Tomato Kumato

March 8, 2010

Homesick

Filed under: Fish, Pasta — Tags: , — emiglia @ 11:23 am

“You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone.”

The reason that a film like Garden State (from which I have stolen this quote) does so well is because of the truth behind it–genuine feelings, no matter how contrived the situation chosen to put them across, will always prevail over high-tech special effects and sickly-sweet romance, in the end. When this is no longer true, cinema will be dead.

But enough of my personal views on movies, and back to the quote, which is ringing especially true for me now that “that idea of home is gone.” For those of you who have not been following me for the nearly-four years (wow) that I have been amassing this collection of random thoughts and recipes, this is the first time in seven years that I have lived in the same state as my parents, much less in their house–from Andover, MA to Toronto to Cannes to Paris to San Sebastian, I’ve finally made my way back to my childhood home in New York City… only to find myself thrust into a weird in-between stage.

It’s a place where it’s perfectly normal for my peers to be getting married and having babies, but no one throws a second glance my way when I say I’ve moved home. Of my graduating class, it’s hard to say what the majority of people are doing, what the status quo is. My “normal” was so far removed from everyone else’s for so long that coming back home, eating dinner at my kitchen table and seeing my parents every day is, for lack of a better word, weird.

For a long time, I used to get a feeling of intense, random panic that felt like homesickness, although it wasn’t really attached to a place, but more a time–a time on Long Island when summer days lasted forever and we were all thrown together into our huge house by the sea.

It’s been weeks since I was out there–these pictures are from a random trek to the beach when the sun still started setting at 4, and the last thing I was thinking of was plunging head-first into the waves–and yet when I think of home, that’s where my mind goes: not to the couch I’m sleeping on, or to the fact that now that I’m back “home.” Instead, I can’t get over the feeling that I’m in everyone else’s way. All this time of revolting against the idea, the open invitation, “why don’t you just move home?” and now is when I learn that the open invitation wasn’t quite so open… that the ideal of me living at home is something that, like my dreams of home on Long Island, is caught in a time that has long-since passed.

The dream’s been shattered for all of us, as they realize that me moving home means that I’ll actually be around all the time, and I realize that moving back to a place where my room has long-since been converted into a room for my little sister involves a new sort of nomadic life, a series of days filled with carting my “stuff” around the apartment, trying to find a new home for the few things I allowed to follow me “home” from my old life: a pile of papers constituting my manuscript and my bank statements, a couple of pairs of shoes that don’t fit into the closet that I finally won the fight to own, the blanket that I sleep under on the couch in the den.

I guess what’s strange is the fact that, for so long, I found myself trying to nest and build a home around me in the life that I had chosen. Even if my apartment in Paris or the room I rented in San Sebastian never felt quite like home, it was mine. I would move into whatever new space I had chosen to inhabit, stack my books on the shelves just so, move the furniture until it made sense to the way I lived my life: a chair by the window, coffee mugs lined up on the counter, wine glasses low where I could reach them. And even as I did this, created these spaces that were “homey,” it was always home, that place you can apparently never go back to, that was on my mind.

I know it’s not a new feeling, if only because of the sheer number of quotes published by someone much wiser than I that discuss it. But I’ve finally realized upon moving “home” after all these years, that this is it: everything I own is here, shoved into this closet or under my brother’s bed… there’s no where else to go, no plane ticket to hold in the back of my mind as an end date, no empty apartment waiting for me or boxes holding my things until I get back. There’s no back to go to.

So why do I still feel homesick?

Spaghetti with Crab
6 oz. spaghetti
1 bay leaf
1 can lump crab
1 tsp. peri-peri sauce (or other hot sauce)
1/4 tsp. freshly crushed black pepper
salt to taste

Prepare salted boiling water for the spaghetti, and add a bay leaf. Cook the spaghetti until al dente and drain, reserving a half-cup of pasta water.

Toss the pasta with the crab and the peri-peri sauce. Add pasta water as needed to add moisture. Toss with black pepper and salt, and pretend that things are always as they were, and you’re eating fresh seafood barefoot by the bay.


November 10, 2009

Markets

Filed under: Fish, Seafood — Tags: , , , , , , , — emiglia @ 4:09 pm

For those of you who do not speak Basque and may have been confused by yesterday’s post, agur is Basque for “goodbye.”

Yes, I have left San Sebastian, back in my home of Paris. So what’s with the piquillo peppers? I’ll get to that.

Coming back to Paris was a little bit of a shock for me: I wasn’t entirely sure if I would be happy to be back, miss Spain, be too cold, get along well with my cousin with whom I am now living… However I needn’t have worried: Paris welcomed me back with open arms. I am loving living with my cousin (back in my old neighborhood), and as far as this city is concerned… well, it feels so close to home after exploring and discovering a new city that three times today I’ve been convinced I was actually back in New York. (Granted, I was inside working, but still: it was strange to realize that my mother was not on the same time zone as I was, that there was no way I could go out to a SoHo bar tonight, and that the people I should be sending my “wanna do something tonight?” texts were my friends from here, Paris, my new home. Not New York.)

I guess what I’m trying to say in a strange and roundabout way is that coming back to Paris from San Sebastian was a bit like coming home: you drop your luggage and instead of looking around excitedly for new things to discover, you just fall back into an old and comfortable routine, like a pair of flannel pants: worn, used, familiar. Perfect.

But that doesn’t mean, in any way, that I miss San Sebastian any less. Luckily, I still have these market pictures, which I have been meaning to post for you, which means that I can go on a gastronomical walk down memory lane to all of the things that are no longer available to me, like bacalao, which became a food group for me while living there: salty and tasting of the sea.

In contrast with the Parisian markets (which you can see in the first two photos), everything in the Spainsh markets seemed to be personalized. I’ve been to tons of markets in Paris, and wherever you go, you find the same things. The same was true in San Sebastian, but little personal touches, like putting olives on toothpicks, made the vendors seem different to me.

I love that they’ve marked that the oranges are “very sweet.”

These cabbages were larger than anything I’ve ever seen, even in the States.

I don’t remember what these were called, but I remember the woman who urged me to take a taste: they have the texture of a light apple, and they’re tiny, about the size of a kumquat. I loved the acidic taste, almost too sour to eat out of hand, but with a hint of sweetness that makes it possible and even enjoyable for those like me, who like to eat baking apples and used to eat lemons from the rind.

Beans are an important part of a Northern Spanish diet. These black alubias, which turn brick red when cooked, are used to make a traditional dish of stewed beans served with various meats and cabbage. It’s delicious and extremely filling!

I’m no stranger to cheese after the markets of Paris, but the varieties offered in Spain are much different from what you would find in France. Many of them are sheepsmilk cheeses, and often, the vendor comes with his or her own cheeses straight to the market to sell directly to customers, which makes cheese an affordable luxury.

Membrillo is the typical Spanish accompaniment to cheese: sweet quince jelly that can be sliced and stacked atop wedges of manchego…

…or paired with already spreadable cheese! Nuts, called nueces in Spanish, round out the tastes. The three items never seem to be far apart on menus or in markets in Spain.

These squash were massive and bright orange in the center.

Two lone pigeons lay amongst a display of apples, for sale as-is, with the feathers and head still attached.

Guindillas became one of my favorite foods: I ate them by the kilo roasted simply with salt, olive oil and garlic.

One of my favorite things were these red piquillo peppers, bright red and shaped like tongues. They were featured on nearly every restaurant menu in some form, but I didn’t buy mine here.

Or here.

At one market, I found a stand selling peppers roasted to order. They would dump massive buckets of the peppers into this roasting machine, and out they would pop, charred black on the outside.

Crates stacked up all around of peppers they had already sold throughout the day. Customers were buying them by the kilo, ready to jar them for the winter.

I myself bought a kilo and set about making peppers stuffed with bacalao, a typical pintxo in San Sebastian, and one that I love.

The peppers are stuffed with brandade, as it is also called in French, oddly enough. It’s a combination of bacalao, garlic and cream, and is divine. Unfortunately, when in San Sebastian, I was in a wetsuit every day… not terribly forgiving material. Luckily, I put my thinking cap on and came up with a version that is both delicious and not quite as high calorie as the traditional version, which I assume you would need to eat every day if you were herding your own sheep, making your own cheese and carting your own peppers to market.

I am back in the land of mini-légumes, and I’m happy about it, so please excuse the occasional post that sounds a little bit nostalgic: I can’t help it if I left part of my heart back in San Sebastian.

Roasted Guindillas
2 cups guindillas, washed and dried
1 tsp. salt
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 tsp. olive oil

Preheat your oven to 450 degrees F. Toss all the ingredients together in a pan, and place in the oven. Roast for 15 minutes total, tossing once halfway through cooking time.



Not-So-Bad-For-You Brandade-Stuffed Piquillo Peppers with Piquillo Pepper Sauce
2 pounds roasted piquillo peppers, the skins removed
1 tsp. olive oil
1 onion
2 cloves garlic
3 small potatoes
250 g. salt cod, rehydrated
1 T. whipping cream
salt and pepper

If your peppers were fresh, carefully remove the stem and seeds without ripping the pepper, so that it retains its cone form. Reserve 10 of the best-shaped peppers, and dice the rest.

Heat the olive oil in a saucepan and add the onion, diced, and one clove of garlic, minced. Sauté until the onion is translucent, and then add the diced red peppers. Cook over low heat, stirring occasionally. Add water by the half-cupful until the peppers have fallen apart and formed a chunky sauce, about 30 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, heat the cream, salt cod, potatoes and other clove of garlic (whole) in a saucepan. Add 1 cup of water and cook, stirring occasionally, until the cod has broken down and has a creamy texture. When the clove of garlic has completely broken down and been incorporated into the mixture, it’s ready (about 30 minutes). Season with black pepper.

Using a spoon, stuff the cod mixture into the reserved peppers, and carefully place into the sauce. Heat until just heated through, and serve.

July 7, 2009

Cabillaud en Papillote with Roasted Lemon Potatoes

Filed under: Fish, potatoes — Tags: , , , — emiglia @ 5:15 pm

My love of cooking stems–as I assume most people’s does–from a love of food. I started cooking when I was 18 because I had just been granted my own kitchen after three years of cafeteria food, three meals a day, seven days a week, supplemented by an occasional trip to Fuddruckers. When I was given my own kitchen in the first dorm I lived in in Toronto, it was like handing a kid a jar of Nutella and a spoon and saying, “Go nuts!”

And for a long time, that’s what it was: I was entranced by new ingredients, and I spent hours reading recipes online (OK, nevermind, I still do that). But it’s about something else now–at first, I was cooking for one person: myself. My love of cooking was fueled only by my personal enjoyment of good food, and I was afraid to cook for anyone else, because I was afraid that they wouldn’t like what I made.

Since then, of course, things have changed. Four years have elapsed, and not only have I moved out of that tiny first kitchen, where my tools were a set of nonstick pans from the discount store and I set off the smoke alarm every night to a giant kitchen in the South of France, but I’m no longer cooking for just myself. Yes, in my “normal” life (although the girls here have reminded me, as they stare, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as I explain my plans for the next few months–Paziols, New York, San Sebastian, Paris–that my life is anything but normal), I cook for two, and any stragglers who happen by my house to find a pan of lasagna or a stack of cookies. But here, it’s moved to a different level–I’m cooking every meal for 17 people, many more mouths than most people have to feed in a lifetime… and I’m loving it.

I love going to the grocery store with the girls, who spend whole minutes just staring at the giant pots of Nutella. I love watching them choke out the words, uncertain, asking the fishmonger for enough fish to feed a small army and nodding to the woman, who looks at me to make sure that the girls haven’t just confused their numbers.

I love the pantry, filled to the brim with potatoes and onions and garlic and boxes of milk and jars of jam that we make ourselves (all in good time, my friends, all in good time). I love knowing, as I fill up two caddies and drag them towards the checkout that I’m going to be making all of this food and sharing it with these kids who have come to France, not just for French, but for culture.

In the end, my personal meals are often eaten after everyone else has finished, sometimes cold, but I don’t mind one bit. I pull the fish out of the oven at the perfect temperature and watch as 17 faces who had looked at the board where we write the menu du jour with skepticism when they had seen poisson en papillotte written there swoop as I unwrap the filets and the scents of garlic and tomatoes waft out. “But I don’t like fish!” They had said, wrinkling their noses as they wandered in and stared at the bag that held the offending item.

Then why was there none left?

Cabillaud en Papillote

2 kilos cabillaud, or other white fish
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. sunflower oil
6 cloves garlic, minced
6 tomatoes, chopped
2 lemons
1 tsp. herbes de provence
salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Heat the oil over a low flame and add the garlic. Sauté for 1-2 minutes, until fragrant, and add the tomatoes. Cook for 10 minutes, or until the tomatoes have softened slightly.

Meanwhile, thinly slice a lemon into rounds.

Line a baking pan with aluminum foil so that the foil hangs over the sides of the pan. Lay the lemon slices over the bottom in an even strip. Place the fish fillets on top of the lemon slices in one layer (I do this in two pans). Spoon the tomato mixture over the top, and season with herbes de provence, salt and pepper.

Bake at 450 degrees until the fish is just cooked through, about half an hour. Serve immediately.

Roasted Lemon Potatoes
20-25 small/medium potatoes, cut into chunks
3 Tbsp. olive oil
salt and pepper
juice of one lemon
2 tsp. herbes de provence

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

Toss all ingredients together and roast, tossing once or twice, for 30 minutes, or until potatoes are crisp on the outside.

December 27, 2008

Maple-Soy Glazed Salmon

Filed under: Fish, Seafood — Tags: , , — emiglia @ 10:48 pm

See Accidental Hedonist for a new recipe!

April 28, 2008

Tuna… Again

Filed under: Fish — Tags: , , , , — emiglia @ 3:17 pm

This post has been hanging around on my computer for awhile, and I was getting awfully tired of seeing my last post, so I decided to come by and give you all something new!

As I previously mentioned, the Canadian is a big tuna fan. I had made him tuna once before, but it turned out too salty for my taste, so when he begged for tuna a second time, I obliged, but with a different recipe.

This was a second recipe I found on epicurious, here. I don’t like teriyaki sauce, so I subbed a mix of sesame oil and honey. I got nervous about the over-saltiness of the marinade from last time, so I didn’t marinate these for as long… I wish I had, because the tuna itself didn’t take in a lot of the flavor, but my God the mayonnaise was good! I wanted to put it on everything! I used half fromage frais (plain yogurt works) and half mayonnaise, and it was divine. The whole thing was served over wasabi-scallion mashed potatoes. I preferred this by far… much less salty. But it wasn’t quite enough for the Canadian.

He requested tuna dinner a third time, and I asked him which of the two he had preferred, and the answer was the first. I knew that it had been too salty for me, so I mixed it up a little and came up with my own recipe, an amalgamation of the two. As he didn’t love the mayonnaise, I left it out, and I didn’t have time to make the potatoes. The tuna on its own, however, was by far the best of the three: we both agreed.

Seared Tuna

3 tuna steaks
2-3 tablespoons white sesame seeds
2 teaspoons wasabi paste
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon white or cider vinegar
2 cups frozen green beans, thawed
1 tablespoon vegetable oil

Combine wasabi, sesame oil, honey, soy sauce and vinegar in a large glass dish. Set the tuna in the marinade and allow to sit for 30-40 minutes, turning occasionally. Heat a skillet over medium-high heat and heat the vegetable oil. Coat one edge of each tuna steak in seeds and sear, 1-2 minutes per side. Remove tuna and keep warm. Add green beans to skillet, adding remaining marinade. Cook until heated and serve green beans on the side. (Note: if you have time to make wasabi-scallion mashed potatoes, you should DEFINITELY do that as well, and make more sauce/mayonnaise.)

March 3, 2008

Slow-Cooked Salmon

Filed under: Fish — Tags: , , — emiglia @ 3:18 pm

I have made my issue of undercooking things previously known. This problem, I may have also said, stems from a severe fear of overcooking things. Overcompensation… something I should work on.

Anyway, when I found a recipe over at Jaden’s (care of one of her biggest fans, Brilynn) that actually allowed me to cook something for as long as I wanted without any fear of overcooking, it was a dream come true. I made the salmon the evening before we spent the night waiting for the Canadian’s sister in Charles de Gaulle airport.

It came out beautifully cooked, but not the bright color that Jaden got. When, however, I made salmon for the Canadian’s sister later that week, as the Canadian and I were eating tuna, which she does not like, I experimented with turning the oven down 50 degrees. It worked wonderfully! It took a bit more time, but that’s no problem.

Jaden’s recipe is, as she states, more like a set of guidelines than an actual recipe. I’ll link you to her post about it, but the following is what I did.

Slow-Cooked Salmon

1 yellow onion, sliced
1 red onion, sliced
1 scallion, sliced, white and green separated
1 orange, sliced
olive oil
2 tsp. sesame oil
2 salmon fillets
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tsp ground ginger plus extra
1 tablespoon sesame seeds
garlic powder
salt and pepper
one lime

Place the onions and orange (reserve the green parts of the green onion) in the bottom of a baking dish. Toss with olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and ground ginger to taste. Salt and pepper the salmon fillets and place on top of the onions. Evenly distribute the sesame oil on top of the fillets. Add the tsp of ground ginger, the sesame seeds and the brown sugar, evenly dividing between the two fillets. Bake in the oven at 200 degrees for about 35 minutes, or until a paring knife inserted in the center comes out evenly. Squeeze lime juice over the fillets and garnish with green parts of scallions. Serve with extra onions if desired (if you have time, stick them in the oven and crank it up to 450 so they get a bit sweeter. If you don’t the yellow onions still have a bit of a bite).

Note: The steaks were the first time I made, it… the fillet is the Canadian sister’s. For hers, I didn’t have any orange or green or red onion, but she didn’t mind. For hers, I put the lime in with the aromatics.

February 14, 2008

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Filed under: Fish — Tags: , , — emiglia @ 7:07 pm

I used to be one of those people. I know you know what I’m talking about.”Valentine’s Day is just commercial America’s way of making money between Christmas and Easter.”

“Those chalky hearts are the best thing that come out of Valentine’s Day, and Tums taste better.”

“At least the chocolate will be half-off tomorrow.”

Well… I hate to disappoint my fellow grumblers, but in France, Valentine’s Day is awfully nice and quiet. I wouldn’t have even noticed it was coming, except for the fact that I live down the street from a flower shop, which I pass at least twice every day, and they had a reasonable assembly of red flowers in the window.

As my first Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend, I guess I should have planned something big. My friend, the English One (who took me to Wagamama…), was pretty surprised when I told him that the Canadian and I didn’t have any big plans, but I didn’t mind. I’m not a huge fan of commercial holidays.

I made tuna (the Canadian’s favorite). He bought me a little flower. We watched some TV and drank a bottle of wine. Not veering terribly away from the norm, but I adored it. It was my best Valentine’s Day ever. Little chalky hearts, be damned.

Asian-Flavored Seared Tuna (adapted from Bon Appétit March 2000)

Note: I used regular soy sauce, and I found this to be way too salty for me. However, I don’t really like salt, and the Canadian thought it was fine. If you are sensitive to salt, I highly recommend using low-sodium or not serving the extra sauce on the beans. And yes, I know this recipe makes three steaks… the Canadian got two. Because it’s Valentine’s Day.

3 6-oz. tuna steaks
1/4 cup soy sauce
1 teaspoon wasabi paste
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
2 large handfuls green beans
2 tablespoons sesame seeds
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 scallion, finely chopped
1 heaping teaspoon brown sugar
Mix the soy sauce, wasabi paste and onion powder in a bowl, and place the tuna steaks in the marinade. Let sit for no more than fifteen minutes while you prep the rest of your ingredients. Meanwhile, boil some water and blanch the green beans. Heat a skillet over high heat, and add the sesame oil. Remove steaks from marinade and allow to drip of excess liquid. Roll one edge in the sesame seeds, and season both sides with black pepper. Cook the tuna steaks to preferred doneness… we like them almost raw with just the outside seared and hot. Remove the steaks and keep warm. Add the sugar, scallion and green beans to the skillet, and cook until the sauce has reduced slightly. Serve green beans on the side. And keep in mind my tip about the extra sauce… if you must have it, keep it on the side.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

February 2, 2008

Six more weeks… but it feels like spring!

Filed under: Fish, Rice — Tags: , , , , , — emiglia @ 3:58 pm

In 2002, I experienced my first-ever New England winter. According to my Ipswich-native roommate, it was one of the coldest ones in recent history. “Even we don’t get weather this bad,” she would mutter as the two of us sat in our thermals on the bathroom windowsill, running all three showers to build up steam so that we could thaw after a long day. We both bought smokers gloves (with the fingertips cut off) for doing our homework, and, like twins, we wore twin braids and a toque (then called a ski cap in my American-only vocabulary) every day, and she went so far as to wear thermal long underwear under her jeans. It was cold.

Spring came eventually, and on the first sixty degree day, a Sunday, we spent the afternoon in t-shirts, doing our homework on the lawn. Yes, it was cold, but damn, I could walk around without shoes on and not get frostbite, so I would! It felt like summer to my warmth-starved body, and so that evening at dinner, as we clambered in from the lawn holding our shoes in our hands, I fixed myself a bowl of sticky rice and soy sauce. I know… bizarre, but allow me to go on another extremely long tangent and explain.

My father has done every fad diet known to man. Some were annoying, like the grapefruit diet, and others I enjoyed, like one that had him eating sugar-free Jello and Cool-Whip and chunks of nutty Parmegiano-Reggiano. I have yet to completely understand what that particular diet was all about.

My favorite, however, is a recurring one. Every summer, when we go out to Long Island, Noda-San comes back. Noda-San, also known as “Mr. Sushi” runs a four-seat sushi bar in Westhampton Beach. It’s the second best sushi I’ve ever had (the first best, also eaten with my father, was in a strip mall in LA somewhere near Studio City. Go figure.) Anyway, every summer, when Noda-San comes back from Puerto Rico and opens up the sushi bar again, my father decides that a diet consisting solely of sushi, grilled fish and seaweed salad is just what he needs. Sure enough, it usually ends with him losing about twenty pounds, all of which he slowly regains over the winter months. My sister and I are his usual dining companions, and I, the only one with drivers’ license, am rewarded with sushi money if I make the drive to pick up his typical Japanese breakfast of seaweed and rice vinegar.

All this to say that, to me, soy sauce and sesame are possibly the flavors that best exemplify summer. Which is why, even though I had a spaghetti Bolognese dinner planned for this evening, I changed my mind as soon as I saw the clear blue sky and smelt the spring. I don’t care what that damn Groundhog says. I don’t care that I still nearly froze in my bed last night, or that I’m still wearing two pairs of socks and nursing big cups of hot tea. Today, there was a hint of spring in the air. It smelled like fresh grass and mulch… like that day so many years ago when the ice and snow finally started to melt, and we sat by rapidly shrinking snow drifts to work on chemistry homework. This is why I abandoned the package of ground veal for another day, and went out to buy some salmon, to be served with lime, soy, spinach and rice, a food I never, ever eat, unless it’s with soy sauce and sesame, as soon as I can start to see the beginning of spring.

Lime-Honey-Soy Salmon

2 salmon fillets
2 limes
2 tbsp. honey
2 tbsp. soy sauce
1 tsp mustard
salt and pepper
vegetable oil

Season the fillets on both sides with salt and pepper, and add to a “screaming hot” (as Rachael Ray says) skillet with vegetable oil. Cook for two minutes per side, until the outside is crisp and brown, and the inside is cooked through but still moist. Remove from skillet and keep warm. Add the other ingredients to the skillet and cook down for one minute, stirring constantly. Drizzle the glaze over the fillets and serve. We had it over rice and reheated frozen spinach, and it was divine.

December 17, 2007

Tuna Casserole-ish

Filed under: Fish, Pasta — Tags: , , — emiglia @ 7:01 am

I was not raised in a typical American household. My mother is a trained cook, and while she never went professional, her ability to replicate restaurant dishes from one taste is frankly uncanny. As such, I was raised with a revolving door of meal options for dinner. An invitation to my table was always coveted by my friends, where they could come and watch my Jackie O. mother: jet black bouffant, huge dark sunglasses, brick red lipstick, black ballet flats before they were cool, French scarves arranged just so. She looked about twenty-five. She still claims to be, which will be awkward when I become older than her in less than five years.

When I watch those cooking shows like Sandra Lee or that woman who makes five meals out of three ingredients, I’m frankly confused. My mother ran schedules for four children (five, if you, like my mother, count my father as one) and still managed to get a gourmet dinner on the table every evening. I don’t quite get those microwavable meals: we used to get Birds Eye green beans and spaetzle in pesto, but only because my father and I whined and complained until she bought it. She makes her own creamed onions. A woman who makes her own creamed onions is not ever going to make you eat Manwich, Hamburger Helper, Rice-a-Roni, or tuna casserole.

The only casserole I’ve ever had is lasagna, which I don’t really count as a casserole anyway, because it’s lasagna. So you can imagine my surprise when the Canadian, hungry one afternoon when I had already put away a delicious panini, asked for tuna casserole.

OK, to be fair, he didn’t actually pronounce those words. What he asked for was pasta with “maybe some tuna, mayo and cheese.” I looked at him like he was insane until he validated his request by saying that it was “tuna-casserole-ish,” which didn’t really validate it at all in my mind. I was still standing there asking myself how the boy who wanted his last meal on earth to be a seared ahi-tuna steak could possibly be sitting on my couch in shorts and a bucket hat from Mallorca asking me to make him tuna casserole.

But I was up for the challenge. Into the kitchen I went, trying to think how in the world I was going to pull off something that actually tasted good.

First of all, I didn’t have any mayonnaise. At home, we always have Hellman’s, but I only eat it on turkey sandwiches, and the French aren’t too keen on turkey sandwiches (they eat a lot of ham), so I have mustard as a standard, and no mayo. No problem, I’ll just borrow from carbonara and mix some egg yolk with olive oil to make a barely cooked sauce at the end. Now the problem was cheese: he didn’t want a cheese sauce, he wanted the cheese melted in. But cheese melted in always gets all globby and nasty and I wouldn’t stand for that. So I grated the parmesan into the egg and oil mixture and mixed it around. When the pasta came out, I started adding the egg mixture, stirring and watching as it became a thick, creamy sauce (I always think that’s like magic, no matter how many times I do it). Newly confident, I added the tuna and some black pepper and gave it a taste.

The verdict? Tuna casserole is weird. The Canadian is weird. But he liked it: he even asked me to make it again a few days ago, which is good, because the first time I was so bewildered that I forgot to take a picture, and I wasn’t able to share this very interesting bit of Americana with you. So there you have it: a recipe for Tuna Casserole-ish. If you grew up with tuna casserole, like the Canadian, you might like it. As for me, I’m going to stick with the ahi… the whole cheese and tuna thing just isn’t doing it for me.

Tuna Casserole-ish

Cook enough pasta for two people (or one Canadian) in a large pot of salted water. I like rigatoni or even penne. While the pasta is cooking, combine one egg yolk with about a tablespoon (maybe two) of good olive oil, pepper, and a couple of tablespoons of grated parmesan cheese (to taste). When the pasta is cooked, drain it, reserving a little bit of the pasta water. Turn off the heat and return the pasta to the pot. Using your wooden spoon, add a little bit of the egg, oil, cheese mixture at a time, stirring to combine and making sure that the egg doesn’t curdle. The sauce should thicken to a creamy consistency. When all of the sauce is added, break in one small can of tuna with a fork. Mix to combine. If the sauce seems too thick, you can thin it out with some of the pasta water. Serve with extra cheese on the side. Serves two normal people or one very hungry Canadian.

July 20, 2006

Orange Dinner

Filed under: Fish, Pie, Rice — Tags: , , , , , — emiglia @ 11:25 pm

I just made the most amazing dinner for my family. I hate to gloat, but it was pretty darn awesome.

First, I made a simple salad of mixed greens, Craisins, sliced almonds, orange sections, and blue cheese.

I need to pause here to say that Craisins are AMAZING. And this from a person who hates raisins. Craisins are dried and sweetened cranberries, and they have this amazing sour sweetness that bursts in your mouth, much sweeter than an actual cranberry.
Craisins
Craisins mix very well with pungeant cheeses like Gorgonzola, and a sweeter salad dressing. I mixed honey, mustard, champagne vinegar, and olive oil for this one.

After the salad, I made a Salmon with Orange Glaze from “The Healthy Kitchen.” I meant to take pictures as soon as it came out, but my family was so hungry and it looked so tasty that I forgot until there was only half a piece left. The salmon was amazing. The glaze wasn’t too sweet, and with a little extra soy sauce, the dish tasted great. I made a few changes to the recipe from “THK.” This is my version of the dish.

salmon

Salmon with Orange Glaze

Preheat oven to 400°F.

Sear six 6oz. fish fillets in sesame oil in a large, very hot skillet for 1 minute on each side. Remove fillets from the heat and transfer them to a glass baking dish or baking pan. Drizzle three tablespoons of soy sauce and one quarter cup of sherry over them and bake them for 10 minutes. Remove them from the oven. Sprinkle with black sesame seeds.

Meanwhile, heat one cup of freshly squeezed orange juice, one teaspoon of orange zest, three tablespoons of sherry, and half a teaspoon of freshly grated ginger together in a small saucepan over medium-high heat until reduced by half. Remove from heat, strain the sauce over the fish, and serve.

To go with the salmon, I made Orange Ginger Brown Rice that I got off of Food Network’s Date Plate. Growing up, my mother never made brown rice. In fact, she hardly ever made rice at all. I was raised eating all Italian or French food, because my father’s family is Italian, and my mother was trained in France. I think this could be why I’m so interested in Asian styles of cooking, even if it is mostly fusion cooking now.

I don’t love white rice; I find it rather bland, and the only time I like it is with sushi. Brown rice, however, is a different story. I love the nutty flavour and texture, and the difference between the harder outer husk and the tender inner grain. Once again, I made a few changes to the recipe I found on Food Network, and this is my changed version. I added more broth, and used sesame oil in place of the vegetable oil that the recipe used. I also subbed red onion for white. This recipe paired very well both with the rice I used and with the fish.

rice

Orange Ginger Brown Rice

Begin by sweating two medium red onions, diced, in sesame oil in a medium sized pan until they are translucent. Add two cups of brown rice and saute for 1 minute. Add two teaspoons of orange zest and two tablespoons of ginger and cook for 1 more minute. Add four and a half cups of vegetable stock and bring to a boil. Cover the pan with a lid and cook over low heat for 20 to 25 minutes or until rice is tender. Add salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste.

Dessert was a peach crumble I made with peaches that were about to turn bad. So good for crumble! Here’s the very straightforward recipe I used. Once again, I forgot to take pictures until it was mostly all gone, but oh well.
cobbler

Peach Crumble
Preheat oven to 425°F.

Mix 3/4 cup flour, 2/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup crumbled sliced almonds, and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Add 1 stick of cold butter, sliced into tablespoon pieces, and mix with hands until butter is in small pieces and coated. Spread one pound of sliced peaches in a 9 1/2-inch deep-dish glass pie plate and sprinkle topping over it.

Bake crumble in middle of oven until fruit is tender and topping is golden brown, 25 to 30 minutes.

So there we go. I’ll be back tomorrow!
emiglia

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