Amanda’s Latkes and Vodkas

It was not yet Halloween and my BFF Amanda was already stressing over holiday preparations. Her issue? The stars and meteors had collided for the first time in 70 thousand years creating a November holiday mash-up extraordinaire – the celebration of Thanksgivukkah.   

“It’s so early!” she moaned. “Hanukkah and Thanksgiving on the same day?  I love both traditions, but this is going to get messy.”

Her solution is to adhere to the traditional Thanksgiving menu (“Forget any cutesy, Thanksgiving-themed latkes. It’s not gonna happen.”), and stage a latke marathon for the remaining hours of the long holiday weekend.  She invites me for a culinary play date on Saturday.  On the menu will be latkes with sour cream. Amanda does not buy into the whole applesauce shtick. 

“We might need a special cocktail to enjoy with our latkes,” Amanda suggests.  

“Perhaps, a cocktail made with potato vodka?” I ask.

Her eyes light up. “Latkes and vodkas!  It’s brilliant! It even rhymes!”

Note the plural in “vodkas.”   Because “latkes” and “vodka” singular just isn’t quite as poetic.

As Amanda is the Queen of Latkes (a well-deserved reputation which she enthusiastically promotes), I take on the vodka assignment. I visit at least four liquor stores, searching for infused options that will pair well with fried food. At one point I discover an interesting ginger and lemongrass vodka and text Amanda with the news.    

She responds, “Lemongrass and sour cream might not be friends? Think savory winter Hanukkah oil thoughts – what would the Maccabees do?”

So, I continue the hunt for latke-friendly vodkas.    

This is not the first time I’ve made latkes with Amanda. The first episode evolved into a bacchanalia of sizzling oil, fried potato and a sampling of hundreds of variations of the traditional Hamentashen cookie.  It was so completely over the top, so deliciously frightening, so insanely caloric, that I’ve never been able to tell the story, and it remains an infamous untold Culinary Types tale.  

Amanda is very particular about her latkes. Some might call her charmingly obsessive, but I think purist is the best description. 

“Grandmother said, Don’t mess with potatoes and onions,” Amanda explains crisply.  “The secret is no ingredients other than potato, onion, egg, salt and MAYBE a scooch of flour.  No nonsense. Potatoes grated and squeezed dry. Hot oil. Burn to a crisp!”

Amanda has spoken.  It’s as simple as that.

I arrive for Latke Fest – packing an intriguing selection of vodkas – and the ingredients are assembled on the counter – five pounds of potatoes along with onions, eggs and flour. She explains the formula in true Food Network instructional style

“For every pound of potato, I use about a quarter to half an onion 1/4-1/2 an onion, one egg, and maybe a tablespoon of flour,” she tells me and adds,  “The fact that some people make latkes from a mix breaks my heart.”

Here’s the recipe inspiration for Amanda’s less-is-better when it comes to latkes approach. 

We quickly peel the potatoes and Amanda runs the spuds through the Cuisinart.   She likes the larger grate hole, which results in a longer “ropier” potato.  

I’m assigned to incorporate the eggs, onion and seasoning into the potatoes using the most efficient kitchen tool ever created.

“Nothing beats clean hands,” declares Amanda, “But, women need to de-ring for the procedure. I once thought I’d lost a precious stone. It was panic time, and it would have really ruined the latkes.”

Next – with frightening speed and accuracy – she begins to scoop the potato mixture into the hot frying pan.  Hot oil sizzles, and the intoxicating smell of caramelized potato fills the kitchen.  

The latkes humming in the pan, they start to develop a festive, lacy edge.   As they cook, Amanda bemoans the state of latkes in America.  

“How can you put Matzoh in latkes” she demands.  “Matzohs are a food of oppression, and will ruin a perfectly good latke.”  

She removes the latkes from the pan, and allows them to drain on paper towels.  I sprinkle them with just a hint of salt and we commence with our pairing of latkes and vodkas.  

On the menu are three options:  LiV Vodka, made from Long Island Potatoes for the fan of locally-produced spirits, Skyy Vodka infused with real ginger(sans lemongrass), and a carnivorous delight called “Bakon Vodka.”  

The latkes are luscious – delicately crisp, with a creamy potato center.   The LiV Vodka pairs particularly well – fried potatoes melding with distilled potatoes. The Skyy Ginger offers a bright and bracing contrast to the potatoes.  This pairing is Amanda’s favorite, so much so, that I end up leaving her the bottle.

Amanda is not completely sold on the Bakon vodka pairing. 

“I don’t drink my bacon,” she says.

I, however, am quite enamored of the match. The Bakon Vodka has a smoky, salty flavor, and even a sort of fatty mouth feel that creates a kind of edible symphony with the latkes. At this point, I’m mixing my metaphors, but with three vodkas to sample, what would you expect? 

In the spirit of full disclosure – I must admit that I probably consume too many latkes, and enjoy the Bakon Vodka just a tad too much.  But, heck, tis the season, after all. 

Perhaps it’s not exactly how the Maccabees might have marked the occasion, but we are really quite pleased with our new holiday tradition.

Amanda smiles with satisfaction. “I’ve had worse lunches,” she sighs. 

The Queen of Latkes has spoken.  Happy Holidays!

©2013 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

A Guy, a Pie and a Fistful of Corn Chips

Some folks spend years perfecting a signature dish. You might even say that the signature dish is a window into a home cook’s psyche. For example, there’s my pal Mary’s hot and sassy Penne a la Vodka, or the international panache of my buddy Rocky’s Paella. And, don’t get me started on Mad Me-Shell’s slow-simmered, “I can handle anything with the greatest of ease,” Pulled Pork with Bourbon Barbecue Sauce.

Then, there’s a certain dish and its creator whom I encountered on New Year’s Eve. Manhattanite David Shamoon – a regular reader of Culinary Types – is a chili kind of guy. But, not just any chili. David is a Frito Pie connoisseur.

For David, his signature dish reflects a quirky sense of tradition seasoned with a flair for adventure. I’ve tasted David’s fabulous, from-scratch Frito Pie before, but this time around, the crafty guy threw in a secret ingredient.

What?? You’ve never heard of Frito Pie? Well, David can wax eloquently on the dish that many believe to be the champion of casseroles. We meet up at the buffet table at an impossibly chic Soho New Year’s Eve pot luck party comparing the attributes of his covered dish and my famous Double Good Macaroni & Cheese, an equally stupendous suburban staple.

“I'm sure you, T.W., will do the research,” David tells me, “but my guess is that Frito Pie was invented in a dingy trailer park in Oklahoma by a blue haired woman, with surprisingly nimble hands, who smoked Old Gold 100s.”

Well, as David anticipated, I did my homework. While Frito Pie was not listed in Larousse Gastronomique, it is indeed featured in the Back of the Box Gourmet, and The Dallas Morning News had recently done an extensive profile on this Southwestern classic.

The year is 1932. The place is San Antonio in the midst of the great Depression and C.E. “Elmer” Doolin invents Fritos corn chips, one of the legendary snack products of our time. Elmer’s momma, Daisy Dean Doolin, takes the bright idea one step further, and decides to top off some of the chips with chili. Eureka!! Frito Pie is born. Some people say it’s the Southwest equivalent of the tuna noodle casserole. Now, here’s where a little Hatfield-McCoy action surfaces. The city of Santa Fe also claims that Frito Pie was invented there by a woman named Teresa Hernandez at the Woolworth’s lunch counter in the 1960s. It’s a romantic tale in its own right, but trust me, this is one culinary squabble you don’t want to get in the middle of.

(I must confess, here and now, that I once made Frito Pie. This was well before all my fancy-smancy French culinary training. I had to come up with something for a church pot luck in a pinch, but I didn’t quite follow David’s “from scratch” approach. I have a propensity for short cuts. Instead, this “future chef” warmed up two cans of Hormel Chili and topped them with a bag of Fritos. It was a big hit at the Parish Hall. After all, Long Island is the Casserole Corridor.)

So what is it about Frito Pie that caught David Shamoon’s eye?

“It’s kind of a bachelor thing,” he tells me, explaining that all single guys need one reliable, no-fail recipe. Sarah Jessica Parker had her cosmopolitans. David Shamoon has his Frito Pie and he’s been perfecting it for years.

“Chili is hard to bring over to a party, but when you serve it in a casserole, it’s magic,” he tells me. “The Frito curls on the top make people go wild. “The reptilian part of your brain says, “I gotta try me some of that.”

Recently married, Dave made a departure from his bachelor ways for a new – dare I say, haute cuisine? – version of Frito Pie, as we all stood on the verge of 2009. Apparently, innovation is in the eye of the beholder.

According to David, “My Frito Pie is even red-neckier than usual. The secret ingredient is venison. A week earlier I visited Johnstown, Pennsylvania, a town deep in Steeler country that is most famous for its floods. The area's economy was depressed by the decline of the steel industry, but somehow Johnstown had somehow managed to turn it's propensity to flood into something charming. The town has two flood museums. At a Christmas party there I met a really nice guy who gave me over ten pounds of venison. He was a truly generous guy. His wife showed me the two goats she received for Christmas on her digital camera.”

How did this new twist impact the proven formula? “Venison is very lean meat,” explains David. “I fixed that problem by making the chili with bacon. Once you make the chili, turning it into a pie is easy. All you do is get your casserole dish, lay down a layer of Fritos, glop on some chili, add cheese and top with Fritos. After about 20 minutes in the oven you have your Frito Pie. It's always a big hit. There's something about seeing those crispy Fritos on top and the melted cheese that makes people lay into it.”

Now, I don’t know if David wooed his bride Dawn Marie with his Frito Pie, but he was convinced that everyone who attended the New Year's pot luck in New York City was swooning over the dish. Says David, “Everyone at the SoHo loft apartment agreed, the Frito Pie was delicious. High praise from a tough crowd. There were some serious foodies there. Bill, a computer book publisher from San Francisco likes to pick up kosher pickles in the Lower East Side whenever he's in town. Doug and Nelson, the hosts of the party, consider Dean and Deluca their neighborhood market. But, the Frito Pie was undeniably delicious.”

I have to agree. The addition of venison was an audacious move, worthy of some of New York’s top chefs. The chili was rich and flavorful, not at all gamey, with the perfect balance of that bold, familiar seasoning. And, those Fritos just seem to melt into the perfect “pie crust” all on their own.

With such a radical experiment deemed a success, are there new culinary challenges for David Shamoon to tackle? “It's 2009 and I have a New Year's resolution to loose 10 pounds,” he says.

Here’s the recipe for Frito Pie that I once used so long ago. It’s definitely the “quick-cook” version, but if you’ve got a favorite “from-scratch” chili dish, and like David, you have an iconoclastic streak and want to satisfy a certain creative desire, feel free to go crazy. But, don’t forget those obligatory corn chips, and be sure to sprinkle a handful of feisty sunshine on top.

Frito Pie (from “The Back of the Box Gourmet” by Michael McLaughlin, 1991)

Three cups Fritos Corn Chips, divided
1 large onion, chopped
1 cup grated American cheese, divided (preferably pre-grated)
1 19-ounce can chili

Spread 2 cups Fritos in a baking dish. Arranged chopped onion and half of the cheese on top of the corn chips. Pour chili over onions and cheese. Top with remaining corn chips and cheese. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 15 to 20 minutes or until hot and bubbly. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The King of Paella

Recently, I heard a rumor that my friend Rocky claims to be a member of Spanish culinary royalty.

I first get the word from my colleague Hal2001, a creative thinker and epicurean. We are sampling Manchego and chorizo – with a side of red wine – at Despana Gourmet in Jackson Heights. I am admiring the gleaming paella pans perched high on a shelf.

“Rocky says he’s the King of Paella,” Hal2001 mentions. This surprises me, since I’ve always considered Rocky a serious meat and potatoes guy.

“Where did you hear that?” I ask.

“Rocky told me. He was installing a light fixture in my apartment, and fell off the table and hit his head.”

“You believed the word of a man with a serious head injury?”

I am determined to investigate further and approach Rocky directly. I send an email.

“I hear you’re “The King of Paella.” You know how I feel about food. How could you keep this from me?” I demand.

The direct approach pays off, and scores me and Hal2001 a dinner invitation where Rocky promises to prove his prowess at paella. So we show up at the Upper West Side apartment of Rocky and his charming wife, with a bottle of fine Spanish sherry in hand.

Paella is a legendary Spanish dish of rice, chicken, vegetables and seafood, named for the pan in which it is prepared. It is often cooked over an open wood fire – although this is not acceptable behavior in a New York City apartment. Rocky has the ingredients spread on the kitchen counter. Chicken and spicy chorizo is simmering on the stove in the wide, shallow pan, and nearby there is a bowl-full of perfect clams and an open packet of succulent swordfish.

You can learn a lot about colleagues around the table that you’ll never discover at the office. I’ve always known that Rocky was a man of letters, but had no idea that he’d lived in Spain for four-and-a-half years as a youth and later bartended there as an adult. He claims to be a bit nervous with a celebrated food blogger scrutinizing his every step, but he moves with comfortable dexterity through the kitchen. Saffron colors the broth a burnished gold and the pan sizzles with savory and briny aromas evoking the earth and the sea.

It turns out the recipe is something of a family heirloom. During the time Rocky’s family lived in Spain, they often ate at a restaurant called La Puntaza in Mojacar and befriended the chef. One night at the restaurant in 1971, Rocky’s mom got up from table, went to the kitchen and learned how to cook paella from the chef. Take that, Julia Child! To this day, Rocky traditionally prepares the same paella recipe as part of their New Year’s Eve celebration.

Just before the feast of paella is ready, we encounter a slight snag. Hal2001 announces that he doesn’t like peas, just as Rocky is about to toss a handful into the pan.

“No peas, lima beans or sauerkraut,” states Hal2001 decisively. The sauerkraut issue is surprising for a guy who grew up in Pennsylvania Dutch country.

“Two out of three are not in this recipe,” says Rocky, but he agrees to a compromise. Only the right half of the pan will contain peas.

We fill our plates at the stove with the steaming and colorful concoction. Adorned with wedges of lemon and roasted pimiento, it is a brilliant and festive serving of Mediterranean splendor. Rocky agrees to share the recipe acquired so long ago on Mojacar. In a nod to modern technology, this time the recipe is passed along via Blackberry, but the venerated tradition remains intact.

ROCKY’S PAELLA RECIPE

1 small frying chicken or chicken pieces
Partially precook with 2 teaspoons parsley, salt, pepper, bay leaf in 6 cups water to make broth. Remove chicken, reserve broth.

Ingredients:

4 cloves garlic, minced
½ lb. swordfish
1¾ cup rice (Uncle Ben’s)
4 oz. tomato sauce
Handful of peas
Small jar roasted pimiento, drained

Chorizo
Shrimp
Clams
Mussels
Olive oil
Saffron

In paella pan: brown the partially precooked chicken and chorizo in olive oil along with the garlic for about 10 minutes.

Add fish, brown 2 minutes maximum.

Add saffron.

Add rice, stir to more or less coat with oil and distribute evenly.

Add tomato sauce to the broth and add to the paella pan to the top. Continue cooking until liquid is almost absorbed, 15 to 20 minutes.

When liquid is almost absorbed, add shrimp and shellfish, pushing them down into the rice, until they open. (Shellfish can be precooked separately to remove bits of sand.)

Decorate with lemon wedges and roasted pimiento strips.

(Serves Six)

Paella, fit for a king and prepared by a culinary monarch. And, if you’re choosy about peas, remember, Rocky’s Paella is completely customizable.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved