Sunday, April 22, 2012

Polenta 'Plosion

Al Rustico did it again. And it's not an 'oops.' I was drooping with exhaustion from being up at sunrise with the beautiful baby boy. My Al Rustico man has been working like a madman to bankroll our affinity for fabulous food, AND doing the cooking lately, as I am taking care of the impossibly beautiful baby most of the day . . . oh and making my way back to a full work and Yoga practice schedule . . . oh and trying to lose 10 pounds before we go to Mexico in a month. Anyway, he whipped up this recipe on Friday night, and it was so exciting. I ate rabidly and then fell asleep in a heap on the sofa, but not before writing down the recipe and method of preparation as I was overwhelmed by the deliciousness. We are calling this recipe "polenta 'plosion," as it betrays the feel of the dish, and our affinity for alliteration . . . 'plosion being an abbreviation of 'explosion,' of course-- but it sounds a little dirty, doesn't it? The herb crust on the polenta really makes the dish by creating the best layering of flavors. Then the goat cheese and the braised tomato and vegetable topping with the fresh herbs and the nuttiness of the pine nuts - fuhgeddaboud it! It's easy to make too. Polenta is also much healthier than wheat-based pasta, and very economical. This is truly the greatest dish to come around in a while. 



Ingredients

1 package of polenta in a round

dry spice mix: 1 tblsp rosemary, 2 tsp oregano, 1 tsp thyme, 1 tsp sage

1 28 oz of tomatoes, removed from juice

1/2 an onion diced

1 diced whole red pepper

4 cloves garlic diced

3 cups sliced mushrooms

1/3 cup pitted kalamata olives

1 cup vegetable broth
4 oz goat cheese / grated parmesan (optional)
handful chopped parsley and torn basil leaves
2 tblsp toasted pine nuts
4 tblsp olive oil

Method

-toast pine nuts and set aside 

-mortar and pestle the dry spices to mix together and break down the rosemary needles, remove any sharp bits

-slice the polenta in 1/2 inch rounds and coat with dry spice mixture

-heat 2 tblsp olive oil 

-brown garlic, onion

-add peppers & cook for a min

-add mushrooms. Cook water out of mushrooms.

-add strained tomatoes and break up tomatoes a little bit with a wooden spoon

-add olives & veg broth & simmer on low for a few minutes, then put sauce in a bowl and set aside

-heat 2 tblsp olive oil in a no-stick pan

-fry herb-coated polenta rounds until golden brown on each side (around 5 minutes each side)

-plate the polenta rounds, top with goat crumbled goat cheese, then the sauce

-sprinkle over with pine nuts, fresh herbs, parmesan, salt & pepper to taste

ENJOY!

Monday, December 26, 2011

Kaleidoscope Sky Peacocks

     This Christmas season has been an odd one for me. Full of surprises, laughter and the most fascinating dreams. I am eight months pregnant, and daily Yoga practice, which I have relied on for fifteen years now to keep me in shape and emotionally balanced, has become more challenging to figure out how to do. During the holidays I have also allowed myself to be a bogi (one who indulges in sense pleasures, too much red wine being my favorite bogi choice), and this year I can't do that either. Also my family is dispersed during a time when I am feeling a fortified instinct to have a strong clan around me. Christmas Day was still a lot of fun. We gathered a Cioppino Christmas Clan: my cousin Sophie and her new boyfriend Ray who gifted us hand-crochet hats, and my brother-in-law Joseph, and his girlfriend Julie, who gave us the cutest baby onesies and Belgian Chocolate. Having finished our co-op shopping at 1:00 on Christmas Day (thank God for communists) we made Southwest Cioppino (modified from a Fisherman's stew recipe from Food and Wine magazine), fried calamari, and chocolate fondue. We ate and drank and laughed and it felt warm and light and I went to bed happy. Since waking up today, after a night of weird disjointed dreams, I just have wanted to cry. 
     So everyone tells you about the hormonal changes, emotional swings, and food cravings one goes through during pregnancy:
     "you'll be laughing one moment, crying another, eating chocolate-covered cheese, then throwing up," people say. 
     Yeah, all that's true (have yet to take a trip to Vosges to get the chocolate-covered cheese but plans with Cousin Sophie are in the works), but more remarkably, and not often talked about, are the vivid dreams that inhabit the mind-scape when you're being bombarded with meteorites of hormones and pulling spirit-beings from outer space down into your flesh. From the moment I became pregnant, I have been overcome by the technicolor scenes from my REM sleep (?who the heck told me as a child that people dream in black and white?). Like a filmstrip, the dreams and images keep coming and coming. Sometimes the scenes are full of people and vignettes from my past. Schoolmates, college dormitory hallways, riding in buses or planes with friends. In one particular incredible dream that I will elaborate on, my mother-in-law and I were in a car, she driving, me in the passenger seat:
     We were driving in a snowy wintery landscape, somewhere outside of the city. The car broke down. My mother-in-law told me to go take shelter in a nearby lodge that was just up the road while she found a mechanic and figured out the car problem. I went to the lodge. There was an empty dining room, and a meagerly populated bar with drop ceilings, and a male bartender trying to stay on top of an unruly drunk male customer. Not feeling the vibe of the scene too much, I decided to wander back outside. At that point it was dusk, and there was a road, which I decided to follow. I came to a divide in the road, and a big tree was on my right side. I heard some rustling, and had that moment of wondering if I should be scared, but instead, curiosity won out . . . some more rustling, and all of a sudden a pair of eyes peering out from the tree at me. It was a bird-like creature. I remembered back to summer camp, when the nature counselor, Bruce, had rescued a baby hawk, which was named Wus, and campers were allowed to put on a thick canvas glove and extend a stick-straight arm out so that Wus could fly from a far-off tree branch to land right on your arm. I extended my dream-arm in such a manner, and without hesitation, this huge bird animal, 1 part owl, 1 part pterodactyl, 1 part Disney-toucan, swooped from the tree branch on to my stick-straight arm. It brings its eyes very close to mine, and turns its head in funny bird-like motions, looking at me very intently, with curiosity, friendliness and a little goofiness. It was wonderful. Upon waking, I felt somehow that this was the spirit of my son, introducing himself and looking at who in the world he got for a mama. 
     Months later, I received another vision of a bird-like creature in a dream. In this second bird-dream, the creature did not land on my arm, or anywhere near me. I observed him far-off in the sky. I had found myself in India somewhere by a majestic body of water. The sand was a mineral brown color and many people were around, not Indian, but not white, like travelers who have decided to prolong going home, and develop a chameleon's ability to blend, or not be noticed at all. I broke from this group of people and found myself walking away from the sparkling shore waters up a path towards some mountains. I had a walking companion, but am not sure who they were. I looked up in the sky to behold the top of a tree beginning to change shape and dislodge itself from the lower branches and trunk. It began to change color, like a kaleidoscope, all different hues and prisms of its natural earth colors. It appeared to be flying up and forward, but like an optical illusion, moving backward. I took in an audible breath, the sight was so beautiful. I wanted my walking companion to see the sight:
     "Look!" I said, "Look up! It's a peacock in the sky!"
It was huge, and those rainbow colors were developing as the tree-bird-sky creature took to flight. My walking companion noticed just as the creature was re-settling to affix itself to the top of another tree, and re-camouflaged itself. I was so happy that I had a witness to this marvel. I knew that what I had seen was real, and rare, and I knew, like those of us who have had the honor and privilege to travel to India, that this would only be happening there. 
     What is the significance? I don't know. These are my visions, and pieces of my subconscious. Perhaps it's also the process of my past and individuality, meeting with my future. Yoga, which I have studied and practiced for a decade and a half, indicates for its students to see the uniformity existence, to avoid suppressing authentic colors and emotions, while at the same time, not to over-analyze or identify with these hues, which are passing modifications, like filters briefly covering over the great mother-board of light. 
     So as the new year comes forward, I see my challenge being to bring these fantastic kaleidoscopic pictures, and all the visions of my dreams, to meet with the day-to-day reality of quotidian life. The colors of dreams stay with us if we allow, and this bird that has flown into me, and is soon coming out (God Willing), gives me all the hope that life is indeed rainbow-colored, full of mystery, flight, miracles, and that infinity is not a concept or mathematical equation. It's enough to make me cry again and eat some Belgian Chocolate. 

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Crazy Al Rustico Sauce

My man made the best sauce and rigatonis the other night. He fancies himself an 'al rustico' chef. He likes to chop his vegetables all crazy, and leave some smaller items, like mushrooms, whole. It makes me cringe, and the control-freak chef in me comes flying out.
     "Don't do that," I exclaim, "what are you thinking? You would get ejected from Kitchen Stadium, summarily dismissed!"
     I watch, wide-eyed as random spices and pantry items-- and what the what is that-- walnuts?! now paprika?! get pulled from the shelf. That's totally illegal! I keep watching, horror spreading across my countenance as more things get pulled off the shelf and sprinkled into the pan, seemingly randomly, and my husband's arms and curls bounce all over the kitchen. Sometimes he gets a little over-intrigued with one new ingredient that he thinks is so funky fresh, and it's just too much and the dish goes south. But most of the time, it turns out just right, and I'll sit there astounded, after gobbling up my first helping, with empty bowl, going back for seconds and thirds. The other night was such a night. My Italian man made the best sauce ever! It went like this:
     1) get 2 frying pans ready with heated oil and garlic cut into slivers
     2) brown garlic in both pans
     3) chop 1 large zucchini in circles
     4) chop mushrooms and a red bell pepper all crazy (leave a couple of mushrooms whole)
     5) brown zucchini in 1 pan with dried rosemary, crumbled in your fingers
     6) start walnuts and mushrooms in the other, add red pepper and 2 small pinches of paprika after 3 or 4 minutes
     7) add a 28 oz can of peeled italian tomatoes to zucchini pan, stir.
     8) add the contents of the mushroom red pepper pan to the other one, salt and pepper to taste, cover and cook for 15 minutes.
     9) serve over 1 lb. of rigatonis.
     10) top with a combination of grated Parmigano Reggiano, and Pecorino Romano cheeses.
     "I'm an 'al rustico' chef, babe," he says, all smiles, sauce splattered everywhere.
Yeah, it's friggin' delicious.
xoxo

Friday, November 25, 2011

Au Revoir Robin des Bois!

It was a beautiful day today in New York, the day after Thanksgiving—sunny and around 50 degrees. I was on my way back home from a yoga client’s big bright loft with picture windows overlooking the Hudson River, pondering how happy I was that I had made certain choices in my life . . . namely to practice and teach what I love to do for a living . . . finally giving up cash jobs as a NYC bartender, which I had loved to hate, and hated to love at times, while trying to pursue other careers in my twenties and early thirties. Snapping me out of my daydreaming, I was pleased to get a call from some neighborhood friends who wanted to get brunch with me, and my husband. We gladly obliged, and soon were all piled into their car: their 1 year old baby in the car seat, and me in the passenger seat with my big pregnant belly.  After the typical “where-should-we-go” conversation, we decided upon a brunch favorite, Robin des Bois, on Smith Street, in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. Robin des Bois has a great menu, with French / Moroccan spin on the usual brunch items, an amazing cheese board, and a great staff. Robin des Bois, or as it is known by its regulars, “Bernard’s,” opened  over 12 years ago, when Smith Street was a far cry from the restaurant row that it now is, complete with trendy boutiques, a Starbuck’s, and artisanal ice cream shops. There are many reasons to love Robin des Bois—some of them personal to me and my experience, some universal:
#1 The converted antique furniture shop atmosphere which Bernard never chose to renovate, with a fabulous gargantuan chandelier on the ceiling, and kitsch in the front display windows framed by dark paneled side walls, giving it the in-the-know-feeling for those regulars confidently striding in, versus the first-time customers hesitating out-front overheard asking: “is this a restaurant?” “I think this is the place . . .”
#2 The warm and professional bartender, Isabella, a Polish woman with a big smile, and the impeccable combination of hostess extraordinaire, and your dearest friend who is always happy to see you and serve you . . . a skill I admired to no end in her—in part because I failed at it miserably in my bar days, not being able to mask my contempt for others when I was in a bad mood.
#3 The just-right amount of un-snobby French flavor to your food—heavy on the garlic and butter, but subtly spiced and solidly flavored Southern French cuisine nonetheless—the perfect vehicle for your glass of French wine or Champagne. 
#4 The fact that it had been there for over a decade, earning its keep and banking its warm vibes among a rapidly changing neighborhood and diverse demographic.
#5 Industry-insiders Monday nights. For those who were friends of Bernard’s, and worked in local bars and restaurants, Monday night was the night to congregate, enjoy the camaraderie of co-workers and other industry professionals, and to be a generously-tipping, slowly-getting-drunk customer, damn it.

As our caravan drove up to many open meter spaces on the sidewalk in front of Robin des Bois, we noticed a truck out front, and men piling the furniture from the dining room and garden inside. Surveying the scene, it didn’t even occur to us at first that Bernard could be closing. I got out of the car, and sure enough, 1 of the men on the truck, sweating and loading in the stuff, was Bernard, another his friend whom I know from the neighborhood and used to serve Guinness to. The usual greeting of a kiss on both cheeks, and still my disbelief:
“What are you guys doing?” I ask.
“Well, packing up this truck . . .” just as one of the men is approaching me quickly with a large piece of metal furniture.
“You’re not closing are you?” I ask, still trying to absorb what I was seeing.
“Well not today,” says Bernard.
I am silent. I don’t know what to say. I feel much more broken-hearted than he appears:
“Putain,” I say.
“You see there seems to be this trend of rents going up and business going down,” he says evenly. I know this . . . but but but they were always full when we went in the past. I seem to be in the way. Without much of a well-wishing, I get back in the car to inform the others. Upon announcing that they were indeed closing, everyone says,
“What?!?!”
 “I can’t believe it,” “That makes me so so sad,” we all say. We begin to drive forward slowly. I roll open the window and say:
“We love you Bernard,” as we drive on.
He smiles a big smile, responding:
“okay!”
There is a bit of strange silence in the car. Not only are we disappointed that our perfect brunch choice is now dashed, but we all begin referencing all the times we have spent enjoying the restaurant for so many fun and casual occasions over the years. My friend says how that place has been an institution and how often she used to go.
So brunch must still go on. We decide on a restaurant a few blocks up which I had vowed never to return to a few years ago after lame service and so-so food. There was a spot right in front. I keep the breaking of my vow to myself, and we go in and sit for brunch. The menu items are boring. We make our selections. The french fries are good, but the main dishes are heavy and bland. The server is accommodating and good enough. I don’t know her though, and I find myself comparing the experience and the food to what I would have ordered and felt at Robin des Bois. Wah! I text message my friend who I used to go to Robin’s with all the time. Did she know it was closing? Yes, she texts, back, she had just learned of it the night before.
“Sigh,” I write, “pretty soon this neighborhood is just going to be full of fancy condos, with the suckers dwelling in them only presented with the choice of Starbucks and Chase Bank storefronts.”
“Yeah,” my friend responds.
“Yeah.”
The end of an era.
We love you Bernard! May you go on to bigger and better things, and find a fabulous home for your chandelier. If I wasn’t pregnant, I would open the bottle of Bordeaux I have on my shelf, and toast you and the era of Robin des Bois. Instead, I will dedicate my next Yoga practice to you.

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Original Sauce

The first sauce / dressing that I learned how to make was taken from a hand-written cookbook from the Vipassana Meditation Center in Shelburne, Mass. The Sauce Whore's alter-ego, a Buddhist monk, was working as a server on a very serious 10 day course, and she had volunteered to work in the kitchen. In charge of preparing the rice, but also happy to prepare some staff meals and improvise some dishes, that 10 day period aroused my passion for cooking for others. This sauce, which is my a version of a "Green Goddess" dressing, is a go-to for so many dishes. Great as a salad dressing, a snazzy spread, a marinade for fish or poultry, a plate dresser for any macrobiotic meal, the list could go on. It only takes a few minutes:

Dhara Dhamma Green Goddess Dressing
Ingredients:
2/3 cup raw organic cashews
1/2 cup chopped scallions, with some of the green parts included
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh chopped dill
2 small cloves chopped garlic
water
salt & pepper
Assembly:
1) start the garlic, scallion, and cashews in a mini-chopper or food processor
2) add the chunky paste to a food processor / blender with the vinegar and slowly drizzle in olive oil
3) add the dill, and pour in a thin stream of water to bring it to desired consistency (thinner is better as a salad dressing)
4) add salt and pepper