming from the opposite direction than I would naturally expect and kill me on impact all because I didn't have my bike helmet on. But, with great determination, I swallowed and rode on through the streets. I only forgot to look once and there were no cars there. I got down to Portobello and there were no bike stands to click into. The woman at the Spanish food market, where we get our chorizo, let me park my bike at the front of the shop, thanks lady.

I took the canal way back. Less stressful, less cars. I watched a man fall over on his bike. He dropped his apples and I shouted 'Apples, apples, sir, you dropped your apples' I shouted this a couple more times and he actually looked back at me. He looked in his bag, looked back again and kept going. Didn't want his apples back.

Over the weekend, G made his eggplant paste, pickled onions and grilled squid. This was not my ideal dinner. It is really more of a course in a long meal. Luckily, G's friends came around with loads of wine and we all had a dance party in the living room. There was dancing, singing, some wrestling, hugs, drugs and wine. We all had a good time. Again, no photos, what's wrong with me?

Barrafina how ya been-a. London, I missed you.

We ate in Soho last night, London. We went to Barrafina, a Spanish tapas bar. It is run very well in the small space. An L shaped bar for diners and a line down the mirrored wall of future diners. I was meant to meet MC at 7 and wait on the long line. The sexy tattooed Spanish waiter gave me a thrill and brought me a red from Jumilla. I waited and moved along down the wall until I got to the front of the line. Neither of my party had arrived yet so another glass of wine, this time I chose Briego which was described as smoke and leather and I loved it. I was happy and warm and then my peeps showed up. We had just a few minutes wait for 3 spots at the bar but, I noticed those waiting on line getting restless as the night went on. What did start out to look like a civilized system was getting battered a bit by the less civilized among the patrons. Sad, because you really want for nothing as you stand and wait along the mirrored wall, they offer a small menu of treats and the full wine list for your pleasure. So, calm down fuckers!!
This is where I would stick a photo but, I didn't take any. Silly me.
We sat up at the bar and ordered Mozambique prawns, mojama, a smoked fish served with endive and pomegranate seeds, asparagus with hard cheese, a salad with Bibb and gem lettuces and a zippy lemony dressing, grilled chorizo on a bed of potatoes with microgreens and a jamon and spinach tortilla. The prawns were simple, large and succulent from the grill, enjoyable in their meaty flesh and the salty taste of your fingers. The mojama came next, not fishy at all, rather zesty eaten off the endive with citrus and the tart pom seeds. Our greens course was welcome and refreshing and a perfect respite before the chorizo landed in front of us. The house made meat was fantastic spicy but not too hot, really snappy bites of the red sausage and the potatoes soaking up the lovely orange oil. Then we got what I believe I will attempt to make but may never achieve a perfect little tortilla. The tortilla was a crispy brown and fluffy burger shaped treat. Inside thin layers of potato, ham and spinach when cut into a buttery eggy sauce spilled out. They cook these little guys in tiny fry pans and simply flip the tortilla from pan to pan to get the shape and lovely browned egg crust. I don't know if I can do it but I want to give it a try. The potato was perfectly layered and gave enough resistance and salty, buttery flavor. We finished with a Spanish cheese plate and a dessert. The Santiago tart, wow, yum, almond and quince tart with no over sweet taste. Just elegant flavor of nuttiness and fruit. Loved it and finished it with a Chardonnay Cava, wonderful. The check ended up to be about 55 GBP each, not bad. As we left, the last of the line was still waiting, worth it though giving seated diners the stink eye doesn't hasten anyone into leaving this little gem, I am sure.

The cocktales

Oh cocktail, how do I love you? Some may say I love you too well. But, recently, through some breaks in my enjoyment of you, I have found that I have so many of the same ideas and rantings with you as without you. Oh brain, you are truly a wonder.
Before I left London for Brooklyn, we made a couple of lovely Sunday cocktails. I am more of a wino, in recent years, but I do love Irish whiskey and a well mixed cocktail is alright with me. On that first Sunday it was Bloody Marys. Now, I am not always a fan of the Bloody, often it is just made poorly at your brunch places. I have since found a favorite spot for a great Bloody, Stone Park Cafe. It is very close to my place and they make a kick ass Bloody. I took a page from their book and mixed up a fierce Bloody for our London at home brunch.

Tasty, colorful, soothing, yum.

I used the hand blender to mix up and the potion. G did the garnishing and the drinking to help out. So, what goes in, tomato juice (said in the British toemahtoe way), black pepper, tobasco, horseradish, worcestershire sauce, celery salt and some port or brandy or both. I blended up those basics with a little red juice and started taste testing my way to amazing. We used Stoli for the kick and dropped in a couple caperberries along with the celery and lemon and then dropped out to a blissful Sunday cuddle.

Not one to be outdone, on the next Sunday, G made me a hot toddy that made all that ailed me drift into the background. We made it with Irish whiskey, honey, lemon, clove, ginger, hot water, and fresh ground nutmeg. The magic of the toddy is a gorgeous all over body experience. It feels like the toddy's warmth spreads through and fills all of the cracks and crevices that need warming within you. The instant relaxation of the hot steam and whiskey lends a slitted eye, am I stoned?, feeling and a languishing speed to it's consumption.

The cloves are swimming about shouting weeeee!

I did warm mine up with boiling water. I then thought, maybe if the hot water had a ginger tea base, the warming up process wouldn't leave a wateriness in your cocktail. Just more lovely flavor without more alcohol. But, come on, I did have a second one and drifted through a Sunday night movie while G made a veal stock from a French cookbook we work from sometimes.

Our bits going into the water.

The veg only made everything better

The thing about the veal stock is it sounded wonderful. I had been trying to locate the stock bones of veal for a while so that he could try this. We ended up at The Ginger Pig, a fantastic butcher in London with a premium pricetag. They had the scraps we needed. G prepped and began the cooking down of the stock. It takes some time. The entire place had a rich scent, the air was warm and comforting. Well, it cooked and cooked and really came out wan and disappointing at the end. After all the effort and expense, I just figured I would improve upon it and not let it go to waste. I tried to add something to it, salting a bit and thinking of what to do to improve on what was almost flavorful. Well, we did have some pork belly for dinner a few nights later and I just took those bones and cooked 'em up in the veal stock. Blasphemy? I don't know. It did come out richer and with more to it. Is is worth doing again? I probably won't. I will stick to my easy chicken stock that I make after we roast a Sunday bird. That stock is so rich and simple and just gives me an old timey feeling of using every bit of the food we buy. I grew up with my Granpy's garden and a Great Depression hangover of utilizing every scrap of food around. I love the satisfaction of having only bones to discard and for those bones to have no flavor that could still be wrung from them.

Borough Market, London

 Part of the pleasure of cooking is that primitive urge in all of us to sate our appetites, the other primitive urge I relish is the hunting and gathering aspect. I love to go to market and fill up my senses with all of the options of what to eat, what to make and what to (proverbially) bang over the head and drag home. This goes for lettuce as well as pork. This week I went to Borough Market in London. This is one of the cities oldest fresh markets and you can find anything(almost) that you desire for cooking and eating. The market is down under London Bridge on the South side. This place really gets heaving around lunchtime, especially on a Saturday. I like to go on Thursday or Friday but, I am a great shopper and can usually ignore the crowds. The great part of any market like this is the tasting and choosing and the inspiration as the ideas of what to do with each next delicious item pops into my head. I am often overwhelmed and I always try to edit myself. I come home with random items and half eaten treats but often with the inspiration for a new dish or a new ingredient to experiment with. This week, I went, ostensibly, to find veal scraps and bones to make veal stock. Veal stock is something that G has been wanting to make, inspired by one of his French cookbooks. They didn't have any. The butcher was friendly but, not fruitful. I asked about it and it seems pretty difficult to get. I had thought this, of all places, would be the place to find any weird thing you might want for cooking.

This is the flavor of the butcher shop.

 Never mind the stock, what else can I make? I wandered the market and tasted all of the cheeses on offer. I love you, Cheesus. I bought some bright green olives that are so tasty and the color is not your typical shade of, well, olive. They are so bright firm and briney that I just popped one in my mouth as I am writing, irresistible. I picked up some pork belly for Momofuku pork buns, that is in a brine right now. Next, some fresh unpasteurized butter with sea salt and my new friend, smoked garlic. Smoked garlic, you and I are embarking on a journey of new discoveries, we will become fast friends, I think. Smoked garlic, I can't wait to put you in, in...hmm, I still think our love is real. I might just bake you and spread you on bread.
After that, I moved on through the produce area, which is so beautiful, the mushroom table alone overwhelms and I will head back to market on Thursday to buy a truffle or maybe two for a pasta we are making. Oh, I started dreaming of truffle pasta. We had truffle pasta in Paris. We ate at a wonderful Italian restaurant somewhere on the Rive Gauche. I can't tell you where it is right now but, I did manage to find it on my rent-a-bike when I went for lunch later that week.

A perfect lunch in Paris, I couldn't wait to eat, it came covered in truffles, shaved, delicate...

When G took me to dinner there we were mid-dinner when he announced that is was Bogey's favorite Italian restaurant in Paris.
'How do you know that?'
'I had dinner with his wife here.'
'Lauren Bacall?'
'Yes'
'Um, how was she?'
'She was a nice older lady.' And that is about all I got out of him. Seriously.

Paella gets better and better

I have been making paella every week or so since I found that rice back in October. G loves it and he encourages it. When we make our Sunday chicken, I make paella on Monday. This time we had some whitefish to add in as well. I made the mirepoix with my veg combo. I just raid the crisper and take whats good. This time is was carrots, broccoli, shallot and mushrooms. I used the new food processor and blitzed that up in a few seconds. I charred up the chorizo, set it aside and added the veg. I tossed in the white fish. I took the chicken's 'gold' and made it into a broth then used it to make rice. I dropped in the chicken, layed the chorizo back in and tossed in some fruit de mer. This loveliness bubbled away on the stove and really was a comfort for dinner.


Over the holidays I promised A I would bake for her. I over promised a bit. I still owe an angel's food and a carrot cake. I did make a gingerbread or two, really. The recipe starts with stout and takes fresh and ground ginger and molasses. It was fast and easy to make and came out of the oven so lovely and needed no accompaniment.

deep, dark, rich and ready for the oven

The deep flavor of the stout and treacle with the bite of the ginger made it a special treat. Make sure to eat your first piece as soon as it comes out of the oven. I cut some for a test piece and we all ate some warm gingerbread. I made the second gingerbread for our New Year's Day dinner. To kick off the new year were invited to dinner with S and other good friends. I think we had 5 courses. There was a smoked salmon cheese dip with crusty bread, potato leek soup (which kicked off my current obsession with leeks), a gorgeous rib roast and plenty of veg (sometime during this course I had to take a break from eating and couldn't finish that plate), next up was a pavlova with fruit and cream and finally gingerbread and cheese plate. I like thinking about gingerbread as well as eating it. The nostalgia of just saying the word is enough to put me into a reverie of icing and Christmas memories. I remember one year my dear old mum made me and my brother's school classes gingerbread houses. She made two for each class on a board covered in tin foil for the icy wonderland and a fence around. There were gumdrops and swirly hard candy to decorate. I think the roof was shingled by graham crackers... Anyway, it is a treasured memory and it puts the gingerbread into a magical category of food. I relish it today. (Um, Mom, you could send me a photo of the houses!)

Chowdahead

Glasgow, Scotland, I am hungry. I haven't had the best luck getting a decent lunch out of you. I want you to feed me something light, satisfying, fresh, tasty, enjoyable, brief, surprising...I want a good lunch. Can you help me out? We started looking for you, elusive respite, after Christmas. We went to a new place called 'Butchershop & something something' and sat awaiting some meat for nearly an hour. I want to be as fair as I can be. I am not writing this to dis this new restaurant. I just wanted a steak frites in about the time it takes to cook a steak. I thought we might get the hamburger in the same amount of time. It was busy, not that busy, but busy. We had pleasant service and the food was good. That is all I can say.

We don't give up. The next day, we went over to 'The Crab Shack'. We went in and they asked us if we were ok at the bar. They told us they didn't have much on the menu because the fishing boats hadn't been out from Christmas. No crabs, langoustines, mussels, etc. We ordered up two seafood chowders and the fish dinner. The chowders showed up pretty quickly and they were not small cupfuls, they were lovely big bowls with thick bread. Now, I am from New England, I consider myself a chowder expert. I have been eating chowdah since I first supped on soup. I have had every possible chowder concoction and they measured from the inedible, stomach churning canned type to the fresh, creamy, made at the dock as the clams came off the boat variety. Chowdah, how I luv ya, how I luv ya chowdah. So, I was so excited to dig into a bowl and this is it. This is a wonderful chowder. Thank you Crab Shack, Glasgow. Thank you friendly waitstaff, thank you nice American dude who plunked this bowl down in front of me. This steaming, creamy, leek filled bowl of yumminess. This chowder is one that I want to make, that I am going to attempt to make, that I need to make. The chowder itself is creamy but not thick or heavy. It holds the seafood and leeks and suspends them in its level richness. Those leeks, the tender mussels and clams, the scallops and fish...

Creamy goodness, chowder, welcome to my tummy.

Well, it was really very good. We were fully satisfied by the end of the bowl. So, although I don't recommend this as an everyday thing, we asked if they would cancel the fish and chips we had yet to come. I don't think I have done that before. It did take G and I some discussion of if it were alright to request and had they said no, we would have just had the dish anyway but, they said no problem and smiled. Thanks again Crab Shack. We ordered up some lovely oysters (I can't remember where they were from) and finished a lovely lunch.

Glistening oysterless shell

We headed out again for lunch a couple other times that were successful. We went to the always satisfying 'Left Bank'. They do their snack foods right. G's lovely friend owns it and I think we eat the same things. All of the little bites on the menu are attractive to me and I wanted to eat my way through it. I only had enough room for the chicken satay with lovely peanut sauce, the side salad and the fries. The fries had rosemary and were salty and delectable. I dipped them in ketchup. I dipped them in peanut sauce. I ate them on their own. I looked at G sideways when he ate some of them.

We also got an impromptu lunch at this funky cool East Village type resto in a hotel. They make a messy little hand pulled pizza that hit the spot. It was thin crusted and had tasty toppings on. So, Glasgow, you have made a luncher out of me.

Ahhh, my hero.

Well, I have missed this report. I took all of the Christmas holiday off to go out and taste things and gather more fuel and inspiration for this little project. Right now, we are on the train from Scotland to London. The holidays are over and we took an entire day just to remain still before boarding this train. Just now, I am munching on good old potato chips and couldn't be more content. I got the new Tom Waits bio 'Lowside of the Road-A Life of Tom Waits' for Christmas (thanks M). I am even more inspired by TW now than I have been. So, I put the big man on the headphones and sunk into the details of a hero of mine. I start to think, a hero? Is that right? Yeah, that's right. First I've got the lyrics, those words that roll over me and remind me of lives I have lived and those I will never live. I feel a sort of dreamy peace drift in and take me off the train and into a late night world where clever prose and funny, but hokey, dirty jokes stuffed with entendre and brimming with ennui and pleasure together. Wow, TW, you get me feeling hopeful and romantic.

What have we been cooking and eating though? I was away from the stove for most of the holiday but I watched, photographed and partook at every opportunity. I am still a little hazy on all of the details of our trip to Glasgow as many days were spent meeting and having impromptu cocktails with many of the denizens of the West End. The last few days before the New Year were a near constant party with many locations to hit. The relative quiet of walking or traveling from one party to the next was often just an opportunity to run into another Glaswegian doing the same. From there, a list of the planned events would be shared and gone over for an opportunity to see the other later.

This is the first try for dough. Although it looks nearly perfect, the dough was not good. But, do not fear...

This year, I swore to do more cooking than last year. I did that, just slightly. This year I made bread dough from some of G's leftover dough. G made Christmas dinner and added some Momofuku touches this year with the mini apple kimchi salad and baby pork buns. We left London on the 5:40 am train on Christmas Eve so we didn't have much room for error but, error moved in and made itself at home. The train was a little late but, no mind. We got into Glasgow incident free (if you've heard the story of last year's train ride you will understand) and to the house in a cab with our 6 bags (3 large, 3 small, all bursting) then we headed out to the Waitrose grocery store on Byres Road. It was jam packed with insane, last minute shoppers like us. G instantly went into his grocery mode which is run through the aisles and last one to checkout gets a glowering look. (We actually got into an argument yesterday about our different grocery shopping 'styles'. So, I will say only that) I was trying to find baking ingredients which proved a little more difficult especially with so many people buying all of the typically seasonal spice flavors up. The shelves were a wasteland of knocked over jars and picked over non-essentials. As usual, I was the last one to check out. Then followed what I have endearingly termed 'the forced march with baggage'. It seems I can't visit Glasgow without this occurrence.

Onto the buns, G made up the dough from a mix, not hopeful to begin with and although in the photo they look like perfect little buns, they were a bit tough. We had bought flour and yeast, etc and he decided to try it again on Christmas day. My dough for fried dough on Christmas morning also failed and we were both bummed. But, with Christmas morning came great surprises, especially for G, as he got a pile of gifts to rival any 7 year old in town. He got a fantastic food processor and dough making became an easier task. So, G started in on making his amuse bouche. The pork belly came out to it's fatty succulent self and those tiny sandwiches were way too small for the appetite that they inspired.

Top view of mini pork bun, notice the lovely fresh pickle and the way the pattern plays off the bun.

Crispy pork belly and an appropriately fluffy bun

I know that's the point but, it must be pointed out. G also made the exciting apple and kimchi salad. We brought the kimchi and the smoked bacon up from London ourselves. We got the apples, labne and rocket(arugula) in Glasgow. If you haven't had this at Momofuku make it. It is easy and involves simple prep and little cooking. It isn't difficult to find kimchi in NYC but, in the UK it is a little more of a challenge and for the second batch G went to the Korean restaurant in Glasgow and bought a serving of the stuff from a bewildered Korean man who had to make up a price for it.

Another top view, the apples are hidden by the tasty bacon.

The apples and kimchi are tossed together and dresses with maple labne.

The sweetness of the apples and the pickled cabbage mix together and deliver a punch to your taste buds. The creamy, sweet labne, like my hero, Tom, this dish mixes all of the best of the deep and peppers the sweetness of life to mind bending results.