Nobody in their right mind would call this an "Italian" recipe.
It has California written all over it in the good sense of the word not the "other" one but the CC is not going to get into that particular Vietnam.
That having being said, it's quite an intriguing flavor combination, and with the right fresh ingredients definitely knocks it out of the park.
This being the season for Meyer lemons, and also the season where brassica fatigue has set in, is probably the right time to make something that will make your tastebuds perk up.
There are some real curveballs here at least if you are used to cooking Italian food. The "pesto" is heated up which sounded really strange but actually is correct once you understand which ingredients are being used.
This is a homage not "authentic" and should be clearly understood as such.
It's also freakin' delicious!
Ingredients
2 cups penne (anything long and tubular)
1 cup pistachios
1 cup parsley
1/2 cup mint
2 cloves garlic
4 dried red chilli peppers
1/2 cup parmigiano reggiano
2 Meyer lemons (zested and rest juiced)
1/2 cup olive oil (your finest!)
2 cups broccoli florets
parmigiano reggiano (grated)
black pepper
Recipe
Preheat the oven to 325°F. Roast the pistachios for about 8 minutes. Let cool.
Grind to a coarse powder in a food processor. Set aside.
Meanwhile, put the lemon zest, parsley, mint, garlic, dried red chilli peppers, olive oil and parmigiano-reggiano in the same food processor, and grind to a loose paste.
There is some parallelism below so read carefully before execution.
For the pasta, heat some water with tons of sea salt. When the water comes to a rolling boil, add the pasta and let cook for 9 minutes. Add the broccoli and let cook for an additional 2 minutes.
Grab a cup of the boiling pasta water, and add it to the paste above. Add the coarse powdered pistachios and cook in a skillet at medium high heat for about 2 minutes.
Drain the pasta and the broccoli and put in a large bowl.
Add the cooked "pesto" above, and the juice from the lemons.
Toss, and let sit for about 4-5 minutes.
Serve with the parmigiano reggiano on top with additional black pepper.
Showing posts with label authenticity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label authenticity. Show all posts
Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2007
What is an opinion?
Ever hear of the "age-old adage" that "breakfast is the most important meal of the day"? Do you refer to "bacon and eggs" as a quintessentially "American breakfast"?
More importantly, do you believe them to be true?
Both are the creation of the public-relations genius (or evil genius) Edward Bernays, and were created to increase sales of bacon. Effectively, it involves manipulation via using "third-party authorities" to plead the cause.
First, doctors were polled on the "virtues of a heavy breakfast". Then, other doctors were polled with the adage that their colleagues thought that "heavy breakfasts were virtuous for the following reasons" and "did they agree with it?" (Psychology being what it is very few people have the guts to disagree with their colleagues.) Then, it was publicized that "most doctors recommend a heavy breakfast", "bacon and eggs are a heavy breakfast", "most Americans like bacon and eggs", etc. and voilà! Instant Americana.
Same goes for pancakes by the way. A pure creation of Dr. Bernays' propaganda.
Morals, if any?
Don't believe "received opinion", and "authenticity" is a dubious beast.
More importantly, do you believe them to be true?
Both are the creation of the public-relations genius (or evil genius) Edward Bernays, and were created to increase sales of bacon. Effectively, it involves manipulation via using "third-party authorities" to plead the cause.
First, doctors were polled on the "virtues of a heavy breakfast". Then, other doctors were polled with the adage that their colleagues thought that "heavy breakfasts were virtuous for the following reasons" and "did they agree with it?" (Psychology being what it is very few people have the guts to disagree with their colleagues.) Then, it was publicized that "most doctors recommend a heavy breakfast", "bacon and eggs are a heavy breakfast", "most Americans like bacon and eggs", etc. and voilà! Instant Americana.
Same goes for pancakes by the way. A pure creation of Dr. Bernays' propaganda.
Morals, if any?
Don't believe "received opinion", and "authenticity" is a dubious beast.
Labels:
american,
authenticity,
breakfast,
economics
Monday, May 21, 2007
Social Consquences of Truth
In case, anyone has not noticed, the CC is sort of obsessed with this semi-fluid line between authenticity, and the lack thereof.
All identities are constructed, and there are tremendous, and powerful social mechanisms in place trying to propagate these constructs. This could hardly be considered a revelation.
However, the social consequences of uncovering people's deeply held beliefs as inauthentic can prove to be problematic.
A few years ago, the CC was having dinner with an aunt, and a friend.
Over Oaxacan food, the conversation veered hither and thither to nopales, and chillies, and how the New World had invaded the Old (foodwise.)
The CC having had a margarita (or two) steered the conversation to how chillies never really existed in Indian cooking (just black pepper), and how tomatoes were a "recent" import to Italy, and from there on to India, and how most of the things that Indians considered "Indian", and Italians considered "Italian" were just New World constructs, and since the New World hadn't been discovered for all that long, how authentic could they possibly be?
Well, the CC was greeted with the same response he would've had, had he just mentioned that he had spent the last evening sodomizing his dead grandmother.
Short moral: talking about food can be dangerous.
All identities are constructed, and there are tremendous, and powerful social mechanisms in place trying to propagate these constructs. This could hardly be considered a revelation.
However, the social consequences of uncovering people's deeply held beliefs as inauthentic can prove to be problematic.
A few years ago, the CC was having dinner with an aunt, and a friend.
Over Oaxacan food, the conversation veered hither and thither to nopales, and chillies, and how the New World had invaded the Old (foodwise.)
The CC having had a margarita (or two) steered the conversation to how chillies never really existed in Indian cooking (just black pepper), and how tomatoes were a "recent" import to Italy, and from there on to India, and how most of the things that Indians considered "Indian", and Italians considered "Italian" were just New World constructs, and since the New World hadn't been discovered for all that long, how authentic could they possibly be?
Well, the CC was greeted with the same response he would've had, had he just mentioned that he had spent the last evening sodomizing his dead grandmother.
Short moral: talking about food can be dangerous.
Labels:
authenticity,
new york
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Authenticity (or the lack thereof)
Ever wondered what ingredients made their way into Indian cuisine after the discovery of the New World?
Most Indians would consider these "native" but they don't exist in 16th century cookbooks. They are all New World imports.
maize
cocoa
guavas
chillies
tapioca
peaches
walnuts
papayas
peanuts
almonds
potatoes
tomatoes
avocados
sunflower
pistachios
pineapples
cashewnuts
passion fruits
custard apples (sitaphal)
bullock's heart (ramphal)
Whither authenticity?
Most Indians would consider these "native" but they don't exist in 16th century cookbooks. They are all New World imports.
maize
cocoa
guavas
chillies
tapioca
peaches
walnuts
papayas
peanuts
almonds
potatoes
tomatoes
avocados
sunflower
pistachios
pineapples
cashewnuts
passion fruits
custard apples (sitaphal)
bullock's heart (ramphal)
Whither authenticity?
Labels:
authenticity,
indian,
ingredient
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Don't prejudge the chef!
Frequently, the CC is asked what kind of food he enjoys cooking, and the answer is all kinds. For those, you have visited the CC, you're aware that the shelves are groaning with cook books, and technique manuals.
In fact, the CC would argue that technique (or the science of food) is far more useful than just reading recipes because one can extract the key idea rather than the specifics of a culinary tradition (which does not mean that the latter is not important -- it is supremely so, as well!)
There was a recent article in the New York Times that sums this up: A Yankee Chef With a Mexican Flavor.
ON a train from Dublin to Shannon recently, I struck up a conversation with an elderly man sitting across from me.
“What do you do?” he asked, recognizing my American accent.
“I’m a chef.”
“What kind of food.”
“Mexican,” I replied.
“Mexican?”
He chewed on that for a few seconds. A Yankee making Mexican food? How could I pretend to know about Mexican food?
Sure, Americans traveling abroad expect to be treated like pariahs these days. But I get more than my fair share because I’m the ultimate outsider: a Yankee who prepares Mexican food. And who also happens to have a Swedish surname.
Mexicans are particularly suspicious. I was recently asked to judge a competition for young chefs in Mexico City, the Joven Chef Mexicano. Oddly, they hadn’t scheduled me for any of the sessions, so I just wandered around the competition, trying to make conversation with the other chefs.
But no one would talk to me. They just looked at me as if to say, “What’s this Yankee doing here?” I felt like an interloper.
Then Guillermo González Beristain, one of the most reputable chefs in Mexico, greeted me. Guillermo had also attended my alma mater, the Culinary Institute of America, and within a few minutes, we were having an animated conversation. Suddenly, everyone else warmed up to me, too. I felt as if I was surrounded by friends.
Why do I specialize in Mexican cuisine? Because it’s some of the most diverse food on the planet. It’s complex, it’s often a challenge to prepare, and it’s delicious. Being an outcast is a small price to pay for that kind of culinary calling.
I’m even willing to sustain some friendly fire. At the annual Hispanic Children and Families fund-raiser, which benefits underprivileged Hispanic children, I set up a table for our restaurant. There’s an elite group of Latin American chefs that also participate in the event. I’m always cast as the outsider by them.
Last year, I made cochinita pibil, a traditional pork dish from Yucatán, with plantains, pickled onions, habanero chiles and tortillas. The chefs would come by the table, help themselves to the samples, whisper something to each other and leave. But at least they were eating.
Mexicans are perplexed that anyone would want to develop an expertise in cooking their food. South of the border, the chefs usually specialize in Spanish or French food, although lately, Mexican cuisine has been getting a lot more respect.
On a recent visit to the Vendimia Wine Festival in Ensenada, I met several Mexicans who didn’t get it. Unfortunately, they were border guards in Tijuana. I was trying to bring supplies across the border to cook a trio of ceviche — marinated raw fish in lime — and duck carnitas with mole coloradito, for the festival’s gala dinner. When the guards saw the food, they turned me back.
“Please,” I begged them, “It’s for an important dinner.”
But the idea of an American preparing Mexican food was so odd that they figured we had to be up to no good. Seeing the impasse, I tried a last-ditch effort. I dropped a name.
“The governor of Baja California will be there,” I said.
The guards conferred with one another. An American cooking Mexican food — for the governor? It sounded so preposterous, it had to be true.
“Señor,” said the guard. “You may go.”
In fact, the CC would argue that technique (or the science of food) is far more useful than just reading recipes because one can extract the key idea rather than the specifics of a culinary tradition (which does not mean that the latter is not important -- it is supremely so, as well!)
There was a recent article in the New York Times that sums this up: A Yankee Chef With a Mexican Flavor.
ON a train from Dublin to Shannon recently, I struck up a conversation with an elderly man sitting across from me.
“What do you do?” he asked, recognizing my American accent.
“I’m a chef.”
“What kind of food.”
“Mexican,” I replied.
“Mexican?”
He chewed on that for a few seconds. A Yankee making Mexican food? How could I pretend to know about Mexican food?
Sure, Americans traveling abroad expect to be treated like pariahs these days. But I get more than my fair share because I’m the ultimate outsider: a Yankee who prepares Mexican food. And who also happens to have a Swedish surname.
Mexicans are particularly suspicious. I was recently asked to judge a competition for young chefs in Mexico City, the Joven Chef Mexicano. Oddly, they hadn’t scheduled me for any of the sessions, so I just wandered around the competition, trying to make conversation with the other chefs.
But no one would talk to me. They just looked at me as if to say, “What’s this Yankee doing here?” I felt like an interloper.
Then Guillermo González Beristain, one of the most reputable chefs in Mexico, greeted me. Guillermo had also attended my alma mater, the Culinary Institute of America, and within a few minutes, we were having an animated conversation. Suddenly, everyone else warmed up to me, too. I felt as if I was surrounded by friends.
Why do I specialize in Mexican cuisine? Because it’s some of the most diverse food on the planet. It’s complex, it’s often a challenge to prepare, and it’s delicious. Being an outcast is a small price to pay for that kind of culinary calling.
I’m even willing to sustain some friendly fire. At the annual Hispanic Children and Families fund-raiser, which benefits underprivileged Hispanic children, I set up a table for our restaurant. There’s an elite group of Latin American chefs that also participate in the event. I’m always cast as the outsider by them.
Last year, I made cochinita pibil, a traditional pork dish from Yucatán, with plantains, pickled onions, habanero chiles and tortillas. The chefs would come by the table, help themselves to the samples, whisper something to each other and leave. But at least they were eating.
Mexicans are perplexed that anyone would want to develop an expertise in cooking their food. South of the border, the chefs usually specialize in Spanish or French food, although lately, Mexican cuisine has been getting a lot more respect.
On a recent visit to the Vendimia Wine Festival in Ensenada, I met several Mexicans who didn’t get it. Unfortunately, they were border guards in Tijuana. I was trying to bring supplies across the border to cook a trio of ceviche — marinated raw fish in lime — and duck carnitas with mole coloradito, for the festival’s gala dinner. When the guards saw the food, they turned me back.
“Please,” I begged them, “It’s for an important dinner.”
But the idea of an American preparing Mexican food was so odd that they figured we had to be up to no good. Seeing the impasse, I tried a last-ditch effort. I dropped a name.
“The governor of Baja California will be there,” I said.
The guards conferred with one another. An American cooking Mexican food — for the governor? It sounded so preposterous, it had to be true.
“Señor,” said the guard. “You may go.”
Labels:
authenticity
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
The Role of Illusions
Every once in a while, we are called upon to make dishes with constraints in mind. This is truly the mark of a good chef.
Cooking is like magic. Sometimes you need to create an illusion.
The CC was called upon to make a classic French Onion Soup minus the beef.
"Impossible, you say?"
"Hard work," says the CC.
The CC made a traditional beef broth side by side with a mushroom broth more than a few times till even the most discerning audience could not tell the difference. In fact, he served it with impunity to an audience (who loved it,) and then revealed the truth.
The CC presents a mushroom broth quite specifically made for classic French Onion Soup (recipe to follow.)
Ingredients
1 large red onion (diced)
1 lb crimini mushrooms (quartered)
2 large portabella mushrooms (diced)
2 carrots (diced)
1/2 cup celery (diced)
3 bay leaves
1 sprig rosemary
10-12 peppercorns
salt to taste
olive oil
10-12 cups of water (approximate - just fill the pot.)
Recipe
Saute the onions in olive oil until pale pink/slightly brown. Add the peppercorns, and saute for a bit. Add the carrots and celery and saute for a bit till soft. Add the mushrooms, and saute for a bit. Add the cold water (it's important that it be cold.) and bring to a very low simmer.
Simmer for 70-90 minutes while skimming periodically.
Over a bowl, strain the broth from the vegetables using a sieve lined with several layers of a cheesecloth. Let the vegetables cool for a while. Take the cheesecloth and squeeze the vegetables to extract more of the juice into the bowl until no more comes out. Discard the pulp.
You may freeze this for a long time.
Cooking is like magic. Sometimes you need to create an illusion.
The CC was called upon to make a classic French Onion Soup minus the beef.
"Impossible, you say?"
"Hard work," says the CC.
The CC made a traditional beef broth side by side with a mushroom broth more than a few times till even the most discerning audience could not tell the difference. In fact, he served it with impunity to an audience (who loved it,) and then revealed the truth.
The CC presents a mushroom broth quite specifically made for classic French Onion Soup (recipe to follow.)
Ingredients
1 large red onion (diced)
1 lb crimini mushrooms (quartered)
2 large portabella mushrooms (diced)
2 carrots (diced)
1/2 cup celery (diced)
3 bay leaves
1 sprig rosemary
10-12 peppercorns
salt to taste
olive oil
10-12 cups of water (approximate - just fill the pot.)
Recipe
Saute the onions in olive oil until pale pink/slightly brown. Add the peppercorns, and saute for a bit. Add the carrots and celery and saute for a bit till soft. Add the mushrooms, and saute for a bit. Add the cold water (it's important that it be cold.) and bring to a very low simmer.
Simmer for 70-90 minutes while skimming periodically.
Over a bowl, strain the broth from the vegetables using a sieve lined with several layers of a cheesecloth. Let the vegetables cool for a while. Take the cheesecloth and squeeze the vegetables to extract more of the juice into the bowl until no more comes out. Discard the pulp.
You may freeze this for a long time.
Labels:
authenticity,
broth,
french,
mushrooms,
recipe
Sunday, August 6, 2006
Two kinds of food enthusiasts
There are two kinds of "foodies".
The first are the ones who worship at the altar of the Michelin three-star -- white tablecloths, "fine" cuisine (*), and "service".
The second prefer substance over style, and hence, authenticity over presentation. They'll take rickety plastic tables, and naked hanging bulbs if the food kicks ass.
The CC clearly belongs to the latter school (although he will be the first to admit that he has learnt a lot from the former.)
Consider this the first salvo in the "food wars".
(*) You can always disguise crap cuisine with truffles! (And the sad truth about New York is that most "top" chefs do. Sad, really! Truly sad.)
The first are the ones who worship at the altar of the Michelin three-star -- white tablecloths, "fine" cuisine (*), and "service".
The second prefer substance over style, and hence, authenticity over presentation. They'll take rickety plastic tables, and naked hanging bulbs if the food kicks ass.
The CC clearly belongs to the latter school (although he will be the first to admit that he has learnt a lot from the former.)
Consider this the first salvo in the "food wars".
(*) You can always disguise crap cuisine with truffles! (And the sad truth about New York is that most "top" chefs do. Sad, really! Truly sad.)
Labels:
authenticity
Thursday, March 9, 2006
One more book (sigh!)
OK, so the CC was so enchanted by the last Jennifer Brennan book, that he has gone ahead and ordered another one.
It's vaguely on Polynesian food entitled Tradewinds and Coconuts, and it's just about as likely to be "faithful", "true", and "authentic" to the cooking of these islands as the original "Raj" cookbook was to Indian food.
But the CC is a sucker (sometimes.)
Alas!
Whither authenticity?
It's vaguely on Polynesian food entitled Tradewinds and Coconuts, and it's just about as likely to be "faithful", "true", and "authentic" to the cooking of these islands as the original "Raj" cookbook was to Indian food.
But the CC is a sucker (sometimes.)
Alas!
Whither authenticity?
Labels:
authenticity,
books,
indian
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