Beyond the Quail

A Fortnight Roundup

2011-11-06T19:43:00.000-05:00

Hello, everybody! After dual bouts with autumn maladies, we have decided to implement a roundup of notable eats and occurrences from the last fortnight (and we've also decided to re-implement "fortnights" in general.) Here's what we've eaten, bedrunken, and experienced of late:

This is a pan-roasted pork loin with apple-onion glaze and roasted autumn goodness. There are parsnips, brussels sprouts, potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, garlic, and a roasted pear for good measure. We've been hankering for fall food, and this fit the bill. The pork was brined for a day, which added some delectability, which I have just decided will be a word. Let it be so.

This was an interesting one, because I was going for "easy". Citarella sells whole sheets of fresh lasagna noodles, so this is simply a two sheets, stuffed with their prepared sweet potato puree and folded into four triangular ravioli. Pressing the sides with a fork finished it off. Because the puree was a little sweet, I added a salty, meaty element by frying thin slices of guanciale in a peppery butter sauce, and topped it off with pecorino romano.

A pre-meal board full of snacks. The ham is a prosciutto cotto from Salumeria Rosi, and the cheese is Bra Duro, which Mrs. Quail has decided to call Brad Dourif. So does that make it Wormtongue cheese? (Fellow dorks would love that joke.)

Okay, these were delicious. Mrs. Quail made a variation on popovers, one with a little more interior crumb, and topped it with her own Plumpduck plum preserves. I ate this, I died, I resurrected myself as a zombie diner, I ate another. The interior is all rich eggy sponge, while the outside was crisp. Really, really spectacular.

This might even have topped the popovers. What we have here is a cinnamon-apple-walnut pie, made on a whim, and it came out just about perfect. I saw recently that Serious Eats did a feature on apple pie, and a lot of their focus was on retaining the shape of the apples within the filling, so that they looked like a slightly softer version of a raw apple. Is this a new thing? I don't want apple texture, I want that caramelized, gooey, sweet and sour filling that partially melts into the crust. And this nailed it.

And now a trio of beers. This one is a t'Smisje Dubbel, a Belgian ale brewed, as you can see in the fine print, with honey and dates. I found it a little underwhelming, and there's a subtle annoyance for me that the carbonation has those big bubbles you see. It just didn't have the magic that Belgian dubbels need.

Dame Maggie approves of this one, however. We've tasted a lot of pumpkin ales, trying to find a winner. This won handily. Great stuff.

And here's the one that beer geeks would drool over - I found it in a hidden spot at the Whole Foods Beer Room on the Bowery. This is a Belgian strong dark ale, which means seriously strong. This one is at 10% ABV. To be honest, I liked it, but thought the alcohol was a little too present. Maybe it would've benefited from some cellaring time, but come on, I'm in New York. I don't have a cellar. The rats have a cellar, and they're not sharing. So the surprise winner of these three was not the rare Belgian, but the good ol' American pumpkin ale. Who'd a thunk it?

Upstairs, Downstairs in Newport

2011-10-04T00:12:00.000-04:00

Have at you!

We love Rhode Island. It's a charming state with great food. That's why, when we were invited to drive to Newport to watch a polo match, we didn't say no. We even brought one of our finds from Napa.

The only way to serve a fine riesling...(it was delicious, by the way)

This was my first polo match. I went in expecting...okay, basically expecting the polo scene in Pretty Woman where Jason Alexander treats Julia Roberts like a hooker. And I wanted that magical world to be true. I wanted to BE that hooker. I exaggerate, but you get the gist.

I wasn't disappointed, although naturally people today don't dress as formally for these things as they did in the Swingin' 80s, apparently. There was a distinct amount of flannel. But everyone was cheerful, and there were vendors giving out free samples of tasty things, and the very British announcer delightfully talked trash to the players during the match, which you don't often see in the other buttoned-up sporting events.

I told you they had tasty samples: Hendrick's gave everyone a small gin and tonic and a small gin and lemonade, which were both delightful. It's shown here with the snack we brought, crusty bread from Grandaisy Bakery with fresh Monterey Chevre from Rawson Brook Farm, and tabbouleh from that bastion of the upper crust, Trader Joe's.

We also laid into these tasty sardines, because no post-Hurricane Irene meal could be complete without some canned goods. Deplete that stash, people!

To describe the action of a polo match, I ask you to picture those first soccer matches that you played as a child - the ones in which everybody stayed in an ever-moving clump around the ball until someone busted loose from the chaos and scored. Now picture all that on horses with the children wielding big whacking sticks. And make the spectators all mildly sloshed on free gin, and the announcer acerbically witty. That's polo. Lovely sport. Ultimately, the squad from Brazil handed the U.S. of A. their hats, which I believe was meant to be an artful metaphor for our respective economies.

There was a temporary break in the action at one point - take a close look and see if you can guess why...

We had only 24 hours in Newport, but we made sure to do it right with the rest of our time: addictive clam chowder and oysters out on the pier at the Black Pearl, and a lunch at the picturesque Inn at Castle Hill. We also managed to feed our Downton Abbey fix by doing the servants' tour at The Elms, one of the many giant Gilded Age-era mansions in town now run by the preservation society. In the servants' quarters, one could imagine a hardworking girl dreaming of going to the polo matches, but knowing she can't, because she's just a Hollywood hooker with a dream, and by hooker I mean servant.

Plump Duck Santa Rosa Plum Preserves

2011-09-25T14:27:00.009-04:00

And we're back!

The New England Patriots are back on the field, leaves are a changin', and a cool breeze is in the air (well, actually that's the A/C, since humidity seems to be the weather du jour in fall 2011). Kicking off the quail after a late summer hiatus is the much anticipated Plum Preserves.

Professor Moriarty lies in waiting behind a brace of plump duck preserves

The 2011 plum season, to tell the truth, kinda sucked. I kept waiting for the Santa Rosa plums to peak Telltale sign: dozens of bees humming around flats of plums in the farmer's market. But this year, all I saw were a few endeavoring flies. But, after weeks of plum sampling, I finally found a small batch that nearly met my criteria: crimson by the skin, followed by sticky sweet flesh in the middle, followed by puckering sour flesh by the pit.

These ideally should be cracked and bursting with juice, but were good nonetheless.

Basically you want a plum that takes you on a journey, and that is so sloppy, you have to eat it over the sink. And I want a plum that takes me back to my kitchen in Englewood, eagerly opening a disintegrating box of bursting, fermenting plums, shipped express from my Grandmother's (now defunct) tree in Santa Monica. It's hard to know what to buy at the farmer's market--there are so many varietals of plums. They should be small, round, and ripen from red to deep purple. Some call them Sugar Plums, I've always known them as Santa Rosa Plums. That said, the only way to know you're buying the right kind is to eat one.

This should be much more crimson in color.

The combo of sweet and sour is what makes this a preserve to die for. I used very little sugar (2-3 cups for the 10 pounds of plums purchased) and didn't bother letting it reach setting point (I've previously discussed, I prefer a runny jam).

The preserves in their jars before sterilization.

Achieving "Shelf stabilization" was much easier this time around, although you wouldn't have been able to tell by the state of the kitchen. And while the fruit didn't quite live up to 2010/childhood expectations, the results were still delightful enough that I'm sure when we finish eating this batch in November, I'll be craving summer all over again.

Nirvana. Plum preserves over vanilla ice cream.

It's Pronounced Bangor, not Banger

2011-08-16T14:15:00.003-04:00

I grew up in Bangor, Maine. It was a great place for a kid to be raised, a safe town with a stellar school system and strong support for athletics, which is something that once encompassed me (and now...not so much.) But one thing it didn't have was a strong reason for anyone over eighteen to stick around. The downtown was then largely deserted, and options for food and drink were sparse.

But there was always this.

This is from the legendary Pat's Pizza (and I mean the original Pat's, the dive-y one in Orono, not the many other versions they've opened around the state. It bothers me that there are no good photos of Pat's pizzas on the web - not that this cellphone photo will change that - and most reviews seem to be of the southern outposts, not this one.)

Along with our other family favorites in town, Panda Garden and Pepino's Mexican Restaurant (we ate at Pepino's, but sorry, no pictures) Pat's Pizza has been a staple for decades. Pat's makes thin-crust pan pizza, little 9" individual ones cut into eight slices. Part of the charm is in the diminutive size of the tiny little slices, with their nicely-browned cheese and flavorful sauce.

Pat's pizza with "hamburg". Irresistible. The owner said this is actually great if you get it with pickles. Then he brought us some complementary fries. I think he was in a burger mood. The fries, by the way, were outstanding.

On this occasion, I was especially delighted to see that on their beer menu was Black Bear Microbrew's Gearhead Ale, which is a brewery next door run by an old friend, Tim Gallon.

Black Bear Microbrew's Gearhead Ale, a very malty amber ale that went well with the food. Especially the fries.

And this, the fact that a person I grew up with is still there and producing things I would want to have, shows how things have changed in Bangor. The movement towards DIY artisanal, hand-crafted, Brooklynesque culture that has spread across most of the country has landed square in my hometown, and I'm happy to report that there is ample reason for young people to want to stay there.

Beer, for example, has completely taken off there. I visited another old friend's store, Bangor Wine & Cheese, and found a number of rare items on their shelves. I left Bangor with an oak-aged Flanders Red, which is a slightly sour ale from Belgium, a collaboration between two gypsy brewers, and four local products: a Rising Tide pale ale, and each of the three available offerings from Maine Beer Company, a nanobrewery that has immediately established itself as one of the best breweries in the northeast.

Ichtegem's Grand Cru. I have no experience with this sour style beyond Rodenbach Grand Cru, so I'm eager to try this one.

A farmhouse ale collaboration between the Dane Mikkeller and Baltimore's Stillwater Artisanal Ales, two brewers who use other's brewery space to make their beers. We haven't had a chance to try this one yet.

Rising Tide Daymark, a hoppy pale ale with a bitter finish

Lunch, Peeper, and Zoe. Fast-growing hoppy legends from a tiny producer near Portland, ME.

And that's just from the stores. We also spent an evening at Nocturnem Draft Haus, a place that honestly has a selection well beyond anything in my Upper West Side neighborhood. Between the three of us we tried a lambic on cask (St. Louis framboise), a cocoa-vanilla stout (Dieu de Ciel Aphrodite), a trappist ale (Rochefort 8), a trappist take on a brown ale (Tilburg Dutch Brown), and an oak-aged trappist pale ale (La Trappe Isid'or). I'm not sure why they all ended up being Belgian or otherwise trappist, but man, that place has a killer selection. Also, board games. My sister and I sipped our ales while Mrs. Quail wiped the floor with us in Othello. You've gotta love a board game that makes the black and white game pieces explicitly racial. Black won out. All the while, a talented local singer-songwriter, Lady Lamb the Beekeeper, was belting her heart out on the other side of the room.

She was there as part of a fairly large music festival going on by the rejuvenated waterfront, with headliners My Morning Jacket and Lupe Fiasco. Seriously, this kind of thing never happened when I lived there.

But still, sometimes I like to go home just for the familiar things that always taste better there, like the Maine crab and lobster salad sandwiches below, served on the light and lovely Cohen's hard rolls from the Bangor Rye Bakery. The crab here is always more flavorful than the Maine crab we get in NYC (the lobster is comparable, but cheaper.) Not pictured is the sriracha we added, which was notable for being some extra-fiery deep red version from the depths of Hades. Wonderful stuff.

We mixed crab and lobster together. It's flying close to the sun, I know...

We washed it down with a Languedoc white wine also purchased at Bangor Wine and Cheese, and enjoyed the August sun on the back porch of the house I grew up in.

On the way back to New York, it rained. A lot.

Lunching at Takahachi Bakery

2011-08-01T15:28:00.001-04:00

Crunchy cod, cucumber and cabbage sandwich. Plus bread and teriyaki sauce, but those aren't as cutely alliterative.

This is just a quickie post to show a typical lunch at one of my go-to lunch establishments: Takahachi Bakery on Murray Street in lower TriBeCa (side note: whoever called this TriBeCa must've been selling real estate, because it's nowhere near the Triangle Below Canal.)

Takahachi Bakery stands out in the neighborhood with its bevy of matcha custard desserts and fresh-baked breads and cakes and macarons. It also has an eclectic lunch menu that features odd baked items like corn-mayo buns, octopus-ball buns, and wasabi blt's. They're all worth a try, especially if still warm from the oven, but I often turn to the sandwiches, such as the one shown in the photo above. Takahachi always carry one sandwich that looks like this, though it sometimes contains potato or another creamy filling, and sells at an exceedingly reasonable price (I think I paid $3.95.) The bread is pillowy and soft, and has a taste similar to Wonder Bread - as pointed out by Andrew Coe at Serious Eats - To balance this softness out, they add a lot of crunchy toppings to the sandwiches, like the cabbage and cucumber in this version. It's a nice sandwich with a balance of creaminess and crunch, fried but still light, and when you're not getting the soft-shell crab sandwich with avocado, it's a good bet.

It also left enough room in the wallet for a taste of dessert. Skipping over the matcha crepes, the orange-wasabi cakes, the melon pan, the mochi an-pan, the chocolate pudding and whipped cream filled choux pastry, or any of the red bean-filled baked buns, I opted for one of their chocolate chip cookies, instead of the usual miso-almond cookie I tend to crave.

Takahachi's Chocolate Chip Cookie

The cookie has a nice semi-firmness, so there's just enough chewy pull on the inside, but the outside is still crisp. Like just about everything else at Takahachi, it's hard to fault it. Not a monster like the decadent (and delicious) ones at Levain Bakery or Jacques Torres, but a simple, well-made cookie. I approve. I imagine it would be very good with the coffee and espresso they sell, which I have yet to try.

The total bill for this lunch came to around seven dollars once I added in the iced barley tea (I am willing to take my barley in tea form as well as beer form, thank you very much.) If you're ever looking for something to nibble on, and you're absolutely nowhere near the Triangle Below Canal Street, but very near City Hall Park, give Takahachi Bakery a try.

Craving Cassoulet and Getting Creative

2011-07-22T08:34:00.005-04:00

Not-quite-cassoulet.

Two winters ago, we two Quails journeyed from Barcelona to southern France on New Year's Day, to look at ruined castles in the Pyrenees and to partake of that most wonderful of casseroles, cassoulet. And it was an epic affair, brimming with creamy beans and rich porkiness from slow-cooked pork, and little melt-in-your-mouth strips of pure pork fat (picture pork belly). I wanted to live inside that bowl. So now, as the Tour de France begins to travel through that same neck of the woods, I got the craving for something cassoulet-ish. Now, I've tried my hand at making the real thing before, but it's a nine-hour process that really doesn't compress well into post-work hours. So I decided to improvise. This sure ain't cassoulet, but it's a sort of pork-and-beans variation I've never made before.

First, I threw stock ingredients into my pressure cooker: ham hock, onion, garlic, carrot, celery. I let this cook under pressure for about an hour while I prepared everything else.

Okay, here's where it gets creative. Cassoulet has a few variations, one of which involves adding duck confit. So it's not always just pork. I went a different route: lamb meatballs. I got this idea from watching Chuck Hughes make stuffed cabbage. What we have here is ground lamb, one egg, bread soaked in milk then squeezed dry and broken apart, cilantro, garlic, red chili, salt, pepper, and minced ginger. Oh, and a little touch of the ol' ras el hanout, because why not? To be honest, I later wished I'd added a little parmigiano like in an Italian meatball, so if you'd like to do so, go right ahead.

Now that I think of it, this idea also came from our Culinaria "European Specialties" cookbook, which I look at obsessively, and in which is both a great recipe for cassoulet and a version of another porky dish, choucroute garnie, which included meatballs in with other cured meats and sausages. Sometimes it's hard to remember where these combinations come from, but I'm pretty sure that's it. Anyway, the mixture is formed into balls, thrown in a pan, and baked at 375 degrees for about 15-20 minutes.

While they were baking, I stopped the pressure cooker, pressed the vegetables in a strainer, and then threw in a can of chickpeas (which we often have around the house) with a little more garlic and some sliced carrots. Back under pressure it goes, basically to let a little porkiness get into the beans.

Just as the meatballs were finishing, I added a final touch. I sauteed some onions and yes, more garlic, in olive oil along with two pieces of Irish bacon (a leaner bacon made from pork loin instead of belly.) The Irish bacon gets tough and flavorless if it cooks for more than a couple minutes, so at that point I added the meatballs, beans, the meat from the ham hock, more chopped cilantro, and some grated parmigiano. Topped with a simple arugula salad dressed with vinaigrette, that's the dish. "Easy" two-hour pork-and-beans.

It seemed natural to pair this dish with a red wine (even this beer drinker can recognize a pairing as obvious as that...although we had white wine in France...) I recently watched one of Gary Vaynerchuk's irreverent and entertaining and mildly unhinged Wine Library TV shows on Loire Valley Cabernet Franc, and liked the way he talked about it being barnyard-y and funky and vegetal and a lot of other things that aren't bright and fruity. I've been looking for old-world character, so we decided to give it a whirl, even if Gary is a Jets fan (go Pats.) Nobody's perfect - not even the '72 Dolphins.

As I learned from Gary's show, the "Vieilles Vignes" at the bottom there means this was made from old vines, which can give the wine even more of that barnyard character. And it certainly had that. I liked this earthy, funky, musty wine, and precisely for having those flavors, and especially after we decanted the bejeezus out of it (I'm sure it should've been cellared for a few years, but we didn't have that kind of time, or a cellar, for that matter.) With a glass of this, a serving of my bastardized cassoulet, and Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen giving the play-by-play as little Tommy Voeckler holds the mighty Alberto Contador at bay, while looking at helicopter shots of the Alps and the Pyrenees, why, we're nearly transported to France.

Oh, who am I kidding - where's my plane ticket!?

Gaining the Upper Crust: Ducksmack Sour Cherry Pie

2011-07-18T00:52:00.003-04:00

Let me spoil this one for you: Last Wednesday I entered and lost my first pie competition. My friends tell me I was robbed (thanks, friends!). I chalk it up to inexperience, visitor (70):pie (2) ratio, and the fact that warm pie and accompanying ice cream were not permitted. I dislike losing--so much so that some games (Hearts, for example) are on a "do not play" list. But, entering a pie competition seemed like the right thing to do on a Sunday night and I'm ultimately glad I did. Some very good things resulted (besides a pie-sized chip on my shoulder).

For one thing, I feel a much more confident baker. For another, I learned a lot. I will never ever serve 2 cold fruit pies to 70 hungry people a day after making them. (Honestly, who ever wants cold pie?) I will never make my pies a day ahead and take them to work, hoping that they don't go soggy. And I will never enter another competition without bringing my own serving utensils, like the winner was smart enough to do. What I will do, though, is make these sour cherry pies--and other pies for that matter--using the techniques I learned in this process. Because when they were served in proper slices (as opposed to bite sized scoops), slightly warm, on a plate at home, this made a damn good pie.

The Fruit:

I am a sucker for sour cherry pie. It was the pie my mother made every holiday. I'll never make hers (I defy any one to perfectly recreate their mother's recipe), but I'm eager to make my own version. Typically, I use jarred sour cherries, but since I do work next door to the union square greenmarket, and sour cherries are in season, I wanted to try fresh.

The difference is straightforward: jarred cherries are sweeter and slightly mushier. The fresh ones have more of a bite, produce more juice, and are more acidic. Pitting them is a pain, but I think worth it. They added just a little more tartness and packed a bit more punch.

The Filling:

I combined (approx 1 cup) Red Jacket Orchard's sour cherry stomp with 1/4 tsp vanilla, 1/2c sugar, and 3Tbsp of cornstarch. Like my mom always did, I thickened ahead of time on the stove (I find with cherries the filling doesn't set up if you try to do it all in the oven). I used 4-5 cups of cherries per pie
Oh, and I added about 1/4 cup of whiskey. Because this was, after all, a Ducksmack pie.
(I think I was going for an "old fashioned" flavour--it did work a bit).

The Crust:
Ahh, the most important part. The thing that sets a pie apart. I never make double crusts--the sheer amount of butter scares me away--but this was a competition, damnit, and the pies had to show.

I made three pies, a test pie and then my two competition pies, and for all three I used Kenji's (from Serious Eats) "Easy Pie Dough" recipe. It worked great, and as promised, was very consistent. (Kenji's food lab articles are stellar and always make for a great read). Served that evening, or reheated the next day, I think this pie would have been just terrific. But serving it the next day, outside, after it had cooled, proved very challenging. Still, I'm proud of it, and I think this is a crust I'll be making for a long time to come.

A few things I learned:

Grease the glass pie pan!
Refrigerating is key. I refrigerated after nearly every step so the fat would re-solidify. As a result, though, the crust took twice as long to make. But, it was worth it!
Glass pie dishes are great, particularly for fluting, but the bottom crust doesn't cook nearly as well as in my old alumninum dish. My friend suggests cooking on a preheated baking sheet or on the bottom of the oven--oh well, next time
With a pie this juicy, the bottom crust is just going to get soggy. I tried an eggwash on the bottom layer, as suggested by the internet, but it didn't make much difference a day later. I like the idea of a coating of chocolate, but that wouldn't work with sour cherry.
Follow my instincts: I should have reheated the pies the next day before competing. I would have had warm pies with more solid bottom crust. Ah well--next time!
Sour cherries can be a divisive fruit--some people love them, some people not so much
A brush of heavy cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon and sugar in the raw over the top crust really does look and taste awesome.

Bonus Recipe!

With the left over crust, I made crust cookies with cinnamon and sugar and a dollop of my Ducksmack marmalade. I want to make these again. Perhaps in a month or so when I take on my next home-canning challenge: Santa Rosa Plum Preserves.

Dame Maggie Smith's Dubbel Brewday

2011-07-08T11:07:00.004-04:00

A day before celebrating our independence from Europe, our cat Dame Maggie Smith decided to pay her respects to our Euro-friends by brewing up a Belgian-style dubbel ale, just to be contrarian. One of our mentors suggested that Mrs. Quail and I seem to be trying to turn our cats into Lolcats, but really, that's impossible. Our cats are not funny at all (except for Professor Moriarty. He's hilarious. But also quite possibly evil, so it's a bit awkward deciding whether to laugh at him.) We assure you, Maggie is all business as the new brewmistress of Ducksmack Ales. See for yourself!

1. This is a Smack Pack. You smack it to release yeast nutrients into the yeast. I don't think Maggie knows this; she just smacked it as a matter of course. Then she smacked me a little for good measure. Then Professor Moriarty smacked her, then she smacked him, and then we all had a good laugh.

2. She gathered a few ingredients courtesy of Brooklyn Homebrew. In addition to the yeast shown here (taken from the Rochefort Trappist strain, last seen in this post) and the malted barley not shown, she used Belgian Dark Candi Sugar, turbinado sugar, Hallertau hops (with the painter's tape) and Styrian Goldings hops (without). She kept her distance here, instinctively aware that some people say hops are toxic to some animals. Stay away! That's probably one reason why she chose to make a less-hoppy beer like a dubbel.

3. Your one and only view of the grain as it is steeping. This is called the mash. It smells like hot Grape-Nuts. It is overfull. I know this because it overflowed just slightly onto the stove when that cover went on, making for some challenging clean-up (Dame Maggie refuses to clean, so guess who had to step in...) Inside the grain bag is Belgian Pilsner, Belgian Caramunich, and Belgian Special B malted barley. I wish I'd taken a photo of Maggie with her big mash paddle, but when I tried, she used it to knock the camera into my forehead.

4. The mash had to stay at 150 degrees for an hour, which I said was impossible, but Maggie has her methods.

5. I didn't feel so much like helping until she showed me how I was being selfish, by clawing me. Here I'm performing part of "the sparge" by lifting up the grain bag and letting it drip down into the kettle. I then dipped the grain bag into a second kettle full of water (aka the little red Le Creuset hiding behind there) and squeezed it a bit to get all the residual sugars out. Some people think this can make a beer tannic, but I like living dangerously, and besides, it's for the cat.

6. The 90-minute boil took place in two separate kettles that were consolidated as it boiled down. Bit of a risk, but it turned out well. Anxieties were high, but never fear...

7. RDWHAHB (Relax, Don't Worry, Have a Homebrew)

8. During the boil, she added hops in a hop bag. You have not lived until you've seen a cat tie a drawstring. Or jet-ski.

9. I mercilessly teased her for using such a low-rent chilling method. So she clawed me.

10. Here she be: Ducksmack Ruddy, three days in. This is a new 3 gallon carboy made of plastic so as to mitigate the risk of impaling oneself on shards of pointy glass. It's only about 2 gallons, because that's what our system allows. Maggie says she might take a gallon out and add cherries to it. I think she's nuts. Although steeping cherry pits can generate arsenic, so it's highly possible that this has all been the start of some diabolical ruse orchestrated by Professor Moriarty. At any rate, this'll be ready around mid-August or early September. Maybe some will still be around for Thanksgiving. Op uw gezondheid!

EDITOR: Here is a postscript requested by Dame Maggie Smith herself:

DO NOT QUESTION MY METHODS!!!

Seeking out Saka Gura

2011-07-04T17:35:00.007-04:00

As our stalwart readers know, we have rarely delved into full on restaurant reports. This is partly because we primarily eat at home (else prodigious show-offs Dame Maggie and Prof. Moriarty would have no audience), partly because we typically forget to document anything whilst we are out and about, and partly because other websites like immaculate infatuation do it oh so much better.

Not so last Monday! 'Twas Mr. Quail's birthday (he turned a respectable age) and to celebrate we finally took the plunge and went to Sakagura.

For those not in the know, Sakagura is a sake bar/Izakaya in the basement of a relatively obscure office building a block away from the Chrysler Building. Mr. Quail even worked in the building for a short stint (for a company that may or may not have "existed" in the eyes of "the man") but never ventured down to the hidden world below the elevator bank.

So, was our insatiable craving for all cuisine Japanese satisfied?

Would seriously consider as last meal on earth:

Gyu Miso Nikomi: shredded beef back ribs stewed in miso topped with grated daikon radish.

Still salivating over (particularly during fourth lunch of the week at Pret a Manger):

Kamo Roast: thin slices of chilled roasted duck wrapped around scallions and topped with a basil sauce.

Chawan Mushi: steamed egg custard served with chicken, shrimp and ginkgo nuts topped with a thickened ponzu sauce.

Tori Karaage: deep fried chunks of chicken marinade in sake and ginger infused soy sauce.

Black sesame creme brulee (with custom birthday message)

Somewhat forgettable:
Horse Beans (it's a variety of fava bean served in the familiar style of edamame)
Yuba wrapped Shumai

Dying to try, but were too full:
Homemade "Nihachi Soba"
Sanma Onigiri: cooked rice balls with shiitake mushroom, pickled radish and mountain vegetables wrapped with a whole baked pike mackerel

Sakagura was a particularly good choice thanks to its vast sake selection. Mr. Quail, with his penchant for all things beer, was delighted by the detailed brewing notes and well planned menu. Naturally, to bookend his experience at Russian River Brewing, he ordered a wild yeast sake. I was a bit concerned.

Image courtesy of urban sake

Let's just say the wild yeast beers at Russian River weren't my favorites, but this was vastly different: full of flavour, slightly deeper than the traditional Junmai Daiginjo we ordered, namely: Kikuhime (name of the brewery) Yamahai (the method) Junmai (the style) [we think this is correct!]. We're no sake experts (check out jumanaidjimidjango.com for a much more professional description)--I can't even describe what it is I like (Dry? Full bodied? Clean? Fruity? Err...how about all of the above.), but now I think I have an inkling that I like "funky, interesting" sake. Although I worry saying that will yield some "interesting" recommendations. In other words, more research and experimentation is needed on the sake front before we become connoisseurs. In which case, I'll need to make another reservation ASAP.

Alas, such a reservation called for a cat sitter (thanks, Mom!). But it seems Maggie figured out how to spend her time. They're so fetching, aren't they?

Two Quails Roosting in Wine Country, Part 2

2011-06-28T12:13:00.003-04:00

See Part 1 of our adventure here.

Sweet local strawberries and blackberries, local goat cheese, a salmon mousse from Santa Rosa Seafood, and a wedge of Montbriac, a blue-brie cheese. Salut!

We would be remiss not to mention the utterly gorgeous cottage we rented for our trip to California's wine country, nestled in a meadow on the top of a hill outside Calistoga, quaint enough that deer, birds of prey, rabbits, lizards, and wild turkeys were our morning companions, but modern enough to feature a killer outdoor grill and indoor range that we made heavy use of during our five nights. This definitely beat waking up early to catch the end of continental breakfast service at some inn.

In the Napa Valley, venison is delivered right to your door. So fresh!

The drive down the hill to the main road features a number of steep twists and turns, with the incredible payoff of a direct view into Safari West across the road, where (no joke) giraffes roam around all day long. Unfortunately we have no pictures of them, because as you know, giraffes don't show up in photographs, much like vampires.

The Cottage at Vineyard Springs

Being New Yorkers, we were less excited about traveling to Napa for restaurants* than for cooking the great fresh produce and seafood available, so our little cottage became quickly stocked with food (and beer and wine and just maybe some tequila.)

*translation: We didn't have reservations at The French Laundry.

Bacon-wrapped trout stuffed with thyme - okay, bacon-draped trout. It flared up too much the other way. But the fish came out perfect! (Mrs. Quail swears she will never grill bacon again)

This turned into a surprisingly great bratwurst taco (who knew?). The Sriracha added a certain something. We continue to believe that Johnsonville Brats are magic.

Mrs. Quail even performed a successful experiment with gluten-free flour, making a delectable apple-strawberry pie that we utterly devoured in less than 24 hours.

But not all meals were eaten at home. There were vineyards to tour! On the way to our first tasting, we stopped at a local standard in St. Helena: Gott's Roadside.

Gott's Roadside, formerly known as Taylor's Refresher

Image courtesy of Pure Luxury

This is a burger-and-shake spot at heart, but not just your ordinary; there's wine and champagne on the menu, and a few surprising menu items. We were delighted to see some Hawaiian favorites making an appearance, not only in an Ahi burger, but in the form of Crispy Ahi Poke Tacos. Basically, this is a tuna ceviche taco. You want these. These are very tasty. As you can see, they come topped with scallions, avocado, and sesame seeds, with a bed of cabbage slaw underneath. These are fantastic. And the burger and shake were excellent to boot!

We attempted to drive up Spring Mountain in order to picnic at one of the vineyards there, but found them all closed except for one small, picturesque winery, Sherwin Family Vineyards, that was just about to close. The kind woman there agreed to let us sit and eat outside even though she was just leaving, and as we sat down to our feast she drove off in some sort of golf cart, which honestly only added to the experience. Next time we'll have to go back and try her wine, I think.

After lunch we were off to our first wine tasting of the day, at Chateau Montelena. This is a gorgeous property, and has just the right amount of "old french chateau*" in its design to get us in the mood ~~to try something way out of our price range~~ to try something earthy and evocative. Anyway, there is a side to vineyards and wine tasting and to the sheer luxury of it all that can seem a bit stiff and uncool and sometimes just too pretty at times, so we were determined to find some places that reminded us of castles, caves, dirt, mold, barrels, and funk. We liked the look of this place.

*not to be confused with this.

The famed Chateau Montelena. Why "famed"? See here.

They're known for their Chardonnay, but we were taken with the Riesling. We basically spent the entire trip buying everything other than oaked Chardonnays and Cabernet Sauvignon.

For good measure, we also stopped in at St. Helena's Merryvale Vineyards (conveniently located across the train tracks from Gott's Roadside.) We asked if we could share one tasting, and the guy said, "We frown on that here, because we think it's cheap." Mrs. Quail was about to storm out in a huff until the guy said he was just pulling our leg. Seriously, this was an Oscar-worthy performance on his part, he totally had us. He ended up being a pretty funny fellow, and originally from New York, so we hit it off well. Merryvale was a highlight of the trip, not just for the wiseacre ex-New Yorker who poured our wines, but because they have a very comfortable little shop with a beautiful cask room and a clear view of their stainless steel production facility. They also apply the cost of any bottle you buy to the cost of the tasting fee, which is a perk we learned to appreciate - these things add up!

Merryvale Vineyards

We came away from this tasting with a bottle of their dessert wine, a muscat. In general, I found myself drawn to the dessert wines during these tastings, partially because they're fantastic - this one has a refined apple or pear brandy quality - and partially because they're so different from what you'd been tasting before.

Muscat from Merryvale

After these two great tastings, we decided to switch things up and buy some wine. Hm. Noticing a trend here. We popped in to a local store and picked up a Schramsberg sparkling white wine, and a chardonnay to compare with the impressive oak-infused Chateau Montelena Chardonnay we had tried earlier.

Wanting to try a less-oaked chardonnay, we picked this up at a shop in St. Helena.

And there ends vineyard tour day one.

The next morning, after our daily rising with the wild animals, eating granola and drinking coffee on the Adirondack chairs on our porch - I swear, we thought we were in a cereal commercial - we headed out to compare the Schramsberg sparkling wine with another located further south. We drove all the way through Napa on a mission to eat lunch at The Fremont Diner in Sonoma before we got to our destination. Wow, did that ever turn out to be the right decision. This place is OUTSTANDING. I took one bite of my house-smoked pastrami reuben and nearly keeled over, and not just from the hypertension. This is a diner specializing in southern-style comfort food, and they aren't fooling around. I mean, they had a sign outside that said "fried pies", and you know how we feel about that.

The Fremont Diner's Pulled Pork

The Fremont Diner's House-smoked Pastrami Reuben

The Fremont Diner's Nashville Spicy Fried Chicken

After all that food, we about-faced and returned to Napa to try the sparkling wines at Domaine Carneros. The almost-too-suave-and-knowledgeable-not-to-be-a-French-spy "Senior Wine Educator" there poured us a tasting of a cuvee, a sparkling rose, and a demi-sec. I liked the demi-sec, which is a little sweeter, while my companions preferred the dryness of the other two. But we all agreed that the winner was the special pour he gave us of the 200ahem vintage of the somethingorother whateveritwas (okay, I forgot to write down what it was, but trust me, it was a solid sparkling wine.)

Domaine Carneros

A champagne tasting at Domaine Carneros.

From there, we were off to one of the great highlights of the trip, a cave tour at Del Dotto Vineyards in Napa.

Del Dotto Vineyards

As I mentioned before, we wanted to get into some musty caves, and this was just the place for it. In a small group of about ten people, we were led into the dark, mold-encrusted tunnel for a lesson on types of wine barrels and a series of tastings from right out of the barrel. We must admit that our guide was downright bizarre in that he didn't seem quite capable of answering anyone's questions directly, and for someone who said he wasn't going to drink he sure seemed to taste a lot, and I'm pretty sure his answer for how port is made was just south of correct*, but it's hard to beat the experience of carrying our wine glasses around, following the guy in the spooky, candle-lit dark to one of the many wooden barrels where he removed the bung and used a wine thief to draw out a sample so we could taste the difference between this cabernet stored in a French oak barrel and the last cabernet from the American oak barrel, and then tossing the remaining wine against the walls of the cave, as is their custom, and moving on deeper into the dark to try another.

*He said they make port sweet by using less yeast ("underpitching"). In brewing, this is done to encourage more ester production, and could feasibly result in more residual sugars, so I don't doubt that they do it, but since port is fortified with brandy, wouldn't they just get the wine to where the yeast haven't consumed all of the sugars and then dump in the brandy to kill the yeast and stop fermentation before it dries out? Feel free to correct me in the comments if I'm wrong.

Beginning the cave tour at Del Dotto in Napa

The caves at Del Dotto (image courtesy of Del Dotto Vineyards)

Over the next day we also made stops at White Hall Vineyards, Duckhorn, and another highlight, Plumpjack. And maybe, just maybe there was another quick stop at Gott's Roadside the following day, where we learned that the onion rings are made from the wings of magical faeries. They have the non-greasy ideal crunch with sweet, slightly jammy onion inside that you always hope to get with onion rings, but are so often disappointed. We also had a chili-cheese dog. Is it any wonder that we've been craving fruits and vegetables since we've returned?

Chili cheese dog and the best onion rings ever at Gott's Roadside

Some of the best red wine we tasted was at Plumpjack. We once again left the Cabernet in favor of bringing this bottle of Syrah home for Dame Maggie Smith, the lush.

After a quick trip to see the utterly astounding Muir Woods, we were on our flight from San Francisco back to New York, with a box full of Riesling, Syrah, Chardonnay, Muscat, and (yup) Pliny the Elder in tow. What a trip! Thanks to the good people at The Cottage at Vineyard Springs, who made our vacation into something really memorable.

So long, wine country!

Chicken! Or a short diversion from our Napa experience

2011-06-19T22:16:00.006-04:00

We're back, and with work awaiting us tomorrow, we spent Sunday (Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there!) tidying up, brunching at a standard issue NYC diner, roaming through the farmer's market, and prepping our Napa Part II blog post (tktktk). But after all that wine and grilling in CA, I had a hankering for roast chicken.

This chicken brought to you by Feather Ridge Farm

I've been putting off this post. The truth is, Mr. Quail is the primary chef de cuisine at home. But I do have a few meals in my repertoire and one "recent" (4 years ago) addition is roast chicken, mainly because it requires an oven, and in the Quail household, the oven is my domain.

I use the Thomas Keller recipe easily accessible on the internet (I think there's even a video). If you haven't done so already, try it. It's ridiculously simple. This time, inspired by the amazing fried chicken I had in Sonoma (more on that later), I added cayenne to the rub, and 'twas outstanding.

Purchase: one small chicken (under 4 lbs, but 2lb seems to be the magic number), preferably a fresh one that lived a healthy life not too far from where you live. We got ours from Feather Ridge Farm at the farmer's market.
Wash
Dry
Salt and pepper vigorously
Truss
Bake in 450 degree (yes, it's hot) oven for 50 minutes or until the thing looks like it's been tanning in south jersey and the juices run clear.
Remove, baste with herbs (thyme, rosemary, etc.)
Carve (NB: Shout out to my mom who bought and roasted several chickens during my youth, just so I would learn how to carve properly.)
Slather with mustard if desired, and try, just try, to eat with a knife and fork (never happens).
Do not: Stuff or add vegetables or baste. Any additions add steam. Steam attracts the water in the chicken, chicken dries out yielding dry, chalky breasts and rubbery thighs--gross in any conotation.

While the chicken was broiling, and Dame Maggie Smith and Professor Moriarty meowing, Mr. Quail sauteed up some collard greens (Sicilian style with pine nuts and raisins) and roasted some sunchokes. The sunchokes were a revelation--possible the best roasted "potatoes" I've ever had (thank you to the Cooking Channel for actually inspiring us to cook something). Next time we'll buy more than a quarter pound.

The end result, served with toast, mustard, a little honey, and one more bottle of Pliny the Elder.

And of course, don't forget the cook's reward: the okole (or tail. Yes, the tail. Don't be an okole hater). Finally, after years of my mother and grandmother snagging it first, I finally get it all to myself (okay, I may have split it with Travis)

The 'okole: the best part of the chicken.

Now, off to watch the Game of Thrones finale. Regular life recommences tomorrow. Until next time, 'Okole Maluna*!

*http://www.shakadivers.com/pidgeon.htm

Two Quails Roosting in Wine Country, Part 1

2011-06-15T23:09:00.011-04:00

Three days into our trip to the Napa Valley. Our trip is three days old, and we haven't visited a single vineyard. Can you believe that? Never fear, we'll get there, but until then we'll just have to tough it out with things like this:

Carnitas and Carne Asada from La Taqueria

Maybe it's hard to tell from the photos, but these were amazing tacos. All you Californians who complain on the east coast about the dearth of Mexican food? All is forgiven. I understand now.

Of course, Mrs. Quail has known for years, having migrated from Southern California herself long ago. Once we landed in San Francisco, she insisted that we go straight to La Taqueria on Mission Street. Done. Wow. We sampled the carnitas, carne asada, and chorizo tacos, and found all to be exceptional. Slightly crunchy carnitas, meltingly juicy carne asada, and rich chorizo. I think the carne asada was the winner for me. The touch that put these over the top is that they put cheese underneath the meat, so the heat is able to melt the cheese. And it goes without saying that these were terrific tortillas, definitely rivaling the ones I bought recently at Nixtamalito in Manhattan.

Okay, I lied about us going directly to La Taqueria. First we ate some pork dumplings in the airport, because hey, there were dumplings. Pretty tasty dumplings, actually.

But then it was off across the Golden Gate Bridge and up to wine country. Oddly, I was on a mission not for wine, but for beer. (Surprised? No? I didn't think so.) There are three major breweries in wine country: Bear Republic, Lagunitas, and Russian River Brewing. Of those, only Russian River is not available in New York, and it is the most famous of the three for its innovative styles. The most famous of them are the double and triple IPAs, Pliny the Elder and Pliny the Younger. I was on a mission to try the Elder.

Very hoppy, but not overly bitter. Like a jovial bunny.

Well, Vinnie from Russian River apparently knows what he's doing, because Pliny the Elder is pretty easily the best IPA I've ever had. I dragged Mrs. Quail along with me to their brewpub to try the other notable brews, because they're also known for crazy experiments like barrel-aging and adding bacteria. We tried a Belgian-style sampler, shown below. The three on the left were sours that Mrs. Quail absolutely hated, but I thought were pretty good, particularly the last one, Consecration, which is like Rodenbach Grand Cru in flavor but packs a bigger alcohol punch. Our favorite was Salvation, the strong dark ale, which is more like a trappist ale, rich, smooth, and subtly sweet.

Consecration, Supplication, Sanctification, Erudition, Salvation, Damnation, Perdition, Redemption. Great names, but they honestly make it nearly impossible to remember what's what. We didn't get to try the easier ones, Defenestration and Parking Violation.

Also, as dorky fans of the Fable video game series, we appreciated this sign:

But we're not just on the west coast to imbibe, not in the land of great produce! Having rented a cottage, we hit up the local farm stands, markets, and groceries. We found great stuff in Santa Rosa, particularly at Santa Rosa Seafood (we bought salmon and trout, and the nice fellow threw in a smoked salmon mousse, a tuna marinated in sesame oil, some tiny little shrimp, and homemade cioppino, all FOR FREE. That was impressive. And just for good measure, he sent us to the outstanding asian market next door.)

Delicious banh mi from the Phnom Penh grocery, where we also found dragonfruit, durian, and a slew of great produce. That head cheese sticking out the bottom means it's the real thing, folks (not shown are the pickled daikon and carrots we added later.)

An excellent local offering from Redwood Hill Farm purchased at CalMart in Calistoga

And more, so much more! In the next update...wine! And grilling! And diners! And bacon! And grilled bacon! We've been having a blast in Northern California. I wonder what the cats are doing back home in Manhattan? I'm sure they're sullenly pining away for us, barely having the energy to lift their little heads...

A Sunday Supper with 311

2011-06-06T00:30:00.015-04:00

Ahh, Sunday. A relaxing day to do errands, hang out with great friends (at Maialino no less. Mmm...Carbonara), nap with cats, and spend a delightful evening with 311.

About that last part. The building behind ours has a leaky chimney, and as a result from time to time we get a lovely whiff of heating oil in our apartment. Thus, we spent an entire evening on the phone with the Department of Buildings. But as a great man once said, little setbacks like these are sometimes just what we need to take a giant step forward*. While still on hold, we managed to eke out Sunday supper at the Quails featuring greenmarket goods and pie (311 compelled us to retaliate with pie).

COURSE ONE: Whiskey sour

Call one: wait time 20 minutes. Result: dropped call as DOB specialist took down my complaint.

The secret to this whiskey sour? Eaaasy on the lemon. It's often too overpowering.

COURSE TWO: Greenmarket Turkey from DiPaola farms stir fried with garlic chives, French arugula, Thai red chilies, ginger, garlic, onion, dash of fish sauce, lime, soy sauce, oyster sauce, rice wine, and chili garlic sauce. And white rice.

Call two: hold time 65 minutes. Result: still waiting...

The night's repast: greenmarket turkey with ginger, garlic chives and chilies.

Garlic chives: the identity crisis vegetable. Is it garlic or chive?**

COURSE THREE: Greenmarket not-quite-ripe strawberry pie with cinnamon, ginger, vanilla, and turbinado sugar. Crust made with an entire stick of butter. Inaugural run of pyrex pie plate (note: grease plate next time)

Call 2.5: Disconnected twice, on two cell separate cell phones. Result: No action whatsoever. Well, at least there was pie.

I couldn't pass these strawberries up. I mean, could you?

Rustic strawberry pie with cinnamon. Sweet mother o'mercy, this was good.

*Chris Knight, Real Genius
**It comes to my attention after posting this that these must have been mislabeled at the market, because Google tells me it's spring garlic, not garlic chives. So I can now say definitively, it ain't a chive.

Grist and Grain

2011-05-28T00:53:00.005-04:00

Today we have two subjects at hand, and both involve strange manipulations of grain. The first is a product we have come to admire: pasta made from farro by Rustichella d'Abruzzo. Farro is a grain more commonly known as spelt, and one commonly used in Italy. In this case we used their casareccia, which is somewhat like a penne that has been sliced lengthwise and twisted a bit. The second subject today is a tasting of The Bitter Drake, the Belgian-style ale brewed two months ago that (hopefully) is rounding into shape in time for summer. More on that later.

Our interest in the farro pasta stemmed from a desire to try slightly healthier versions of pasta. We began with whole wheat spaghetti from De Cecco, and really it is a good substitute, particularly where a slightly nuttier flavor is welcome. But ultimately we've settled on the farro, because the flavor is a bit subtler.

Reeling a bit from all the porky (hello, Fatty Crab), ducky (hello, er...Fatty Crab), and beefy (hello, Shake Shack) delights in our neighborhood, we set out to make a somewhat lighter dish. Here's how it worked out.

We started with kale, which for some reason has suddenly become available at our local Citarella, despite being more of a winter green than a spring vegetable. I chopped this up pretty fine, because my last attempt at a similar pasta wound up just slightly tougher than I'd like because the leaves were chopped into wider pieces; this was more of a julienne. Adding to that, we deepened the flavor by lightly caramelizing onions and some thick-sliced garlic, and throwing in a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes. The other ingredients were of the Sicilian agrodolce (sweet and sour) variety: anchovies, raisins, capers, pine nuts. For another Italian touch, we toasted some fennel seeds and tossed them in. The anchovies went in with the browning onions (so they melt completely away) and then the kale went in on top. Everything else followed shortly before the pasta went into its pot to boil (and I may have added a dash of dry vermouth to help the kale steam, because why not?)

Part of our balanced diet.

Now, this dish was healthi-er, but we wouldn't want it to be too healthy, and that's why there was also a healthy dose of olive oil, butter, and a bunch of parmigiano reggiano. The ingredients by themselves are somewhat dry, but there is a magical combination of oil, butter, cheese, and a little pasta cooking water that gives this dish a creaminess you might not expect. With all these powerful flavors, it's fairly important to keep track of the amount of salt you're using, since the cheese, anchovies, and capers are all salty as well. It's mostly about finding the balance between all these crazy flavors.

When the dish is finally put together, there is a winning symbiosis between the nuttiness of the farro and the pine nuts, the creaminess of the cheese, the sweetness of the onions and raisins, the tartness of the capers, the spice of the chilies, and that slight meaty undertone from the anchovies and garlic. We've tried making variations on this dish before, but this is perhaps our finest effort to date.

Now that Belgian-style ale, The Bitter Drake, is another story. Brewed in early April and bottled in early May, this was my first attempt at brewing from my own recipe, using a technique called brew-in-a-bag, or BIAB. This is an Australian method for brewing with one fewer step than is traditional, and one fewer vessel. The basic premise is that you use a mesh bag to hold all the grain as it steeps, and then simply pull the bag out when it's ready to boil. Simple. For small-scale apartment brewing, it's pretty ideal.

I'm calling this an American Specialty Ale, which is just vague enough to be correct, despite it being fairly similar to a Belgian saison. The recipe uses Belgian pilsner malt with minor additions of two specialty malts to add to the body of the beer, and then one hop, Hallertau, used only for bittering purposes (most Belgian beers tend to emphasize yeast flavors over hop flavors. For shorthand, you can think of Belgian beers as yeasty, American beers as hoppy, and British beers as malty, though of course this is not always the case.) Everything went swimmingly during the brew day, and I hit all my estimated temperatures and specific gravities and other things casual readers here really aren't likely to care about. Suffice it to say things went well. The biggest experiment of the batch was that I opted to try a dry yeast, Safbrew T-58, and allow it to ferment at the ungodly ambient temperature of our apartment. With most yeasts this would be a terrible idea, but I wanted to see how this one, which is meant to work at higher temperatures, might turn out. The dry yeast used for the Everyday IPA last batch worked very well, though I kept the temperature about ten degrees cooler for that one by partially submerging the fermenter in water. Higher temperatures are usually used to intentionally bring out subtle flavors of esters and phenols such as you might taste in a Belgian Saison. So how would this one turn out at a higher temperature?

Well, after two weeks in the bottle, on May 18th, it was pretty icky. And not carbonated yet. It had a strong apple flavor that I believe was due to it being too "green" or young. So I left the other bottles to condition for another week and a half, and today we're testing the new one to see if it's ready to take on our Memorial Day vacation.

Here's how the May 18th version looked, flat and cloudy:

And here's the May 27th version, still flat and cloudy:

Not so outwardly different. So what's the verdict on the taste?

Not ready yet. Pretty good, but still needs more time. The carbonation is nearly there, but not quite, and there is still a subtle apple cider quality. But overall, I'm happy with the taste of this, it definitely has that Belgian yeast quality, and in another week it might be right on. Unfortunately, we'll have to drink something else over the long weekend. Life is hard sometimes.

Catching Up

2011-05-15T21:37:00.006-04:00

Sorry, but we've been eating this.

Apologies, dear readers. We promise there is a reason for the gap between this post and the last. Two reasons, actually.

Here is one:

Dame Maggie Smith, Thespian

And here is the other:

Professor Moriarty, Evil Genius

Yes, our time has been spent entertaining and being entertained by the two kittens that have invaded our home. These two rascals have kept us occupied, and kept us away from this dear blog. So now it's time to catch up.

What have we been doing?

We have been cooking arctic char (a sustainable and delectable fish) with brown butter, capers and walnuts, with an endive salad dressed with cacio de roma cheese, vinaigrette, and more walnuts (see the photo above.)

We have been trying dosa (a crispy, savory, oversized crepe made from rice and lentils) from the new Saravana Bhavan in our neighborhood.

Dosa photo courtesy of Serious Eats

We have been eating meatloaf. Homemade meatloaf. Yummy, yummy, homemade meatloaf. We could give you our recipe, but then we'd have to kill you. Just kidding. We actually forgot to take photos (and photos of meatloaf always misrepresent how delicious it tastes,) so that recipe will have to wait for a future post.

We have finished bottle-conditioning our latest ale, a Belgian-style ale we're calling The Bitter Drake. It's called this because I managed to add slightly more hops than intended. But this is how great things are made, right? Ever hear of penicillin? More on this in a day or two. Patience, child, patience.

And we have also flown perilously close to the sun in discovering the most amazing dessert in the history of the universe. Let me explain. We noticed that gelato-of-the-gods manufacturer Grom is only two doors down from cream-puffs-of-our-dreams producers Beard Papa's, and decided an unholy union was in order. Empty choux pastry from Beard Papa's plus Extranoir, Crema di Grom, and Pistachio gelatos equals a killer profiterole. Add a touch of dulce de leche from our good friends Frank and Michel, and this thing could be registered as a lethal weapon. At the very least, someone needs to get these two companies together.

Image courtesy of Beard Papa's

Many more things have happened to us in the past few weeks; fantastical, wondrous, momentous things, and we'll be happy to share them with you just after the cat gets off this keyboaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaGbbbbbbbbbbbbbbffffffffftt

Shelf Stable: Attempts at a Boozy Marmalade

2011-04-23T19:46:00.006-04:00

In which Mrs. Quail sets out to make a boozy, not-too sweet, shelf stable, blood-orange marmalade.

A Leetle Background
I do not like a sweet, bouncy jam. I tried making jam with pectin once, and it just annoyed me. My ideal marmalade is slightly runny and tart with a very pronounced orange flavor and lots of rind for texture. In fact, my ideal marmalade comes from someplace in the Loire valley, where it was likely made following a centuries-old family recipe, jarred without any adherence to FDA standards, and sold as an afterthought at a michelin-starred restaurant/auberge. Someplace like this:

Auberge de Launay
*Come to think of it, this may actually be the origin of the mysterious marmalade...

But since I currently don't have the several thousand dollars necessary to fly to France, nor do I accurately remember the address of this house of marmalade* that my mother and I wandered into in the early-aughts (before I even owned a digital camera), I was on my own.

A little runny is okay by me

First thing first. I didn't want a sweet jam. Last summer, I made Santa Rosa plum preserves (a blog topic for July 2011, I'm sure. Stay tuned loyal readers!) and used very little sugar. I didn't care if they "set up" and I didn't care if they were shelf stable--I knew (based on experiences from my youth) that the ten pounds of plums would last maybe three weeks in jam form before being devoured. They did. This time, though, I wanted the full home canning experience--including the intimidating result: shelf stable.

Equipment was not too much of a problem. Thanks to Mr. Quail we already had a very large pot for sterilizing the jars. I bought ball jars (8oz, tall and thin), lids, a jar grabber (which, yes, I used incorrectly the first time, managing to spill boiling water all over myself on me first try. Use the side that curves to grab the jar, kids.), and read up on how to sterilize. A note on sterilization--once I figured out how to use the jar grabber (okay, when Mr. Quail figured it out), the sterilization process was actually very easy. The biggest challenge was finding enough counterspace next to the stove to fill the jars. Instructions abound on the interwebs--and they're all practically the same.

Jam Science
Now comes the part that led me to nearly 18 hours of research: the recipe. Because I didn't want a sweet jam, I wanted to use less than the 1 to 1 ratio of sugar to fruit that is normally recommended. But every time I looked for a recipe, warnings abounded: Do not use less than the recommended amount of sugar! Do not change the recipe! It could kill you!

Really? Using less than 1 cup of sugar PER 1 cup of fruit could kill me? Is sugar that necessary to prevent botulism/spoilage? Can't you basically can anything--including fruit--without sugar? So then I started looking up botulism and entered a world of home canning websites I never thought existed (between home canning and home brewing, the Quails have apparently gone hipster), not to mention reading through the USDA's guidelines on home canning. Long story short: sugar doesn't aid in preserving--at least not before you open the jar. It helps in setting up the jam (not a problem for me, since I didn't care) and in preserving the jam once opened. Botulism is mainly affected (in home canning) by ph, but with high acidic fruits--like oranges--ph isn't a problem. (I suppose I should warn that before you go on a home canning spree and start canning everything from frozen grapes to leftover meatloaf, you should do research to make sure what you're canning meets safety standards). So, finally, armed with Canning for a New Generation, which includes all sorts of low-sugar/no-pectin recipes, I felt ready to jar, er, can.

Onto the Marmalade

My ingredients

Marmalade techniques on the internet vary, but I basically ended up using this one from a recent "Food and Wine" with some substitutions of my own--including a bit of cognac and orange liqueur at the very end. Since it was winter, I bought four pounds of blood oranges and two pounds of lemons. I knew blood oranges would give it a slightly different flavour than your every day orange and also the deep cognacy color I wanted.

First I boiled the oranges, as recommended, to make it easier to scoop out the insides.

The flesh (ewwww!) went into two jelly bags.

The peels I cut into strips. Some say to remove the pith. I didn't--and frankly, I think it turned out fine. I was also a little lazy about making even slices, but hey, the skins were really hot at that point.

Then everything went into the pot with 7 cups of water and 3-4 cups of sugar (definitely less than the amount of fruit being used). Part of the way through, I squeezed the remainder of the juice and pectin from the jelly bags into the liquid and disposed of the remains, brought it up to a simmer, and let cook until it reached 220 degrees on my candy thermometer (which I've had for years, but had never used until now). 220 degrees is the point where jam sets. Again, I didn't particularly care, but I figured it couldn't hurt.

Once it reached setting point, I added cognac and orange liqueur to taste. Actually, I probably added a bit too much. It's a boozy jam.

Finally, I filled the jars, sterilized them in a water bath (using an improvised stand made out of tin foil. Thank you, apartment therapy), and let them sit overnight. I was, admittedly, rather excited when I heard the jars "pop"--proof that they were airtight and shelf stable (for up to a year, mind you. This boozy marmalade will not survive Cormac McCarthyism).

Real-world Marmalade Applications

Blood-orange cognac marmalade sandwich on homemade cheddar jalepeno biscuit with crazy-good (not homemade) bacon

Marmalade on stone cut oatmeal with almond milk, pecans, and dried sour cherries.

Finally, the KITCHEN CARNAGE (thanks Mr. Quail for helping me clean this up. I think I'll wait a few months before home canning anything else)

An Everyday IPA Update

2011-04-19T22:04:00.004-04:00

Dear friends, we certainly would not want to leave you wanting resolution to the burning question on everyone's lips: how did the IPA turn out?

Just fine, thank you. In fact, it's delicious. You should try it. Thanks for asking! Kudos to Brooklyn Brew Shop for a great recipe (the grains are a mystery, but it uses a combination of Columbus and Cascade hops and US-05 dry yeast.) Despite our every attempt to ruin this beer, particularly by aerating the bejeezus out of it while bottling, it came out okay. Honestly, the bottling was a frenzy of spraying liquids and curses that could only be done justice by video footage that will someday surface just when we begin our presidential campaign. The magic word if you try this system is "autosiphon". Give 'er a google if you like.

But in the end it turned out very well. There is a surfeit of amateur brewers on homebrewing forums who are just dying to tell you how it should be done. Shoot, after this ONE success, the pull to advise people as if I was a seasoned professional nearly crippled me (I was forced to kneecap myself. Really. Well, no, not really, but the pull was strong nonetheless, and I had to constantly remind myself that I am, as always, relatively clueless.) So I should just go ahead and admit that it would be more constructive to just show the results. Since you can't smell or taste the beer, let's focus on the look of it.

Here is the beer at the time that the instructions tell you to drink it:

And here it is after another week in the fridge:

So it looks to me as if the beer continues carbonating and clearing beyond the initial two-week bottle conditioning phase. The taste was essentially the same both times, fruity and aromatic, with a subtle bitterness. I would say this version resembles an American Pale Ale more than an IPA, actually, but that's my preference anyway. This was satisfying for me on a deep and profoundly narcissistic level. The long wait for the beer to mature really dovetails with our Quail-ly passion for long-term craft projects (i.e. the occasional novel, or physical therapy.) We're pretty excited by how this turned out, and there is already a second beer bubbling away, nearing the time to bottle. We can't wait to try it!

Springtime for Farmers and Ocean Perch

2011-04-10T15:52:00.003-04:00

Just the other day we wandered through the Sunday Farmer's Market outside the American Museum of Natural History, and found a few signs of spring, like these geraniums:

It put us in the mood to buy, so we picked those up along with some fresh milk from Milk Thistle Farm...

...and, satisfying a curiosity that has lasted for several years now, we stopped by the Spices and Tease stand to pick up a little of the Moroccan spice blend Ras el Hanout (which they spell with a "z", I noticed.)

This is similar to (but not the same as) a curry blend. It can be used in many applications, from tagines to stews and roasts, pretty much anything you'd like. With this in hand, the situation demanded that we get creative and do some serious cooking. We went a little nuts with this one, and once again blended traditions from two cuisines to make a dish that fairly knocked us on our behinds.

We began with a faint idea of a Vietnamese curry, something like a Ca Ri Ga, which usually features chicken, potato, onion, and sweet potato stewed in a curry flavored with coconut milk. If you haven't had it before, give it a try. It's great stuff.

But we really didn't want to make chicken, not with the amazing offerings at the farmer's market's fish stand. We settled on a few ocean perch fillets, and supplemented with some miniature fingerling potatoes and fresh cilantro. Ultimately, the dish turned into ocean perch and potatoes with a spice paste of ras el hanout, garlic, lemongrass, and ginger, poached in a sauce flavored with coconut milk, rice wine, chili-garlic sauce, lime juice, and fish sauce. Here's how it turned out:

That ocean perch, it must be said, was delightfully tender. The sauce was delectable, and we made sure to sop it up with flaky m'smen, a stretchy flat bread from Morocco, purchased at the market from Hot Bread Kitchen. If you look this bread up online, you'll find that the name is not often spelled that way. It looks like the spelling has been wisely "censored" for the English market, much in the same way that the Japanese beverage Calpis mysteriously became Calpico. Well done, overlords of propriety. Well done.

The Apartment Lab, or Adventures in Fermentation

2011-03-26T13:48:00.009-04:00

In Jack London’s great novel The Sea Wolf, the cynical captain Wolf Larsen says, “I believe that life is a mess…it is like yeast, a ferment, a thing that moves…but that in the end will cease to move.” Wolf Larsen was a cheery fellow. But for all his certainty that yeast is something pointless to be dismissed, it really has an element of magic in it, don’t you think?

I don’t have much experience using yeast, other than a relatively successful baguette a few years ago. But now there’s a creature in my closet, a madly frothing and fermenting creature. Two weeks ago, I followed in the footsteps of my grandfather and decided to try my hand at homebrewing. Clearly, I steered away from the example of Captain Wolf Larsen, and towards the example of Captain Haddock.

The Beast in its Igloo cooler.

Living as we do in a relatively small New York apartment (though gargantuan compared to our last place), and suffering as I occasionally do from maladies of the oh-my-aching-back variety, I took up the good people at Brooklyn Brew Shop on their little one gallon kit. That's it in the picture above, inside an igloo cooler, chilling in its water bath.
It turns out that a one-gallon batch is just small enough to make every single homebrewer on the internet chortle from beneath a towering stack of empties as they write out checks for their latest back surgery. The end result of a single gallon is about eight to ten beers. That sounds fine to me, since I imagine I’ll go through a few lackluster batches before getting my system sorted out.

Incidentally, it takes a lot of research to sort that system out. Mrs. Quail has been very patient with my new obsession, especially considering that she’s more of a whiskey gal than a beer gal (alas, home distilling remains illegal.) It also takes a lot of small purchases – I’ve supplemented the Brooklyn Brew Shop kit with a few extras to make my life easier. I’m starting with the India Pale Ale that comes with the kit, but being more a fan of the yeasty and malty than the bitter and hoppy, this will probably be my last IPA. During a taste test at Brooklyn Brew Shop’s mini-class the other night, Mrs. Quail wondered if she was flat-out allergic to hops. They are full of pollen, after all. I’m planning to work more in the Belgian style, which is heavier on the yeast and lighter on the hops flavor, with perhaps some foray into English Barleywine, which is sweet and malty and strong enough to put you under the table faster than Frodo.

I’ll provide updates as results come in on the IPA currently fermenting away in the closet carboy (see the off-Broadway sensation “The Closet Carboy” at NYMF next fall!) If anyone else feels like trying this out, in New York there are supplies at Brooklyn Brew Shop (and all local Whole Foods carry the 1 gallon kit), Brooklyn Homebrew in Gowanus, and the Bowery Beer Room at Whole Foods. For friends in Maine, there’s a place on Forest Avenue in Portland, and for anyone else, there’s the online store of Northern Brewer.

I can probably preemptively state that this first attempt will fall into the “that just don’t taste right” category. But for now, here are ten beers in the Belgian style that do taste right, and which I heartily recommend (though I don't own these images):

Rochefort 8 (Belgium)

La Chouffe (Belgium)

Sofie (Illinois)

Jack D’Or (Massachusetts - the Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project website is amazing)

Maredsous 8 (Belgium)

Jenlain Printemps (France)

Allagash Tripel (Maine)

La Trappe Dubbel (Holland)

Orval (Belgium)

Brooklyn Local 1 (New York)

Cigrons: Globalized

2011-03-22T12:44:00.004-04:00

Since discovering the potential of cigrons (or garbanzos or chickpeas) in the famed Pinotxo bar in the Boqueria in Barcelona, Mr. Quail has invented brilliant ways of incorporating these "peas" into dinnertime. And while I still enjoy them in hummus or (low brow alert) the salad bar at Charlie Brown's Steakhouse, I devour his versions with werewolf-like gusto. Below, Mr. Quail reveals his latest--Globalized Cigrons.

Note: Picture Not Available (alas, meal eaten too fast).

♦ 2 thin, boneless pork chops, pounded to 1/4 inch and marinated in dry rub for minimum of 40 minutes (Dry rub: salt, pepper, ancho chile powder, sugar, fennel seeds, chopped garlic, celery salt)

♦ 2 cups collard greens, stems removed, julienned

♦ 2 cloves chopped garlic

♦ Handful raisins

♦ Handful toasted pine nuts

♦ Pinch toasted and crushed fennel seeds

♦ Olive oil

♦ 1/2 cup dry vermouth

♦ 1/2 cup chicken stock

♦ 1 can Garbanzo beans (feel free to soak and cook your own, but it works fine with the canned stuff. I like Goya because they undercook their beans a bit)

♦ 1 leek, chopped

1 rasher bacon, chopped

♦ 2 cloves garlic, sliced

♦ 2 tbsp semi-sweet smoked paprika (pimenton)

♦ olive oil

That's a load of ingredients, isn't it? That's not all; this dish incorporates at least four, perhaps five global cuisines. It was composed in three parts: the pork chop (a mix of Mexico and Vietnam), the collard greens (Brazil and Sicily), and the beans (primarily Spanish.)

It starts with the beans, frying the leek, garlic, and bacon together in a fairly generous amount of oil, adding a touch of salt and pepper (pay attention to salt, though - if your stock is salty, go light.) Once the leek has softened and the garlic and bacon have begun to color a bit, add the pimenton, the chile and the beans. Let this fry just a little, and then add the stock and stir a bit. Let this simmer for a good 40 minutes or so until the liquid is mostly gone and the beans are tender and seasoned throughout. Feel free to add more stock if necessary, this part is forgiving. And just this part alone is insanely delicious, if you do it right.

Second, in a separate pan, fry on medium heat the garlic for the greens in a little oil (I know, it's ridiculous to have garlic in each component, but trust me here.) Just as the garlic begins to color, toss in the collard greens, raisins, pine nuts, and crushed fennel seed. This is the Sicilian component, minus anchovies, which are too salty for this dish. Let this soften the greens a bit, and then add the vermouth. Once this cooks out, add the stock. In all, this should cook for roughly ten minutes. You want the greens to be tender, but not mushy. Remove from pan and keep warm.

Third, the pork chops. The real work of this one was done in the ingredients list, pounding it flat and marinating in a flavorful dry rub. Just add a touch of oil into the empty greens pan, turn the heat up to medium-high, and toss in the pork. The sugar and ancho chile will make it brown spectacularly, and this will be done after a minute or two per side, no more.

The dish is plated by layering the beans on the bottom, setting a pork chop on top, spreading the greens around the pork, and sprinkling some fresh chiles over the top (we had some fresh red chiles of indeterminate type in the fridge, but it's not vital to have these.) The combination of richness from the pork and beans, heat from the chiles, and the sweetness from the leeks and raisins balances quite well. This is a seriously flavorful dish, just like your Mexican/Vietnamese/Spanish/Brazilian/Sicilian ancestors liked it.

Some Call it Aloha

2011-03-15T21:12:00.015-04:00

To celebrate Christmas 2010 and New Year's 2011, Mr. Quail and I fled the New York City tundra--just missing the day-after-Christmas snowpocalypse--for sunnier shores. As always, Hawaii (in this case, Maui, Kauai, and Oahu) did not disappoint. For our friends, who we urge to get themselves there as soon as possible, here are some of the culinary highlights.

Maui

Mama's Fish House: Tiki chic. One of the best known places on the island and worth the reputation. On Christmas, we even had the opportunity to meet Mama herself!
Best Dishes Consumed: Opakapaka ceviche, luau duck, haupia,
Aloha Mixed Plate: Luau plate and Kalbi "mini" plate
Da Kitchen: Teriyaki Chicken plate lunch (dark meat standard--bless them!) eaten at Hookipa watching the surfers.

A note about plate lunch: The plate lunch is the quintessential Hawaiian meal. It nearly always includes the following: Two scoops of rice (unless you get the "mini"), one or two meat dishes, and a vegetable: Macaroni Salad. History tells us the plate lunch originated with sugar cane farmers, who came to Hawaii from all over Asia, and brought with them their local specialties. As a result a typical plate lunch can include anything from Pork Lau Lau or Mahi Mahi to Adobo or Kalbi. Where the mac salad came from is a mystery to me. The combination, however, is nearly always magical.

Kauai

Wild Boar BBQ, Anahola Farmer's Market: the highlight of our trip. We pulled off at this little farmer's market in a moment of desperation (i.e., hungry and on the verge of a fight). What a surprise to find the most succulent BBQ pig I have ever tasted. Sorry, east coast, I know you have some fine BBQ meats, but this far surpassed anything I've had here.
Bonus Eats: A whole guava. Who knew you eat it like an apple.

Grillin' the boar

Kobe Burger at the Koa Kea Hotel
Jo Jo's Shave Ice: Holo Holo combo with mac nut ice cream. Somewhat reminiscent of the shave ice you can get in Korea town, but with so many more surprises. In addition to the Haupia cream, the azuki beans and aloe jelly added wonderful flavor. Pinkberry should consider diversifying
Oh and...Fried Apple Pie at, yes, McDonald's

Fried Apple Pies. Yes, they still taste as good as you remember.

Oahu

Shrimp truck--north shore
Anything my cousin made, including slow-cooked taro dish with chicken and coconut. Lisa taught us a lot about taro (cook it a long, long time) and orchids. We are hoping her tricks coax our currently dormant phalaenopsis back to bloom. Regardless, we're hoping to visit them again soon--and stay for a nice long time (not sure if they'll appreciate that or not!)

All in all, a stellar trip (despite second degree burns via Starbucks)
And that's how we quails call it Aloha.

Armchair Mixology

2008-05-20T15:36:00.008-04:00

Readers of this blog will know that we Quails are terribly fond of libations with a kick. The city has a number of terrific speakeasys (speakeasies?) slinging everything from Gin Gin Mules to Muskets--a new favorite invented (I believe) at Brandy Library. With fresh ingredients and wonderful ambience, the $12-18 (shudder) pricetag at these never-over crowded is justifiable on occasion--especially when you consider appetizers in this town run the same price. Side salad or Sidecar? I'll take the latter.

Sometimes, though, we want an occasion cocktail minus the occasion--and the cost. Utilizing the resources of 67 Wine and a number of "depots" in the Garden State, Mr. Quail and I have put together a tolerable little bar of our own (at the expense of a filing cabinet and a stack of coffee table books) with which to play. We also purchased the Ultimate Bar Book, which has proved to be indispensable when it comes to armchair mixology.

In addition to making our favorites (Mr. Quail won over his missus with the perfect Old Fashioned), we've experimented with our own inventions. Some experiments have run afoul. Like baking, there's some precision involved when it comes to composing a cocktail. And, like baking, things can turn sour quickly. Mrs. Quail tried combining brandy-soaked sour cherries, orange bitters, and cognac, and came up with a muddle--a searing, bitter, mulchy muddle. But, there have been one or two successes, and we plan on reporting on those here. (That way we won't forget them either!)

Blue Plate Special: Sand Dabs

2007-12-10T21:51:00.001-05:00

What's for dinner?
Sand dabs! These marvelous and oh-so-flat fish were succulent with a panko crust and a lemon caper sauce. Mr. Quail pan-fried them right quick in our new Le Crueset dutch oven. (A marvelous piece of equipment--thank you Tricia and Dan.) An eggwash will help the panko and salt and pepper stick. Make sure your oil is hot, hot, hot.

For the sauce, Mr. Quail heated up a some lemon, olive oil, chopped garlic, the world's greatest condiment (butter), and capers. It worked best using the same pan the dabs had recently vacated.

Fun fact: Our Citarella fishmonger explained that Sand Dabs vary in color according to their skin. All are delicious.

On the Side:

Mr. Quail used a leftover fennel head to make a crunchy salad that perfectly complimented the flaky dabs. For the vinaigrette, he whipped up some mustard, olive oil, lemon, salt and pepper. He finished of the salad with some parsley, fennel fronds, and 6 grape tomatoes.
Secret ingredients: toss in some dried sour cherries and really awesome French raisins.

We also had slices of the pugliese from Grandaisy Bakery and, admittedly, olive oil and rosemary roasted potatoes from everyone's favorite organic frozen foods brand: Alexia. A gin and tonic--with diet tonic and Hendricks--rounded out a sumptuous Monday meal.

The Return of the Quail!

2007-03-20T17:00:00.001-04:00

Due to overwhelming demand to provide the next installment of our adventures in urban hunting and gathering, Beyond the Quail is back!

To be quite honest, Ms. Quail and I went through a prolonged period of being unimpressed by the restaurants we tried, and so the desire to keep up with the legions of regular NYC food bloggers word count flagged. Who would ever want to write about mediocre experiences? This isn’t a journal, after all. We needed to be inspired again!

So what did we do?
We stayed home, of course, in the official Beyond the Quail Closet-Apartment ™, and cooked. Night after night we fed ourselves the old-fashioned way (how quaint). Before long, we realized that the food we cooked was often as good or better than what we were getting in restaurants. Not to say that we’re master chefs, but we do all right for ourselves. So clearly it makes sense for the site to reflect what has been working for us.

It’s time for home recipes, folks. Just folksy enough to get away with leaving out exact cooking times and ingredient measurements. Here’s the first of two:

We like our steaks cut straight from the cow as it passes by (to our good vegetarian friends: look away, or cover your eyes with hummus or something). At least I think we do – people are always saying fresh stuff is better, after all. But really, no cows have wandered by us on the Upper West Side, so it’s hard to know for sure. It’s not for lack of us waiting around Broadway with cleavers, certainly. Recently, there was a brouhaha surrounding certain steakhouses in New York and the critic who was reviewing them. All right, to be less cryptic: Frank Bruni and Kobe Club, not necessarily in that order (Bruni! The Steakhouse! Coming soon!)

Kobe beef is, of course, fatty beef cut straight from a fat cow as it walks through a restaurant. Actually, I don’t think that’s true. I can’t be sure, because Kobe Beef is much too expensive for us to ever order, anyway. Staff from restaurants that serve the stuff have been known to slap us across the face with their white gloves if we get too close to the entrance. Okay, that’s not true either. But trust me, beef can be expensive.

Luckily, we’ve found a way around the prohibitive price. We won’t be buying any well-aged or designer beef, but with the help of a simple marinade, we’ve made a cheap cut of meat into something fairly addictive. We’ve turned to the flavors of Korean barbeque, and the simple, affordable skirt steak. Yes, skirt, the one that many books will warn you off for fear of toughness. For the record, these books are either crazy or outdated, because most of the skirts we’ve bought have been exceedingly tender and flavorful (hanger steaks seem a little more hit-or-miss). This recipe is so simple that it hardly qualifies as a recipe, but here goes:

Marinate skirt steak in rice wine, chili-garlic sauce (often stocked in the international aisle of a grocery store), minced fresh ginger, about a tablespoon of sesame oil, lots of black pepper, salt and/or soy sauce, and a couple tablespoons of oil, such as canola. It works best to do this in a plastic freezer bag. Let the steak marinate for at least a half-hour in the fridge. Preheat a skillet or grill pan at about medium-high – it should be quite hot - and then throw the steak on (get rid of the marinade). There will be a lot of sizzle, and eventually some smoke, but it won’t be cooking very long. Let it sear for just less than two minutes on each side for medium-rare, depending on your stove. Cooking more than this will bring you dangerously close to the toughness for which skirt is known. Serve with rice.

We also like to serve this with some halved-lengthwise Brussels sprouts that have been tossed with minced garlic, salt, and olive oil and roasted until they’re heavily browned, and then flipped over and roasted some more. The sprouts take a long time, maybe a half hour, and are hard to overcook. Try to get these nearly done before the steak goes in the pan.

It ain’t Kobe, but it’s pretty darn good, and quick, to boot.

Coming up next is another simple recipe with big results. Of course, since our cooking extravaganzas, we have also managed to find some mind-blowing food in restaurants but you’ll just have to wait until next time to read about those…

Masa (No, the OTHER one)

2006-10-20T23:22:00.001-04:00

Picture a Christmas in Maine: huddled around a fire, snow falling outside, thick socks, gift-wrapping strewn about like a massacre had taken place, the buzz from new toys not yet worn off, and all family members are looking forward to eating their tamales. Tamales, you say? In Maine? Maybe it's not the normal tradition, but not all New Englanders have generous grandparents in Texas who ship mass quantities of frozen Mexican treats to them on the holiday season. Or maybe they do. Maybe it's one of the lesser notes in the back of the census. Haven't read it. But rest assured that those tamales were a significant part of our holiday season, in part because of their unavailability at all other times. Or it also could have been the novelty of the corn husk wrappers they came in. Or the small size; these were very small, thin tamales, about the size of a toothpaste tube, though not quite as minty fresh.
We each ate several in a sitting. They were steamed, like a dumpling offshoot with firm corn masa for dough, and a meat filling that may or may not have been pork or venison. We piled them on a plate, each individually wrapped in its yellow husk, and peeled one open, allowing the steam to lift that aroma, rather like cornbread, to our noses. There was no sauce but a simple bottled hot sauce; the family was partial to the flavor of Cholula, though the gloriously smoky Chipotle Tabasco Sauce would do as well. They were warm, spicy, meaty, perfect. We sat around the table, swung our stockinged feet because they didn't touch the floor, discussed strategies for making that new Transformer transform, and gobbled up our tamales.

New York has tamales, too. We have one particular recommendation, though these tamales are completely different from the Christmas version. These chicken tamales, at Great Burrito on Amsterdam Avenue and 79th Street, are occasionally featured on the specials menu - word is that there is a lady who comes in every so often with a batch of them. These are large, more like the size of an enchilada, and served in a similar manner, with a red chile sauce and melted cheese. They're rich, indulgent, and meltingly good. Comfort food of the best kind. We'll be on the lookout for more New York tamales, if only just to relive those holiday nights in New England.

Sacrilege!

2006-10-12T11:12:00.001-04:00

Growing up in Downeast Maine, one eats a lot of lobster. It costs about half as much there as it does in New York or Boston, and because Maine has such a long coastline – roughly equivalent to that of California – there are unlimited places to choose from. Lobster and clambakes are traditional, as is the typical New England no-fuss service: lobster is boiled or steamed whole and served with butter, or it is chopped, mixed with mayonnaise, and served as a lobster roll in a grilled hot dog bun. There are some exceptions (count on seeing the hot lobster roll from The Maine Diner in Wells make an appearance on this page before long), but generally you know what you’ll get when you order lobster in Maine, especially whole lobster.

Because of this upbringing, it never seemed sensible to order lobster in the city at the exorbitant prices charged. The only reasons to buy one seem to be: 1) to impress a date, or 2) to try a tempting twist on the basic presentation. The latter is, of course, sacrilege for a Mainer. And yet, we can’t stay away from the steamed lobster with miso butter at Blue Ribbon Sushi in SoHo (119 Sullivan Street). This is neither a cheap dish nor a cheap restaurant (although more affordable items like the eel rolls are outstanding), but it bests the tried and true Maine version because of that rich dipping sauce. The miso butter is creamy, not separated into something resembling that jar of fat saved from the Thanksgiving turkey. It doesn’t get too fancy, doesn’t fool with what works, in that the main taste is distinctly butter. Of course, since this is a high-end sushi restaurant, the lobster meat is soft and tender. The lobster is halved, the tail is presented inside-out, that is, meat-over-shell, but they leave the claws and legs to be cracked by the customer. Because of the price, this is a dish best saved for a special occasion. But if the type of food that excites you is the kind that makes your mouth water more than Pavlov’s mutts when it pops into your memory in the middle of the day, this is a good place to start.

Chicken, or That Lowly Bother

2006-09-22T22:45:00.001-04:00

Bacon-wrapped Enoki at Yakitori Totto
Image courtesy of eGullet (Daniel)

When Ms. Beyond the Quail read in Anthony Bourdain’s book, A Cook’s Tour, about the wonders of Japan’s yakitori, she got a hankering and requested that we hightail it to Yakitori Totto on 55th and 8th, post-haste. Now, Yakitori means chicken, skewered and grilled chicken. And if there’s one thing that doesn’t excite us, it’s chicken. Bland, ubiquitous meat, largely flavorless, with a nasty, slimy texture when raw. Raw chicken skin and chicken fat are two of our least favorite things, at least in comparison with other meats. So, needless to say, expectations were moderate at best.

All is forgiven, little fowl. Yakitori Totto exceeded those expectations and just kept on going.
The meat tastes moist and flavorful, pleasantly salty, and they use offal, cartilage, and even softened bone to vary the texture. The clear winners on the menu among the patrons were the chicken meatballs, in different variations. The one stuffed in a shishito pepper (our old Tia Pol favorite) is especially delicious. But the unlikely favorite for us is the chicken tail, cut into cylindrical sections and crisped on the grill. They’re like little poppers, not far off from the fried hominy at Cookshop. There are still a number of menu items we’d like to try, like the bacon-wrapped enoki pictured above. Really everything was stellar, but the tail is a winner.

The night ended with a twist. On the way out of Yakitori Totto, who should we pass on the stairs but Anthony Bourdain himself! Quite a coincidence, considering that his recommendation was for yakitori in Japan, not in midtown. New Yorkers are supposed to be inured to celebrity, and usually we are, but seeing Bourdain was a genuine thrill. Consider us big fans. If you track down his books or watch his show No Reservations, you won’t be sorry. The guy’s a good writer, and his recent career shift has made him something of an adventurer. That’s a rare combination in the modern age, don’t you think?

Worth its Salt

2006-09-19T21:52:00.001-04:00

Patatas Bravas at Tia Pol
Image courtesy of Project Me!

Certain cultures develop a palette, or a tendency, for particular flavors or textures. For instance, some Chinese regions favor the slippery or chewy – think shark fin soup, fish maw, and glutinous flour. Moroccan food is often sweet, with a reliance on sugar and high-sugar fruits and vegetables like carrots and raisins. Americans? Fat, perhaps. American cuisine has deep roots in the Lardy Fryolated Lumberjack Trucker Blue-Plate Special with a side of grease (Hoo-rah!) Just ask Paula Deen.

But what I’ve learned of Spanish food suggests that their cultural palette is gung-ho for that most ubiquitous spice: SALT.
This to me is very fitting for a cuisine that has perfected many variations on simple recipes. While the cutting edge of world culinary development can arguably be placed in Spain, in particular at Ferran Adria’s El Bulli restaurant, the bulk of Spanish food is simple and practical.

The most familiar part of it is, of course, tapas. This bar food that began as a small covering over the glasses in insect-laden establishments is a sophisticated treatment of simple tasting dishes. The past few years have seen swarms of this style of restaurant open in NYC, and they almost always got it wrong. Here’s why: the chefs often focused on the small portions, which gave them an excuse to create the expansive and expensive dishes they love on a smaller scale, charge $9 a plate for them, and end up making money because people need four of them to fill up (that’s $36 before drinks for those who are counting). But tapas aren’t really meant to be a meal, and they’re also not supposed to be gourmet. They are usually simple dishes with simple ingredients at a reasonable price. In Spain, they’re great for a night of bar-hopping, because you can go to the place with the good tortilla, and then the place next door with the great jamón. In short, it plays right into our ideal at Beyond the Quail: specialty dishes at reasonable prices.

In New York, this is hard to find. I can personally recall a few nights with my sister and her husband hopping from place to place, from l’Orange Bleue (a restaurant name with a surrealist literary reference we writers can appreciate) to the now-defunct Ñ and 66 for little plates, but the cost was prohibitive, especially with Manhattan drink prices. But the spot that restored the faith (and it ain’t really a secret spot at this point), was the wonderful Tía Pol in Chelsea (10th Ave. and 23rd St.). There are a few reasons why this is a first-tier Beyond the Quail favorite: first, even if it’s crowded and there’s a wait for tables – the room is tiny – you can order food and eat standing up. Second, some of the best menu items are the cheapest and most filling. The patatas bravas (fried potato cubes with a garlicky paprika aioli), fried chick peas, and tortilla (potato omelet) are delicious, and easy on the wallet. The slightly pricier, but essential, piparras (blistered, salty peppers) are perfect for drinks. In Spain they use chili peppers that are usually mild, but occasionally spicy, and the Russian roulette element makes for exciting eating. The same happens with the shishito peppers used at Tía Pol. And each pepper is crusted with thick grains of, you guessed it, salt. For this post, we single out the piparras and the patatas bravas as the reason to go. Wash it down with some white sangria, a rebujito, or a fino sherry.

Mastering Margaritas

2006-09-08T19:11:00.000-04:00

Cocktails in Manhattan are dangerous for your wallet. The cost of a drink at nice bars these days hovers around $12. A week ago we noticed that a martini at John’s Pizzeria in Times Square costs $13.25. In a pizzeria! So when we find a watering hole with a good deal, we pounce. When we first stumbled up the street to Harry’s Burritos, we were not impressed by the food. But the margaritas were pretty good, with a nice selection of tequilas at a reasonable price. In addition, they have a happy hour from 5 to 7, and another from 10 to 11. During that time, their house margaritas are $3, and beer is $2. This is exactly the type of deal that we are hoping to unearth on this page. Stop by Harry’s, and be sure to tip the bartender, who has the good sense to be named Travis. Recently we discovered another great deal just across the street from Harry’s: the recently redesigned China Fun. They added a cocktail menu that features $5 drinks, $5.50 for better quality liquors. We had Bombay Sapphire Martinis at China Fun just last night, and thought we’d gotten away with a steal.

While we’re on the subject of cocktails, these are some of our favorite cocktails to make for friends or to order at bars. The best cocktail book we’ve found is Ultimate Bar Book, by Mittie Hellmich (Chronicle Books).

Martini (I like Bombay Sapphire gin, dry but not very dry, with olives)
Margarita (on the rocks, usually no salt)
Old-Fashioned (Bourbon, orange, bitters, sugar, rocks)
Manhattan (Bourbon, sweet vermouth, bitters, cherry, straight-up)
Presbyterian (Whiskey, ginger beer, club soda, candied ginger, lemon twist, rocks)
Horse’s Neck (Same as Presbyterian, no club soda, add bitters, lemon peel)
Godfather (Bourbon, a little Amaretto, rocks)
Mojito (Light rum, lime juice, mint, sugar, club soda)
Sazerac (Bourbon, dash of Ricard, bitters, sugar, lemon, rocks)
Negroni (Gin, campari, sweet vermouth, club soda, orange slice)
Sidecar (a great use of brandy - I use a slice of clementine, grand marnier or cointreau, straight up, no sugar on the rim)

Now THAT's a sandwich!

2006-09-07T19:38:00.000-04:00

Let’s start this off with a killer: the Mexican Club Torta at Rosa Mexicano near Lincoln Center in Manhattan. We’re big fans of authentic Mexican cuisine, and Rosa has some great stuff (maybe the best mole poblano I’ve had), but while tortas are authentically Mexican, the Club Torta more resembles foods of other countries, such as the Cubano sandwich or the American club sandwich. This beauty is on the lunch and brunch menus at Rosa, and costs $11.50. Get this: a pressed sandwich (the bread resembles toasted panini) with melted Chihuahua cheese, sliced jalepenos, a grilled ham steak, grilled chicken payard, bacon, avocado, chile mayonnaise, and a thin layer of refried black beans with chipotle. Throw in some stellar sweet potato fries and habanero-pickled onions, and you have greasy, spicy heaven (The pickled onions make it pretty spicy, so I sometimes leave them out). Healthy it’s not, but it is a memorable sandwich.

What's Good?

2006-09-07T17:20:00.000-04:00

We love eating. It's one of the best ways to keep from starving. Beyond the Quail compiles our best recommendations for eating things that taste better than things that don't taste good.

Of course, there is no shortage of restaurant reviewers. We aren't critics, we're just a couple of writers who like to eat. In order to please a critic, a restaurant must be solid across the board, with no major missteps. Frankly, we don't care if the fifth dish on a menu is subpar so long as there is one spectacular dish to order. That's why Beyond the Quail is only concerned with the best thing on the menu.

If you know what to order, you’ll walk away happy. Therefore, in this space we'll keep track of our favorite dishes, drinks, deals, and even the occasional home recipe. In short, we’re spilling all our best secrets about New York (and a few about Boston, Europe, Los Angeles, and other locales). Happy hunting, folks!