Tales of the Magic Pan – Mushroom Paella

I wasn’t really looking to get entangled with another frying pan.

At the risk of appearing to blame yet another impulse purchase of mine on my mother, I probably wouldn’t have considered it, if Mom had not mentioned the big sale. But, it barely takes a nudge for me to buy another kitchen item. No willpower.

The minute I laid eyes on it, there was no mistaking the magic. The brilliant fire-engine-red chassis was thrilling and the sleek, aerodynamic styling exhilarating. Hey – some guys survive middle age on car fantasies – for me, it’s all about the kitchen equipment.

Who would have suspected such a spark with a pan that has such a conventional, almost old-fashioned reputation? Put aside all pre-conceived notions. To put it bluntly, this cast iron frying pan is really hot. Sizzling, in fact. We’ve now been seeing each other for several weeks, and I may actually be considering a long term commitment. No more brief flirtations with non-stick and the like. This could actually be the real thing.

Our first date...well, it was like it was meant to be. We were spellbound kids, discovering each other over bewitching paella, flavored with earthy mushrooms and sensual saffron:

Mushroom Paella (Adapted from “The Best Recipes in the World” by Mark Bittman)

(Three Servings)

¼ cup dried porcini mushrooms
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
Three boneless, skinless chicken thighs
½ yellow onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1 bay leaf
½ pound portabella mushrooms, chopped
¼ pound chorizo sausage, sliced in 1/2 inch pieces
1 teaspoon Spanish smoked paprika
¼ cup dry white wine
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 cup Arborio rice
1 ½ cups chicken or vegetable stock
Pinch of saffron threads
Salt and pepper, seasoned to taste

Cover the dried mushrooms in hot water and soak. Heat oil in an alluring 10-inch cast iron skillet. Add chicken thighs and cook until golden, about 10 minutes. Split chicken into small pieces.

Add onion and sauté about 5 minutes. Add garlic and bay leaf and cook 1 more minute. Drain porcini mushrooms and add along with portabella mushrooms. Cook until liquid begins to appear. Add chorizo and paprika and cook for 30 seconds. Add wine and reduce for about 1 minute. Add tomato paste and cook for 5 minutes.

Add the rice in an even layer. Cover with stock and saffron and season with salt. When the stock begins to boil, reduce to simmer and cook for 20 minutes.

Can a confirmed bachelor chef find true happiness with the most traditional of frying pans? Stay tuned for the continuing story at “Tales of the Magic Pan,” with a nightly encore performance on SOAPnet.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Birthday Cupcakes

The one consistent symbol I associate with birthdays is frosted cupcakes. Mom would bake a batch that would be transported to elementary school in a foil-lined box to be shared with the entire class on my special day.

Now, several decades later, I don’t have to go to school on my birthday. In fact, I can take the day off if I want to. Adulthood has its perks.

So I devote a full 24-hours to me. It is a starkly-cold and bright winter day, a busy day full of grown-up play. I’ve made out a complete list of my favorite things.

I start with hot coffee and a bite-sized brownie on Wall Street …

I visit historic Federal Hall, where George Washington took the oath of office as the first President of the United States …

A friendly National Park employee named Ed Hooper gives me a thorough history of the site, and even shows me the Bible that Washington used to take the oath of office …

Next is lunch with my friend “Lee Sloan,” the Grande Dame of food and wine – champagne and tagliatelle with braised oxtail ragout at A Voce on Madison and 26th …

We are served Italian cuisine by a French waiter and nearly swoon over walnut honey cake …

Next, is a razor sharp performance of “Speed the Plow”…

And, a little quality time with Andy Warhol’s soup cans and Monet’s water lilies at the Museum of Modern Art…

In the evening, I indulge my “adult palate,” at a talk at the Institute for Culinary Education aptly titled “The Glories of Bordeaux.” The instructor wears a Bordeaux-colored blazer, and opens the class by announcing, “I’m on red wine therapy, and my doctor approves.”

As for the obligatory cupcakes, there is quite a crowd at the posh 6th Avenue location of Magnolia Bakery. I select a “Vanilla-on-Vanilla” and a “Devil’s Food with Chocolate Butter Cream.” The vanilla is tasty, put the Devil’s Food is deeper, richer and more satisfying, perhaps an indication of my maturing tastes.

The cupcake has a Proustian effect, recalling memories of birthdays past – The Revolutionary War lamp, Agatha Christie’s Mousetrap, my one-and-only trip to the top of the Empire State Building, dinner with Nelson and Audrey at Windows on the World, birthday tea in Paris, the mansions of Newport, a walk through a Charlestown plantation, Fraunces Tavern, lunch with John and Ramiza in Prague, snowbound in Little Washington, Virginia, and a chat with a vintage cookbook seller.

I brush away a few deep ebony crumbs. I’ll never outgrow cupcakes. They are perhaps the best way to celebrate another year in the life.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Community is Key Ingredient in Lydia’s Perfect Pantry

Her Rhode Island pantry is legendary, stocking more than 240 items. When you meet her, she is warm, generous, direct, at times uncompromising, and always keenly insightful.

With all that going on, one’s inevitable first question feels a bit like a cliché – Why is food blogger Lydia Walshin so preoccupied with her Perfect Pantry?

It began when she and her husband Ted moved to a cozy log cabin in Rhode Island. Managing the kitchen space was essential.

“I wanted not to have shelves full of things I didn’t use,” she tells me. Indeed, an item is only eligible for Perfect Pantry status if it meets three criteria – 1) The ingredient must be used in other recipes; 2) It must be something used in more than one way; 3) It is used in only one way, but over and over again.

“I won’t buy it because it’s in a beautiful bottle or because it’s in one recipe,” she states categorically.

On the surface, that can sound a little like a “how-to” tip from a home keeping handbook. But, spend a few hours with Lydia and you soon learn that the Perfect Pantry is actually a metaphor for a well-seasoned life – filled with discovery, diverse experiences and relationships – where community thrives at the center.

We alight from our taxi in front of Dean & Deluca on Broadway in Soho. Lydia has travelled to New York and done me an enormous favor. In return, I’ve promised an afternoon of culinary play, along with a gourmet foraging expedition. If Lydia can find one or two pantry items at Dean & Deluca that she currently does not stock, I’ll pick up the tab.

We walk the gleaming, spacious aisles of the gourmet market and Lydia scrutinizes the ingredients that line the shelves. “Nope…Already tried that…Not that one…” she murmurs quietly. She notices a package of plump, russet-colored grains labeled Kamut, which look like a cross between rice and orzo pasta. It makes the cut, and she drops the package into her canvas Ninecooks tote bag.

We continue our exploration. “Do you use fenugreek?” she asks me. “You put it in things I don’t make.”

We pass a massive display stocked with spice tins. A gleaming pewter-colored canister catches her eye. The words Grains de Paradise are printed in fancy script on the label. Lydia shakes the canister with curiosity, pulls out an I-Phone in a hot pink case and types some search terms into Google.

She locates a lead on Gourmet Sleuth. Grains de Paradise was once used as a cheaper substitute for black pepper. The exotic name was invented by medieval spice traders in an effort to inflate the price.

“I’m not making this up,” she insists. Perhaps it is the compelling name, or the age-old connection to hucksterism but Grains de Paradise, too, is selected for consideration in the Perfect Pantry.

We admire brilliant orange papaya spears. We inspect a large blue vacuum-packed can of peanuts with a friendly cartoon elephant printed on the packaging. The generic product name reads “Quality Nuts.”

“I want the can,” says Lydia admiringly.

We encounter the world’s longest biscotti and partake in a little layer-cake envy in the bakery department.

“Your cakes are just as good,” she tells me.

Lydia began writing professionally at the age of 16, but it was some time before she took on the topic of food full-time. She is far from the detached reporter and her capable hands often find their way into the story.

“I only do two things in life really well – I write and I organize,” she explains.

In 1995 Lydia published “South End Cooks: Recipes from a Boston Neighborhood.” The book is a microcosm of her Boston community conveyed through the personal stories and recipes of 80 cooks in home kitchens, restaurants and local agencies across the South End. The menu of voices and recipes is as varied as the neighborhood – two generations of Chinese cooks, a restaurateur from Ethiopia, or a Jesuit priest serving special dinners to people with HIV/AIDS and their caregivers. Proceeds from the sale went to three local community agencies.

The creation of Ninecooks was a defining moment. Now a full-fledged resource offering cooking classes for friends and families, it began as a gathering of friends around the dinner table prevailing upon Lydia to organize and teach a group cooking lesson. The group of nine cooks gathered regularly in Lydia’s Rhode Island kitchen. “It’s this encasing kind of place that forces people into intimacy when they cook,” she says. Eventually, Ninecooks became “the thing that identified me and the home for all my commercial food activities.”

Lydia joined the food blogging world in June 2006 and immediately embraced the community. She reveled in the opportunity to write her own material without the filter of an editor. It was intended as a one-year project. From the outset, the Perfect Pantry offered more than her voice on the subject of food and ingredients. There were Bookworms, Guest Bloggers and Other People’s Pantries supplementing Lydia’s thorough research and engaging copy. Lydia frequently offers anecdotes of her husband, her friend Peter and her extended family. She talks of creating links to food bloggers whose writing she enjoys, in an effort to support their work. There is a hint of excitement in her voice as she describes two bloggers connecting through the comments section on her own blog. She hopes that visitors find a welcoming place at the Perfect Pantry, and that the voice they hear is one of kindness.

“Community is very important to me,” she reflects. “The older I get, I see more ways to tie my community to the greater community.”

These days much of her energy is devoted to Drop In & Decorate – Cookies for Donation, a project she created that has now become a not-for-profit organization. Friends gather to bake and decorate cookies. The activity is social, and the homemade results are donated to a local shelter or food pantry. Hundreds of batches of whimsical cookies have been baked and decorated for the community since Drop In & Decorate was first conceived and the enthusiasm continues to spread. There have been at least 30 Drop In & Decorate parties held in 15 states, with two in Germany and one in India.

It all wraps up into quite a delicious package.

“Ninecooks is my defining brand, Drop In & Decorate is my passion, and the Perfect Pantry is home to the most fun and creative writing I’ve done in years,” says Lydia.

I have the distinct impression that the world is Lydia Walshin’s Perfect Pantry, well-stocked with robust ingredients, creative cooks, kindness, hope and promise.

And what about the complete story behind new pantry items Kamut and Grains de Paradise? Stay tuned to Lydia’s Perfect Pantry for the answer!

©2009 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

Peruvian Fare in Fog City

We all have our hazy moments, and our moments of intense clarity.

I have often wondered why – beyond the weather -- San Francisco has been dubbed “Fog City.” Perhaps the heyday of Haight-Ashby had something to do with it. Yet every time I visit, there is that moment of intense clarity. The city sits in sharp relief against the skyline. The brilliant clang of the cable car is heard. The locally-grown produce is beautifully vibrant. It’s like stepping into one of those Mary Poppins Technicolor chalk pavement pictures.

Then, there’s the food. It is one of those bracing winter evenings and we are finally off-duty for the day. My companions are the delightful and ever-resilient Miss Tera and the always regal Dairy Queen. I am certain that our affable host in Fog City, Papa Bear, has a Zagat data chip imbedded in his brain. He has referred us to the restaurant La Mar at Pier 1.5 on the Embarcadero. It promises “Peruvian ingredients, Peruvian flavors, Peruvian traditions from our times.” Not to mention, that kind of transcendental moment of clarity, only to be found in Fog City.

Let’s start with what might quaintly be referred to as “the appetizer” – cebiches (pictured above). It is the national dish of Peru, made with fresh fish and shellfish and marinated briefly in “leche de tigre” or lime juice and peppers. (My friend Buenos Aires Gus has – in the past - reminded me in no uncertain terms that I have screwed up the spelling of this delicacy. However, I am completely accurate with this spelling, because Diary Queen charmed our waiter and scored a copy of the menu.)

We sample four. As DQ puts it, “People! We’re researching. We need a little of everything.” Cebiche Mixto is Mahi Mahi, calamari, octopus and habanero pepper marinated with cilantro, red onion, Peruvian corn and yam. Cebiche Chifa is Baja California Yellowtail with peanuts, scallions, pickled carrots and daikon, flavored with habanero pepper, cilantro and sesame. Cebiche Nikei is Ahi Tuna, avocado, Japanese cucumber and tamarind. Cebiche Classico is California Halibut and red onions with Peruvian corn and yam. The fish is exquisitely tender and the seasonings sharp, biting and crisp. A mere hint of habanero can bring stinging tears to the eyes.

For their main courses, Miss Tera and DQ choose Cordero – roasted scallops in a clam and mint broth with tiny potatoes and sweet peas and corn risotto. The risotto is luscious – tiny pearls infused with subtle flavors of the garden and the sea.

I select Lomo Saltado, traditional Peruvian style stir-fry of sautéed beef tenderloin, onions, tomatoes, cilantro, soy sauce, and garlic, with fried potatoes and rice. More clarity. Your basic meat and potatoes never tasted like this.

We sample several desserts, but the standout favorite is crisp pumpkin fritters accompanied with a smoky fig sauce of dark, tempting viscosity. Our waiter describes it as street food in Peru, while Miss Tera declares it “eyes rolling-in-the-back-of-your-head good.”

“This ain’t no Krispy Kreme,” says Miss Tera, barely able to contain herself.

You can’t get more clarity than that.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Curried Carrot Ginger Soup as Winter Cloaks the North Fork

The pace has slowed considerably. There are still signs of yuletide greenery and lights, and there is even evidence of snow, but there is a welcomed sense of solitude on the North Fork of Long Island.

At Bayview Market and Farms on Route 25 a handwritten sign says “Closing Jan 4 for the Season.” The ornamental winter kale is nestled in a frosty blanket of white.

Yet, inside there are still bins overflowing with bunches of local carrots, bulging turnips and acorn squash. I purchase a full week of food for less than four dollars.

At Junda’s Pastry, Crust and Crumbs in Jamesport, they will be taking a two-week holiday, but there are still a few rustic loaves of tangy rye bread with caraway available, and even a few ginger snap men for a late afternoon snack.

Most of the antique stores have closed early, but there are still some hints of treasures to be found on the Main Road.

The brilliant winter sun fades behind the horizon, so I take my bread and vegetables home and concoct a warming and luminous soup that evokes the luster of the day.

Curried Carrot Ginger Soup (Adapted from “Great Food Fast”)

2 tablespoons butter
1 cup chopped onion
1 teaspoon curry powder
Course salt and fresh ground pepper
3 ½ cups vegetable stock
1 large bunch of carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
1 “hand” fresh ginger, peeled and chopped fine
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Melt the butter in a Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion, curry powder, salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion is soft, about 10 minutes.

Add the carrots and ginger and sauté a few minutes longer. Add the broth and 3 cups of water; bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover and summer until the carrots are very tender, about 30 minutes.

Puree the soup in a blender in batches. Reheat, check seasonings and stir in lemon juice. Serves 4.

(Note: I finished one bowl of the soup with a touch of cream, but it was entirely unnecessary. The pureed soup is beautifully thick and creamy on its own and needs no enhancements. It also freezes well.)

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

More New Year’s Mixology – The Gin and Fresca Cocktail

At the risk of convincing you that I’ve reverted to a diet of smart, sophisticated cocktails, I simply couldn’t let the old year pass away without a sip of the Gin and Fresca Cocktail. You didn’t think I would forget this one, did you, Lydia?

It all began with a bit of a challenge, or perhaps a campaign, to secure the rightful place of Fresca in Lydia’s Perfect Pantry. Fresca clearly has shelf space in the legendary Rhode Island pantry, as Lydia is a longtime fan of the singular grapefruit soda. But, “official designation” in the Perfect Pantry requires that the item be used as an ingredient in at least three recipes (this rule, if enforced in my home, would do a lot to clear out my refrigerator and pantry …), and Lydia felt that Fresca was perhaps just not versatile enough.

Well, I love a challenge and served up three recipes, including Fresca Cake (a classic soda pop confection), Fresca Jell-O Salad (suburban cookery magic) and The Gin and Fresca Cocktail. The result was a full post devoted to Fresca, written in Lydia’s incomparable style, and numerous Fresca fans clamoring for the beverage’s full membership in the Perfect Pantry. While I’m not positive if the official proclamation has been delivered, there was clearly effervescent support throughout the blogosphere.

Lydia gamely whipped up a new take on the archetypal Fresca Cake, which is particularly significant because she claims not to have “the baking gene.” Then, Kalyn got into the act, and declared the Gin and Fresca Cocktail as somewhat of a mixology miracle. Says Kalyn, “The two flavors go together in a combo that’s more than the sum of its parts.”

Who could resist? (I did have to make a trip to the grocery store, since I rarely keep carbonated beverages in house. But, I had to pick up some staples, like milk, eggs and Marshmallow Fluff.) The recipe is simple. Equal parts of gin and Fresca mixed over ice and strained into a glass. The cocktail has a cool and stylish, wintry appearance. The taste is tart, clean, crisp and woodsy, with just a hint of juniper.

Of course, now I have an entire two-liter bottle of Fresca to consume, and unless I want to imbibe Gin and Fresca Cocktails from now until August, I’ll need an alternative plan. Could the Fresca Jello Salad be far behind?

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Happy New Year and Cheers – I’ll Take Manhattan!

My friend “Lee Sloan” is a Grand Dame of food and wine. She recently shared this story of a conversation in a fashionable New York City restaurant:

“I asked a waiter at A Voce the other night if the restaurant was experiencing a downturn in customers as a result of the downturn in the economy. He said the customers were still coming but they were eating less and drinking more. God Bless America!”

With that thought in mind, it’s time to raise a toast to all the potential on tap for 2009. Today’s celebratory drink is “The Manhattan” my father’s cocktail of choice. Perhaps it’s hereditary, because Nana, too, was a Manhattan aficionado.

After decades of watching the senior members of the Barritt family (and a few of my brothers) enjoys the classic Manhattan Cocktail, I decide to try it myself, but of course, I’ve got to get the back story, as well. Who knew the Manhattan had such a celebrated history? First thought to have been concocted in the 1870s at the famous Manhattan Club in New York’s Theater District, this smooth and seductive blend of rye whiskey and vermouth was said to be a favorite of power broker J.P. Morgan.

Well, times are tough and we can’t all be captains of industry, but we can certainly welcome 2009 like a tycoon. There are numerous variations on the Manhattan and in recent years, my Dad has experimented with Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, which results in a slightly sweeter cocktail. Here’s his formula. After all the precise baking measurements of the past month, the relative ease assembly something to be appreciated:

The Manhattan Cocktail

2 ounces Jim Beam Bourbon Whiskey
1 ounce French Sweet Vermouth

Pour whiskey and vermouth over ice in a glass and stir. Garnish with a maraschino cherry.

All serious students of the Manhattan believe the maraschino cherry is a key ingredient. Let’s hope 2009 is topped with a maraschino cherry, too!

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

2008 – A Year of Culinary Types

Whether one cooks or not, the kitchen connects all of our lives. In 2008, I was drawn even more closely to the miraculous bond between people and food. The journey introduced me to an uncommon assortment of “Culinary Types.”

Along the way, we encountered Bonnie Slotnick and her charming West Village shop, filled to the rafters with antiquarian cookbooks. We tasted the heirloom recipes of Chris and Helen Junda at Junda’s Pastry, Crust and Crumbs on the North Fork of Long Island, and embraced the hand of friendship of John and Diane MacPherson, innkeepers at the Foster Harris House in Little Washington, Virginia.

We celebrated the brilliance of Chefs Patrick O’Connell and Daniel Boulud and learned the techniques of French country cooking with legendary culinary instructor Anne Willan. We paid homage to The King of Paella and chatted with Kelly Alexander, the woman who revived forgotten food writer Clementine Paddleford.

We sampled the pioneering spirits of the Whisky Master of Rappahonnock County, and savored the simplicity of roast chicken. Culinary excursions took us from Jackson Heights, New York to Sonoma Valley, California and even a stop at Miss Polly’s in Memphis, the home of “Love, Peace and Chicken Grease.”

Together, we experienced the joys of sustainable organic agriculture in the fields of Sophia Garden, perfected Tapas and endured the rigors of Cheese Boot Camp. Retro Cakes were both whimsical and surreal, and food historian Francine Segan confirmed that pie is “the next big thing.”

And, as always, there were faithful food blogger friends to comment and complete the story, be it the celebratory Louise, the intriguing Cakespy, Kathy the collector, the methodical Veronica or the prolific Lydia of the Perfect Pantry. Someday, I’d like to meet Lydia in person. Perhaps that’s a story for 2009 …

Thanks for reading and Happy New Year to All!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The Christmas Cake

The Christmas season has sped by. There’s been snow, Bach, thin crust pizza, tapas, pear tarts, Jimmy Stewart, butter cookies and the annual office holiday party at mega decibels. And, now Christmas Eve, and lots to prepare.

This Christmas Cake is indeed “the dreaded” fruitcake. I’m taking quite a gamble serving this for dessert for Christmas Eve dinner, given the sullied reputation of fruitcake, but it is a “Martha” cake, so as my pal Puck puts it, “How bad can it be, really?” It is indeed the very model of a modern Christmas Fruitcake, with dried pears, dried apples, candied ginger, pineapple and lemon zest, soaked in Armagnac.

The English enjoy a grand tradition of Christmas Cake that came to pass in the late 19th century – iced fruitcakes that are decorated with holly or snow scenes. Some cakes are started months in advance and fed with brandy. Mine’s a tad younger, but hopefully not too callow.

This “Snowcapped Fruitcake” is robed in fondant, and Puck says she’s afraid of fondant. Well, fondant is my friend, but Royal Icing is a royal pain. I ended up skipping the final piping on the snowflakes – the icing was stiff and my piping form is not up to snuff.

Still it was the addition of Armagnac – a brandy made from wine in the region of Gascony – to the dried fruits that intrigued me. I’d never tasted it, and I figured if Martha called for Armagnac, there must have been a good reason. So, short on time as usual, I drop into the liquor store in Penn Station at 8 a.m. and ask for a bottle of Armagnac. The proprietor says, “This is a very nice bottle.”

I say, “I’m baking with it. It doesn’t have to be that nice.” But, it’s the only one he has, so I take it, pay the hefty price tag and head on to work.

Later I learn that Armagnac is matured in oak, and there are various labels indicating the age. XXX means three years old, VO means from 5 to 10 years, and VSOP means up to 15 years. I decide to check my label (after I’ve used 1 and 1/3 cups for the cake). The label says, “Hors d’Age” which means that the brandy has aged at least 25 years!

This better be one magical cake, Martha! Ah, well, Armagnac is also good for sipping while one is blogging …

For now, the entire family is gathered, from the oldest (80 years old) to the youngest (8 months old). The stockings are filled, the champagne is on ice and the lasagna will shortly go into a piping hot oven.

As that Jolly Old Elf adorned in red is known to say, “Happy Christmas To All, and To All a Good Night!”

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Christmas Cookies – Tante Kremer’s Walnut Egg White Kisses

Some bakers are legendary within families. They create confectionary magic with love that stays with you long after the fragrant aromas have left the kitchen. In our family, that baker is my mother’s Tante Kremer. I barely remember Tante, but most holidays, my mom will manage to conjure up a sweet memory of Tante’s baking, be it her elegant Hungarian Nut Torte, or a delicate Christmas cookie.

Here’s how my mom told the story last year:

“We called her simply “Tante” and her husband “Uncle.” But they were Elizabeth and Joseph Kremer, my father’s aunt and uncle who had emigrated from Hungary. My father’s mother died when my father was a teenager and Tante mothered him from then on. Tante and Uncle’s home in College Point, Long Island became Dad’s home more than his own. In fact, I never remember talk of any other home. Dad absolutely adored Tante and Uncle and his three cousins Rose, Katie and Margaret. He became one of their family.

“Tante was an excellent baker and had several specialties that were baked year in and year out for the holidays and for celebrating special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries. I remember four types of cookies: 1) Kupfel (horn) filled cookies made with cream cheese and butter, which were like mini-croissants filled with apricot or prune butter, 2) Walnut Egg White Kisses like swirls of meringue with a walnut half in the middle that just melted in your mouth, 3) Hard, flat, round anisette cookies about the size of a 50 cent piece, 4) Rolled butter cookies cut in shapes – stars, crescents, diamonds, hearts – brushed with egg whites and sprinkled with finely chopped nuts mixed with fine granulated sugar – so fragile and delicate they just melted in your mouth. My Mom became very proficient at making the rolled butter cookies. For Christmas Eve, Tante made round donuts with coins baked in the centers – pennies, nickels, and dimes for good luck.”

Walnut Egg White Kisses is one of Tante Kremer’s few surviving recipes, so I thought I’d make it for my mom as a remembrance of holidays past and share the recipe with you. I debated renaming the recipe with a more modern title, like “Walnut Meringue Kisses,” but I think that might have created a level of pretense that would mar the pure home-made simplicity of this recipe. As you might expect, the words of the original directions are not overly-detailed, as baking was more instinctive back then. And, all the mixing was done by hand with muscles developed in the kitchen over many holiday seasons. One can only imagine what Tante Kremer would have created with a KitchenAid Mixer. The recipe produces several dozen kisses, which Elizabeth Kremer was said to have packaged up and delivered to all the relatives. Like Tante, I sent over a batch for Mom and Dad to have with their coffee and brought a batch to the office to satisfy our daily cookie addiction.

Tante Kremer’s Walnut Egg White Kisses

4 egg whites beaten with 1 lb. superfine sugar and juice of ½ lemon. Beat until whites stand in a good stiff peak. Add 1 lb. of quartered walnuts. Drop by teaspoon on wax paper on cookie sheet – using a piece of nut on each spoonful. Bake in slow oven 300 degrees until brown.

(Notes: Bake “until brown” means slightly beige in color. I baked the kisses for about 20-22 minutes rotating the pans halfway through the baking time. The walnuts actually conduct a bit of heat and bake the inside of the cookie more quickly than a typical meringue cookie.)

I’m submitting Tante Kremer’s Walnut Egg White Kisses to “Eat Christmas Cookies – Season Two” the annual, worldwide cookie swap hosted by Susan at Food Blogga. Check out the rules and round-up for dozens of favorite family cookie traditions.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Royal Banquet

My friend Rocky recently confirmed his title as the King of Paella. My friend Hal2008 is a culinary prognosticator, and has recently been palling around with Frank Bruni. He also says he’s the King of Risotto (this claim is still to be tested). Rocky’s lovely wife enjoys good food, follows politics obsessively and was recently a YouTube sensation.

They’re all coming to my house for dinner. I’m a little stressed. They’ve read the blogs, and now I’ve got to deliver the goods.

I do a bit of hand wringing over the menu for weeks. I try any number of recipe combinations and then discard them. How do you even come close to a charming story of a paella recipe acquired in Spain and passed down from mother to son? Or, an eclectic culinary walking tour through Jackson Heights?

I finally land on a concept. Each course will reflect a stop on my own culinary journey. I make a pilgrimage to Murray’s Cheese in Grand Central and purchase the makings for a cheese platter. I have a delightful time selecting the different varieties of cheeses, using all of the skills I learned in Cheese Boot Camp.

I decide that I probably still have enough time to make a run to Whole Foods to pick up some additional ingredients. It’s late. Nobody is going to be there. Au contraire! It’s “Singles Night” at Whole Foods in Jericho, New York. Everyone is wearing sticky tags on their lapels with their first names printed in thick, black magic marker. There’s some sort of auction going on in the gourmet food section. I manage to dodge a couple of adventuresses prowling the baking aisle. There’s a creepy, love-sick guy loitering near the smoked salmon. New couples are having their digital photos taken next to the cantaloupes in the produce aisle. As I’m trying to exit, a very large group of women eye me like a piece of meat. I narrowly escape with my dignity and my Bell & Evans organic chicken.

After that, things go pretty smoothly. I spend the weekend cooking on all burners and manage to prepare everything in advance so I can spend as much time as possible with my guests.

Every time I host a dinner party, I suspect I may have the Felix Unger gene. About an hour before the guests arrive – since everything else is completed – I start obsessing over the cleanliness of the house. It doesn’t seem to bother me at any other time, but suddenly I’m seeing cobwebs everywhere. I realize the hand railing at the kitchen door is gross, so I’m out there with the bottle of Windex spritzing away.

But soon, my guests arrive, having safely made the journey from Manhattan to suburban Long Island. They’ve been speculating about the menu. The guy who guessed football snacks is dead wrong. Hal2008 has an exquisite, homemade flourless chocolate cake in hand. Rocky and Hal2008 enjoy a round or two of Wasmund’s Single Malt Whisky. We dig into the cheese platter – Valencay, a fresh goat cheese, the bloomy rind of Jasper Hill Constant Bliss, a sinky, washed-rind from Virginia called Meadow Creek Grayson, Mrs. Quicke’s Farmhouse Cheddar from Devon, and a biting Cashel Blue.

We then move on to the pasta course. I make fresh tagliatelle from the recipe I learned in Florence, with porcini mushroom sauce. Rocky grates the cheese. It is earthy and satisfying.

Next up, is a rustic recipe from Provence – a piquant Fricassee of Chicken with White Wine, Capers, and briny green Olives – simple goodness that simmers lazily in a Dutch oven. There is a tense moment when Hal2008 suspects that the capers might be peas. Hal2008 hates peas. It takes a little reassuring, but we do manage to serve the main course.

I’m pretty bad about taking photographs, and have completely failed in my blogging duties. I miss photographing the cheese plate and the pasta entirely. I can bring home the bacon and cook it, too. But don’t ask me to multi-task. Next time, I’m hiring a photographer.

Dessert is an embarrassment of riches. Hal2008’s flourless chocolate cake is sublime elegance – made with a couple of pounds of luscious Italian chocolate.

I make a Pear Tart with Almond Cream, first learned at the feet of Chef Candy at the French Culinary Institute. I must admit, it’s pretty fetching.

After all the preparation, it’s a lot of fun, which is really what good food should be about. Not bad for Sunday dinner on suburban Long Island. It could have been meatloaf …

Next up, we’re planning an excursion to a classic Italian pizza joint in midtown, that’s described as a slice of “pizza heaven.” I’ll make sure I bring the camera. Meanwhile, I’ll be enjoying a couple of days of leftovers, and some delectable chocolate cake!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Two Pear Tarts and a Partridge in a Pear Tree

That song has been playing constantly on satellite radio. And, it’s SO long. So many choruses. I can’t get those lyrics out of my head.

Don’t they know we’re officially in a recession? Nobody can afford 12 Days of Christmas gifts, and all the multiples of the previous days.

I’ve got more important things on my mind. "The King of Paella" (Rocky), his wife and Hal2008 (who has been palling around with Frank Bruni as of late) are coming for dinner, so the stove has been on overdrive. I’m a little nervous. I have a lot to live up to.

I was pleasantly surprised that my dessert, Tarte aux Poires a la Frangipane (Pear Tart with Almond Cream) begat two miniature versions as well. It seemed a sweet treat to share with all of you who love mini tarts (and, you know who you are!).

However, there is no partridge on the menu. Just chicken. We are in a recession, after all.

Tis the season!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Christmas Cookies - Nana’s Sandbakkels

The Barritt’s are not from Scandinavia, although there are a couple of fair-haired blondes in the group. Regardless, every Christmas, we always looked forward to Nana’s signature treat, “sandbakkels,” a crumbly Norwegian almond cookie baked in delicate fluted tins.

Nana’s ancestral roots were primarily German. So how did she end up known, among other things, for a Scandinavian Christmas cookie? Ruth Barritt (pictured below, a little before my time) was a bit of a recipe hoarder (could we surmise that this is a genetic trait?), and when she tasted something she liked, she usually made a point of getting the recipe and trying it herself.

Perhaps she had a friend who was Norwegian who passed along the recipe, or maybe the fluted tins were a gift? Did she find the recipe in the newspaper or a magazine? I think she probably appreciated the ease of the recipe, and the delicate results produced by the gleaming little cookie tins.

We’ll probably never know exactly how sandbakkels became a family tradition, but although Nana’s been gone for a number of years, we still remember her enormous, affectionate hug, her snowy white hair, and her plate of “sandy" and buttery almond-flavored sandbakkels, particularly at Christmas.

My brother Jim has kept up the practice at Christmastime, but I’d never made sandbakkels until now, and didn’t honestly know if they really had any direct association with the Christmas season beyond our family memories. I did a little investigating and turned up the book “Keeping Christmas” by Kathleen Stokker, which looks at Norwegian Christmas folk traditions and their evolution in the United States. Stokker mentions a seminal Norwegian cookbook, written by a minister’s wife named Hanna Winsnes in 1845, where recipes for sandbakkels and other traditional Norwegian cookies can be found.

Sandbakkels were one of many cookies prepared during the Advent season. Norwegians would serve cookies with a glass of wine at midday or with after-dinner coffee. Stokker notes that cookies such as sandbakkels became popular among the professional class around the time the Winsnes book was published, and were adopted by the peasant class much later in the 19th century. The Winsnes book was hugely popular and carried by Norwegian immigrants to the United States where many of these baking traditions took root, as the sandbakkel tradition did in Nana’s kitchen in Laurelton, New York. And, in that same tradition of passing good recipes along, I offer her version here:

Nana's Sandbakkels

One cup of sugar
One cup of soft butter
One egg
½ teaspoon almond extract
2 ½ cups sifted flour

Cream the sugar and butter. Add egg, flavoring and flour. Pinch off small pieces of dough about the size of a walnut. Press them into the center of a sandbakkel tin, and press thinly and evenly into sides and bottom.

Put the tins on a cookie sheet and bake in a preheated 375 degree oven for about 12 minutes or longer.

When cooled, tap gently on the bottoms of the tins and the tarts will drop out easily. (Caution – cookies are very fragile, so remove them carefully)

I’m submitting Nana’s Sandbakkels to “Eat Christmas Cookies – Season Two” the annual, worldwide cookie swap hosted by Susan at Food Blogga. You can check out the details here, and check out the selection of cookies from around the world here.

Merry Christmas, Nana!

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved